I can see my tiny arms that confirmed that I have been reborn in some world. My vision is hazy, barely able to make out anything through the thick, purple fog that seems to cloud my mind. I'm certain no one else can see this fog and by "anyone," I mean the two people here with me. One is the woman holding me. She's stunningly beautiful, but what irritates me is the man who keeps kissing her.
Now that I think about it, he must be my biological father. I haven't been able to see him clearly. There's fog in my head, and my focus is only sharp on objects 8 to 10 inches from my face since I was just born. I've caught glimpses of him. He comes right up to my face, making ridiculous expressions. He seems to have brown hair, and from the way he smiles, he looks proud. Every time he gets close with that awkward grin, I deliberately cry, forcing the woman to push him away.
This reminds me of the first time my wife gave birth to our eldest daughter. I always wanted a son to carry on my legacy, but the moment I saw her eyes, I promised myself, "I will protect her at the cost of the entire world."
I failed to keep that promise. She was taken by powerful people because I refused to work on the HeLa cells project in 1952. That was the turning point. the moment everything changed for me.
As I'm lost in these haunting memories, the woman looks down at me with a warm smile and speaks. Her words are oddly spoken, Is she even speaking English? I'm multilingual, yet I'm completely baffled by what she's saying.
"What is this world?" I wonder, trying to speak but finding that I can't. My vocal cords haven't developed yet there's no way for me to form words. The frustration gnaws at me, but I have no choice but to wait, to observe, and to learn about this strange new life I've been thrust into.
A bell rings. I hear a third voice. My vision is still blurry, but I can just barely make out the shape of another figure. Suddenly, an incredibly bald old man pops up in front of my eyes. The moment I see him, I want to say "Wow," because I've never seen such a long, white, mostly aged mustache, It almost touches the ground, or so I think. But all they hear from me is a feeble, "Wah."
Everyone cheers.
A month passes:
Ah, yes, I was disappointed to discover that the old man's mustache doesn't actually touch the ground; it just dangles around his stomach. My vision has improved, but I can still see that persistent purple fog. The first two people I saw were indeed my parents, who seem to be in their early twenties.
They're clearly younger than I was in my past life. My forty-eight-year-old self would have dismissed them as kids. I've recently realized that their faces have distinctly European features. Definitely an upgrade from my American parents in my previous life, who gave me guns when I was only five years old.
They're dressed in what looks like old-fashioned clothing. I think my parents are somewhat important; all I see are guards wearing metal armor, frequently passing by, speaking in a language that's foreign to me.
My father has been repeating the word "Bampas" to me, while my mother tries to get me to say "Mama." I think these words might be Greek. Just to thank them for feeding me, I muster all my strength and say, "Mama" in front of both of them. I've never seen my mother so happy. She scoops me out of my cradle and dances around the house, grinning at my father.
At that moment, I thought, Did she just win a bet? My father kneels down in mock defeat.
"Did my fate just get sealed?" I wonder, as I watch them celebrate.