I never believed the phrase people referred to as the 'Light at the end of the Tunnel'. Those rare occurences where people wake up from near death experiences and claim it as 'I saw the light at the end of the tunnel' with sweat dripping from their faces. Yet, here I am in this supposed tunnel which I have no clue what it is. The last thing I remember is crying on my 16th birthday, staring at my childhood photos when I was still happy and unaware of the ugliness the world hides.
I had crawled onto my bed, wishing for this day to end soon. As I felt asleep, a strange numbness crept over me. My body went cold. What happened to me? Did I...die? But how? Was I poisoned? Was I assassinated? I knew people wanted me dead but to think their wish actually came true. A part of me wanted to figure out how I died, but there was nothing I could do anymore. Since am already dead, there better not be some choir of babies with wings waiting for me and singing at the end.
When I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by warmth and soft murmers. I couldn't see well but I could hear muffled voices, full of joy.
"Its a boy!" a voice cheered.
As I felt myself cradled, I realized something was different. The voices weren't speaking any language I know, yet I could understand every word they said. Memories from my past life flooded as I processed what was happening.
"Arthur", the woman whose arms were holding me called out softly. "Arthur Varen. That will be your name my child." she said as tears came falling from her eyes to chin.
Her smile radiated warmth and the kindness in her eyes was something I hadn't seen for a long time. She was beautiful-beyond beautiful, actually with features that made her seem otherworldly. Her bright smile carried a genuine motherly love I couldn't remember feeling in my past life. My mom used to smile like that too, but...I didn't see what it was back then. Maybe I didn't know how to spot real kindness until I learned it the hard way.
"He has your eyes, honey" she said, handing me to a man with a strong jaw, fierce eyes and thick eyebrows. I bet that he is the type who'd be strict and unyielding but when he spoke all my assumptions shattered.
"Hey, Little Art! I'm your dad. Can you say 'Papa'?" I take my words back. His tone was so cheerful that I almost laughed -mentally atleast. I guess the phrase 'Never judge a book' by its cover still stands.
"Ray, he was just born!" my mother scolded her tone playful. My dad let out a laugh of embarrassment, scratching the back of his head.
For the first time in a while which felt forever, I felt...safe.