Part 1- Where am I?
I woke up in a strange plastic enclosure. I went to open up the enclosure so I could get out. But I was very startled to find that my fist had shrunk down to about the size of a golf-ball. I was even more startled to find that the rest of me had shrunk accordingly. And finally, I was most of all startled to find that I had very little control over my limbs.
I couldn’t do much but wait for something else to happen, seeing as I wasn’t able to make anything useful happen in my current state. So I did the only thing that I thought would make something happen. I screamed. The sound of my voice, which, unlike the rest of my body, had actually increased in size, (and jumped two or three octaves to boot) startled me so much that I screamed again. I would have screamed a third time, but that would have been redundant (and just plain silly). A woman in white rushed over and picked me up out of the plastic thing. I understood now what you probably had already guessed. For whatever reason, I was a baby again.
Jump ahead a couple days to when my parents picked me up out of the nursery. The sight of them made me cry uncontrollably. (Please try to remember, I went through both of them dying within weeks of each other, and I lived for about 40 more years after that. I never thought I would see them alive again.) Of course, my parents (who were at the time 26 and 28, mom and dad respective) thought that they had done something wrong to make their baby cry. This was very far from the truth. They didn’t do anything but walk in exactly when they did. Seeing her baby crying, my mother picked me up and held me tightly over her shoulder. I continued to cry, of course. All of this was happening so fast and I didn’t know what to think or do.
My father, trying to do his part, started making funny faces at me. I’ll admit it, I laughed a little at that. I had forgotten completely that until the train derailment which took the life of my grandmother, grandfather, and uncle not long after my 2nd birthday, my father had been a cheerful man. But after losing his mother, father, and most devastatingly his twin brother, he became strict, cold. When I turned 3 he left my mother and I to fend for ourselves, and I never saw him again until I was in my thirties. After we met again, and we each realized who the other person was, we talked long into the night, and well into the next morning. I found it difficult to forgive him. After all, he had left us behind for god-knows-what, and I was just a boy after all. But nonetheless he did his best to reacquaint himself with me. After that, we visited each other every week or so, and he was the first besides me or Flora to hold our son, Nathaniel. This continued for about 15 years, when his house burned down with him in it. As I recall, my mother didn’t so much as attend the funeral. She died five weeks later, however, of colon cancer. To be fair, my father didn’t attend my mother’s funeral either. Fair is only fair.
They brought be out to their car, and drove me home. For the next three or four months, much like a prisoner in my own body, not being able to move easily or speak clearly, all I could do was ponder what had happened. After a little while, maybe two weeks in, I realized what this meant for me. I wasn’t going to make the mistake of asking how such a miracle could have happened to me, but I knew that with the knowledge I had now, I would be able to avert all the misfortune that had happened to me throughout my life, as long as I played my cards right.
I had another 89 years ahead of me, but this time I was ready for anything.