Fragmented Awakening 1

A haze enveloped me, thick and oppressive, as if I were trapped in a realm beyond comprehension. I blinked, but the darkness clung to my vision like a suffocating fog, obscuring everything around me. Panic stirred within, a frantic whisper that something was terribly wrong.

I tried to move, to stretch out my limbs, but they felt heavy, unresponsive—like they belonged to someone else. An unsettling realization dawned on me: I had no control over my body. My fingers twitched sporadically, a faint glimmer of movement that only deepened my confusion.

Where was I? A deep ache pulsed behind my eyes, a relentless throb that sent waves of disorientation crashing over me. My hearing was muted, muffled sounds drifting through the void like echoes from another world. What was happening to me?

Questions swirled in my mind, but the answers eluded me like wisps of smoke. Why couldn't I remember anything? Panic turned into frustration, a desperate clawing at the edges of my consciousness.

"Wai—wait a minute!" I thought, trying to grasp the fraying threads of my memory. The effort only intensified the throbbing in my head, each pulse a reminder of my disorientation. "What the f#ck is happening?"

The headache surged, a sharp jolt that pierced through the fog, leaving me gasping for clarity. I felt as if I were teetering on the edge of something vast and unknown, my senses dulled and my reality slipping further away. And I lost consciousness.

Ten Days Later

I find myself in a state of uncertainty, yet there's a flicker of awareness that nudges at the edges of my consciousness. Each time I manage to open my eyes, the world around me is a blur, but light spills through the haze, guiding me like a beacon. I believe I am near a window, as the brightness feels warm and inviting. This ritual of awakening has happened about nine or ten times, suggesting that I have been in this state for ten days, or perhaps more.

As the moments pass, my senses begin to awaken. My hearing sharpens slightly, allowing the faint sounds of voices to reach me. Each time I drift back into consciousness, I perceive conversations—soft, distant murmurs at first, but

then they grow louder day by day. It's disorienting yet oddly comforting to know I'm not alone in this experience.

Despite the chaos in my mind, I manage to keep my calm. There's someone nearby, sharing this strange journey with me. It brings me a strange sense of solidarity amidst the confusion. However, whenever I attempt to delve into my memories, a sharp pain sears through my mind, like a bolt of lightning, reminding me of the darkness that lies beneath. It's better this way, I reason with myself; I will let the past stay buried for now.

So, I surrender to the soothing pull of sleep, allowing it to wash over me like a gentle tide, knowing that each awakening may bring me closer to clarity—or perhaps deeper into the unknown. For now, I choose to embrace the light and the sounds that surround me, letting them guide me through this foggy haze.

Twenty days… or has it been longer? I can't quite keep track anymore, but things are becoming clearer. Ha, I think I've figured it out. I'm in a baby's body. That's right—a baby. At first, I thought I was just lost in some subconscious dream, eating without really noticing, pooping without much care. Honestly, it's all a blur now. But lately, I've gained a little more control over myself, and there's no denying it. Yup, this is definitely happening.

Being a grown-up mind in a baby's body—especially one that can't control when it poops—is, well… uncomfortable, to say the least. And yeah, I've completely lost count of how many days it's been. But my eyesight, it's getting a bit sharper. I can actually make out some details now. Today, I noticed something important. I'm in a crib. A crib for children. And… as I suspected, I'm not alone.

There's another crib beside mine, and there's a child in it too. But oh my god, that kid can cry. I don't even know if it's a boy or a girl, but it doesn't matter because this little thing cries… a lot. Sometimes, the wailing gets so intense, my instincts kick in and I find myself crying along too. Not out of choice. It's like something inside me just flips a switch.

And then there's this lady. I always see her hovering around our cribs. She has black hair, and she's constantly checking on us. Is she… my mother? Is this body's mother her? I don't know.

What I can't wrap my head around is how the hell I'm having these thoughts. No baby can think like this. I'm processing things way too clearly for an infant.