HP: First Light

He woke up from his sleep like every morning. He yawned and looked at the ceiling, because it took him a while to sober up, so he wanted to check the time on his phone. That's when he noticed the oddities. He had no phone. The ceiling was unfamiliar. With confusion, he sat and looked around, then at his hands, and at that moment, he understood.

"Fuck. My hands are so small. The room doesn't belong to me."

Thoughts were taking over him. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

- The room does not belong to me

- The body doesn't belong to me

- The last thing I remember is that I slept after my daily routine

"The necessary scenario for me to reach the situation I am in right now must be reincarnation or transmigration, otherwise, I am either in the matrix or whatever it is in science fiction."

The clock on the wall shows that it is still 5 in the morning.

"I need information," he muttered.

He started to examine the room.

A classic nursery with a desk, full-length mirror, closet, and bed.

He walked towards the table. He lit the lamp on the table and opened the notebook on it.

{Hi diary I'm Henry,

Yesterday I turned 5 years old my mom made me a strawberry birthday cake it was delicious then we walked around together all day and read books it was pretty fun I wish I had a friend the kids at school don't like me I don't know if I'm ugly as they say}

He didn't read the rest; He found some necessary information. There was a day counter on the clock in the room, showing 6 pm. The date was 17 October 1985 in the child's diary, and the language written was English.

He walked back to the bed and sat down.

A fresh start is something he always thought of. He never liked to live. He came to middle age, trapped in the shackles of society and the system. It was too late for everything. Parents, poor education, and a social environment completely lost in society do not prepare you for life.

He worked and trained myself and achieved success in business life until he got bored.

What was life? Why do people live? These are the questions he started looking for answers to when he was a kid.

My adult life was solitary. The thought of promising someone to understand or think about me made me nauseous.

He was a rational, pragmatic and introverted person. He didn't like emotions because he had seen the burdens they put on a person. He knew the feelings were natural, but he didn't care.

One of my favourite activities was to sitting on a beach, listening to the sound of the sea, and watching people pass.

It was my understanding of entertainment to watch the lives that were moved according to the consumption habits of the society that were convinced of their value and spent to reach the status created accordingly.

Listening to their ridiculous troubles and watching their behaviour made me feel both disgusted and numb.

Emotionally manipulated, and conditioned to love and respect, they brought me up to be a coward.

Finally, his family died. He cried and cried until he felt like he had no water left in his body.

After pouring out all my sadness, there was only a smile on my face.

What he experienced after all that crying was pure joy and happiness My favourite part of human life was that they were dead he was free of all social and social shackles, but in his late twenties, it was too late for everything he had hurt his mind and body in his life.

he had enough money to not have to work for the rest of his life, and a house in an excellent location to reach the opportunities he wanted.

He did whatever he enjoyed, and then this little body and little room.

He looked at the clock and muttered, 'long inner monologue dude,' and grinned.

"I'm Henry Cavill. ahh, I don't know my last name," he muttered. 'I wouldn't mind being Superman,' thought Henry, hand on his chin, smiling.