My Name Is...

"Dad, will we see him today?" questioned the youngster, Elijah, joy lighting his face as he sat at the dining table in their humble home.

"Indeed, Elijah. Could you create a picture for your Dad?" his mother asked, casting him an affectionate glance as she prepared to depart their home.

"Sure, Mommy!" Elijah responded, enthusiasm ringing in his voice.

At five years old, with dark blond hair and rich brown eyes that sparkled with life, Elijah was more than excited to create a masterpiece for his Dad. Once he finished his work of art, he was set to leave.

"Now, Elijah, can you fetch your jacket and your cozy hat?" his mother requested after he had finished his artwork.

Scampering quickly, Elijah grabbed his coat and hat from their hanger, then returned to his mother for help with dressing.

"Ready to go, sweetheart?" his mother inquired, donning her own coat.

"YES!" Elijah replied eagerly, clutching his precious drawing as they prepared to exit the house.

Mother and son embarked on their journey, driving through the encroaching chill of winter.

City streets were bustling with the pre-Christmas rush, people scrambling to buy presents for their loved ones. But Elijah and his mother had a different mission.

During the drive, Elijah observed his mother steering the car while clutching his art. A stunning woman in her thirties, she had chestnut hair cascading down her back and soft brown eyes, the initial signs of aging lightly touched her beautiful face.

The sight of the city with its cars, people, and twinkling lights, seen through the car window, lulled Elijah into drowsiness.

After a drive of 25 minutes with minor traffic hold-ups, they reached their destination. The task of finding a parking spot proved difficult due to the influx of cars.

"We're here, Mommy?" a sleepy Elijah questioned.

"Yes, dear. Let me find a spot for the car," his mother responded, her focus on locating an open parking space.

"There!" she announced, finally parking the car.

Elijah and his mother left the car, and they approached the entrance of a large, towering building. Awe-struck by its height, Elijah stared at the building as they moved inside and headed towards the elevator.

"Do you recall the floor, sweetheart?" his mother asked.

"Yes! Seventh floor! May I press the button?"

"Of course, dear! Let me guide you to the button…" his mother began, but Elijah interjected, "I can count! Daddy taught me!"

"Alright then…" his mother responded as other elevator occupants watched the interaction with amused smiles.

Arriving at the seventh floor, mother and son traversed the long hallway lined with numbered doors.

"Do you remember the room number as well?"

"Um… seven… two!"

"Very impressive, sweetheart!" his mother praised, her smile morphing into a pained expression as they arrived at room 72.

Upon entering the room, Elijah couldn't restrain his excitement, yelling, "Daddy!"

"Daddy!"

"Sweetie!... Miranda!... You've come!" responded his father, confined to a hospital bed, fighting a relentless malignant tumor. Pale-faced and bald from chemotherapy, his dull brown eyes sparkled at the sight of his family, bringing forth a genuine smile.

"Daddy, look! I drew a picture for you!" Elijah announced, eagerly climbing a chair beside his father's bed.

"Marvelous! Who are these people?" asked his father, curiosity in his eyes.

"That's us, Daddy! You, Mommy, and me, at our house!" Elijah said, his voice filled with delight.

Unseen by her son, his mother started to weep quietly, her cold hands gripping the back of the chair.

"It's a spectacular picture!" his father managed to say, holding back tears as he then asked, "How was your day, sweetheart?"

"I went to kindergarten and played lots. Then I had lunch, but no broccoli… After that, Mommy picked me up and we came home, and I drew the picture!" Elijah narrated.

"Wow, so you were… you were… you… you… y… …" His father started mumbling, his words tapering off as he began to shake.

"Are you alright, dear?" his wife asked anxiously, gripping his hand tightly, but receiving no response.

"Dear?!?!" She called out again, dread filling her voice as a nearby medical machine began to beep.

"Help! Someone, please! …" She cried out in desperation.

"Is Daddy okay, Mommy?" Elijah innocently inquired, still perched on his chair, gripping his drawing.

"Come here!" his mother instructed, scooping him up into her arms just as the medical team arrived.

"What happened before this, ma'am?" the doctor inquired.

"He was just talking to our son, then he started mumbling… please…" his wife managed to answer.

"Please step outside." The doctor commanded, the rest of the hospital staff scrambling to attend to the father.

Left in the hallway outside the room, the mother held her son, her face reflecting despair, while Elijah was still clueless about the situation.

"I didn't give him the picture!" Elijah blurted out, rushing back into the room.

"Stop, no!" His mother yelled, dashing into the room after him.

"The patient is having a heart attack!" a nurse exclaimed, as the doctor was interrupted by Elijah bolting towards his father.

"Get out of the room!" The doctor repeated his command, his hands already busy trying to resuscitate the patient.

But Elijah was undeterred, reaching his father's bedside and insisting, "Keep the picture, Dad!"

Sensing the drawing in his hand, the father momentarily regained consciousness.

"E-El… Elijah… M-Mi… Miranda…" were his last words.

"Is this lamp always so bright? Where is this light coming from?... Elijah? Miranda? Are you here?... Can someone answer me?... It's becoming dark, can someone switch the light on?... Hey! Is anyone here? ..." the father wondered.

In the absolute darkness, his only option was to think.

"Where am I?... Why can't anyone hear me?... Why can't I hear anything?... Wait… my body! I can't feel it! … I can't feel the drawing Elijah gave me… " he thought, panic creeping in.

"Did they sedate me?... Am I in a coma?... I hope Elijah is alright, I left him in such a chaotic scene with Miranda…"

As the time continued to pass, he seriously pondered his situation. Being unable to move, see, or hear was a form of torture he wouldn't wish on anyone.

"If I am in a coma, I hope Miranda will follow my wishes. I wouldn't want to live like this, neither for me nor for them."

More time passed.

"Did I just see a bright light?... Don't people say that you see 'the light' when you die?... Did I just see 'the light'? …

If I'm dead, then where is Heaven? Is this Hell? Is this some sort of punishment? …"

Time seemed to be irrelevant in this place.

"Miranda… Elijah… please be okay! …"

Suddenly, he could hear his own voice, he could move, he could see!

"Am I finally waking up from the coma? …"

In front of him, he saw a massive cycle rotating, with various paths leading from and to it.

Confused, he wondered, "What is happening?"

"I'm discovering my limbs, my arms and legs. Movement is difficult and limited, it feels as though I'm confined.

When I attempt to exert myself, there's a sensation of being touched, a woman's voice chiding me.

I'm at a loss. Are they tormenting me? Discouraging my movement? ..."

Time ebbed away once more.

"Gradually, I've gained better control over my arms, and I happened upon something between my legs. I expected my genitalia, but it was… underwhelming. It appears to have diminished in size...

Are they making a mockery of me in this abyss?...

I'm clueless…"

Time slipped by once more.

"It's been a grueling ordeal. My sanity is slipping away. Months seem to have passed like this, shackled within a cage I cannot perceive, I cannot scent. I cannot consume, I cannot respire. I am lost. Just end my misery. Even if death has already claimed me, end me once more and grant me peace."

Time continued to march on.

"Why does it feel like I'm being inverted?

…

Wait… I'm beginning to discern something above my head?

…

Could it be light?

…

I can't recall the last time I perceived light… wait, it's intensifying… wait, am I being drawn towards the light???...

Ouch… It's painful… so painful… SO PAINFUL!!!"

Tears flowed for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"I'm inhaling! Finally, I'm breathing!...

Radiance… all I perceive with my eyes is a blinding light…

I detect the scent of blood?" he contemplated.

"Welcome to existence, Jorael!" a delightful female voice greeted while caressing me.

"Our very own Jorael, at long last!" an excited male voice exclaimed.

"The voices from before… they're distinct and comprehensible now… do I comprehend them?... Should I communicate with them? ..." he pondered while trying to vocalize.

"Ah, listen to him! His cries are loud, as if he's never used his vocal cords before!" the male voice jested, his laughter and grin palpable.

"Obviously, he hasn't…" the female voice responded coolly.

"What are they discussing?..." he mused.

As the intense light gradually receded, his vision began to adjust. He first noted a wooden ceiling, followed by the figure of the woman whose voice he'd heard.

A striking woman with dark hair, fair skin, and captivating purple eyes. Her hair was sleek and had a pleasant scent. Her beauty rendered him speechless and his crying ceased. However, what truly fascinated him were the splendid black horns that crowned her head.

"My dear child, now that you've seen me, have you found tranquillity?" the woman queried, cradling the infant.

"What does she mean by "my child"? ..." he ruminated, perplexed.

"Jorael, have you noticed how stunning your mother is?" the male voice queried, showering praises on the woman.

"M-mother?!" the baby speculated as he turned his gaze towards the man, his vision now clear.

A robust man with disheveled brown hair, an untamed beard, and brown eyes. His hair was curly and he sported an impressive jawline. He lacked the woman's distinctive horns.

"Look at him! He's looking at you!" the woman declared gleefully.

"As she shared a smile with the man, I finally took a moment to observe myself… I was naked and smeared with blood, but that was not what shocked me. I WAS A NEWLY BORN BABY!...

…

What transpired?!?!?!?!?" the baby tried to communicate, but his attempts only resulted in incomprehensible cries.

The man proceeded to bathe the baby, cleanse him, and swaddle him in cloth. He then carefully handed the baby to the woman who was reclining on the bed.

"My precious child, it's feeding time. Please be considerate as it's my first experience…" the woman murmured bashfully, baring her breast to nurse the infant.

At last, the baby once a man, thought about his otherworldly wife, "W-what?!... Miranda, please… be patient as I've just been reborn!"