3 2.

After transmigrating, it's not as though I've gained eidetic memory or any special abilities that'll make me stand out, no super werewolf powers, no magic, no system, nothing. The only thing I have is my preexisting knowledge and ability to make choices that'll benefit me. An example of this could be since I was a huge video game nerd and played CSGO religiously, I also followed the skin prices and case prices since the game came out. Well, videos of then to now as I didn't play CSGO till way after it came out. Anyway, what I mean is I have the knowledge of prices and ways to make an incredible amount of money, I could also stream my gameplay or make videos on CSGO or other games and get money that way.

Wait I'm getting off-topic, what I mean to say is that I don't have anything now to make me stand out, no cheats to help me reach goals unobtainable, no knowledge of electronics or medicine or science that'll make me outstanding, none of that. What I do have though is the want to be unordinary, the want to be something amazing in this new world I'm living in now, even if I don't become a part of the supernatural, I still want to achieve things I could only dream about.

Most people in stories about being transmigrated often don't speak about the weight that comes with these expectations though, the expectation to be any better than in the past, the expectation you're going to be loved and find love, the expectation to make something of yourself is hard to bear. Most people skim straight past this, not fathoming the what-ifs and the ins and out's of what happened to them. You see, in this world that is incredibly similar to my own, there is a possibility that others also reincarnated, or the way of history has changed and I only live in the Utopian part of a Dystopian world, I could also just be a character in one show but live in another I don't know about.

Sitting up I take the arm sprawled across my face off and move out of bed, for real this time. Standing up and walking out the hallway, I navigate my way to the bathroom. The cold, wooden floors lining the hallway prick at my skin, which then transitions to the even colder tiles that line the bathroom floor. Looking at myself in the mirror I'm greeted by a child - me. After staring for a beat I turn on the sink and make sure it's the cold side. Confirming its indeed freezing I cup my hands under it, having it fill in a short time then quickly bringing it up to my face, pressing the frigid liquid against my skin shocking my senses and accomplishing my intention for it; waking me up.

Turning off the sink I head back into my room and get dressed. Today is a Monday, a day dreaded by the old Stiles but welcomed by the new. Walking downstairs I see the time, 8:20, school starts at 9 which is really nice. Heading over to the counter, climbing up it, grabbing some lucky charms and a bowl I make myself some breakfast. Being independent about small things like this is a good start for change. Pouring the Lucky Charms into the bowl first, then the milk, and adding a spoon, I'm greeted with perfection. A bowl full of goodness, and no I don't pour milk in first, what do you take me for an animal?

Munching happily on my assorted colors of the rainbow I think about things I want to do right now, getting off my chair I carry the bowl with me, only after putting everything I took out back. Bringing the bowl upstairs I don't eat while moving, a habit I developed because I used to spill everything and didn't want to waste time cleaning it up when I could just eat after reaching my destination.

Closing the door with my foot I walk to my desk, setting the bowl down, and doing a small jog I reach a box I have in the closet. The inside is filled with drawing utensils, from paintbrushes to pens to perfectly shaved pencils, I have everything I'd ever need here. Picking up the box I struggle, wobbling back over to my bowl I set the reason for my disbalance down, it landing with a thud that slightly shakes the milk, not enough to send it over the confines of its cage, simply enough to create ripples.

When looking back into the box I take a few things out this time, a sketchbook, pencil, and a pen. Gripping the wooden tool tightly I inhale strongly and exhale shakily. Despite feeling like I've lived as Stiles and been Stiles all this life, there's just something so nostalgic and heartbreaking about never being able to see my family again, my bitchy sister, my parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, and whoever was welcomed into the family in the future. I'll miss all of that. But right now, this opportunity and chance to become happier and more fulfilled in every aspect of my life is right before me. And I can't, I won't let the pain of something irreversible and unchangeable cripple my potential and halt my advancement into a life I can proudly look back on.

Looking up into the ceiling and closing my eyes I count to ten, slowly, methodically, until the raging current of emotions fueled by my declaration is calmed slightly. Then I reopen them and my vision is clear, marking the start of my next life as Stiles Stilinski.

(Unedited. A short chapter as I get back into writing.)