1 Jack Miller

[WARNING!! This is just a fiction story so don't follow anything that's written in this chapter. Because you won't be transmigrated, YOU WILL DIE!]

Facing the mirror, I hugged my knees as I sat on the floor with my back leaning at the side of the bed. I poured water into the glass from the pitcher and reached for the unopened medicine bottle beside me and downed it all as the bitter taste lingered and spread throughout my tongue. Three empty medicine bottles can be found rolling by my feet. I threw the fourth one clashing it with the other bottles.

After staring at my reflection for a few more minutes, I stood up and lay on the bed. After pulling myself under the sheet, I curled into a fetal position and closed my eyes.

Not long after that, I felt my heart start beating erratically as my temperature began to rise. The sharp, burning sensation in my chest only worsen with every second passing. Seconds turned into minutes. It hurts to breathe…

I switched my position on all fours as I felt my stomach churn. And exactly after I just raised my back through gritted teeth, a sour taste with a tinge of bitterness spread from my throat as the warm sticky liquid spewed out of my mouth. The rotten smell quickly blended with the air. It didn't take long before it expanded throughout the whole room.

Through my greasy raven hair, I saw my reflection in the mirror with crimson liquid dripping from my nose and the corner of my mouth. That was the last thing I saw before my vision slowly turned dim.

From the pitch-black darkness, fragments of scenes began flashing before my eyes. It's as though I was watching a film from a bygone era. The torturous pain I experienced for who knows how long slowly receded and now my body is just limped.

Exactly after the scenes were done playing. My world transitioned back into pitch-black darkness and almost instantly, excruciating pain in my chest suddenly pounced me. It's as though someone was grabbing my core and crushing it. My heartbeat is very slow and loud as if my heart is doing its very best to pump some blood. I felt so light-headed, very close to fainting, just bare hanging by.

And like being woken up from a nightmare, I gasped when I felt that my lungs are finally working normally. My chest moved up and down as I breathe heavily. When I had finally settled down, I slowly opened my eyes, squinted them several times before scanning the room and I was taken aback. I'm in a completely different place!

Lying down on a rather uncomfortable and creaky wooden bed. By the window just across where I was is a wooden table and a chair that looked quite old. On it were stacked books, a fountain pen, an ink, a used candle, a box of matches, and some papers. The squarish room was only big enough for one bed, one table, a chair, and a clothes rack.

I wonder if I'm already dead. Because if I am, then this situation is very odd. I don't believe I'm dreaming. Everything felt so real! Was I reincarnated? If I was then wasn't I supposed to start as a baby? Countless questions flooded my mind and my head began to throb.

I stood from the bed as I staggered towards the wall where a mirror was hung. It's as though I wasn't used to my own body. Looking at the reflection, I almost screamed from shock when I saw another person staring back at me from the mirror. I checked multiple times if it has any mechanics behind it like the ones you see in some of the horror houses but there's none!

I felt like my heart is about to break out of my ribcage. I looked at my hands, my feet, patted my body… Only then did I feel as though a bucket of iced water was poured on me as realization hit me hard at the back of my head. Only then did it finally sink into me. The scenes that flashed before me a while back… The surroundings, my looks in the mirror, everything perfectly fits in!

I looked at my reflection again but no matter how many times I checked. It's really not me. Red hair, amber eyes, pointy nose, thin lips… Not even close!

Strength slipped out of my body and I staggered backward, good thing the footboard of the bed caught me because if not, I would have crashed the wooden floor creating a loud thud. Since it was still night from what I can see, it's definitely going to gather quite an attention and that's the least that I need at this moment.

Taking one last glance at my reflection, I finally noticed the streak of dried blood from my mouth running down to my chin, to my neck, and to my white shirt. Without a doubt, the owner of this body, Jack Miller also committed suicide just like me. I knew because of the black and white fragmented scenes I saw earlier which I suspected were this body's owner's memories. Though I don't really know why he did just that, all I saw was that he wanted to end his life. It didn't actually show me the scene of him doing it in action.

When I went back to the bed, I saw a small rounded emerald-green bottle and a cork beside it. It has a yellowish paper label that has a symbol drawn on it. A skull of a human and two bones forming an X behind it. Seeing this, I concluded that the owner of this body, Jack Miller committed suicide by drinking poison.

When I finally calmed down, I began organizing my thoughts. But I realized that just doing it mentally won't do. I felt like I was having an information overload due to the additional memories and my head was quite a mess at this moment. So I thought writing it down might be the best idea.

I stood up and went to the wooden table where Jack's writing tools were located. I tested the creaky wooden ladderback chair before using it as I was afraid it would collapse the moment I sat on it. After taking out a piece of yellowish paper of low quality, an old-fashioned fountain pen and ink, I began writing.

But I realized just how hideous my penmanship really is. I never used a fountain pen in my whole life! I had only ever used ball-pointed pens not to mention that I'm left-handed and was still adjusting to my "new" hands! It was the very first time I thought writing could be very cumbersome.

I raked Jack's memories and started jotting down the events that had happened in Jack's life in chronological order. Well… I tried. It's just that his memories were very fragmented and large chunks of them were missing.

I furrowed my brows and tried digging deeper. Maybe I had just forgotten about it or maybe, I was too tense to even think properly but seconds turned into minutes, and nothing! All those events were just too blurry for me to recognize.

After doing another round of staring contest with the air, I began writing awkwardly on the yellowish paper again. Beads of sweat started forming on my forehead as I concentrated on writing.

After who knows how long, I'm finally done! I never knew until now that writing could give me this much self-satisfaction. I started reading the things I had written with a big smile on my face but I frowned as soon as I saw my left hand with ink smudged all over it up to my wrist. I looked at the paper again and discovered that the hideously twisted letters were smudged.

"F*ck being left-handed!!" I screamed in a suppressed voice because I can't really make a noise when everyone was still asleep. "A two-year-old child might have a more readable penmanship than I do."

Grudgingly, I began reading the barely readable events. I wrote them so I am able to read them, I'm not sure for other people though.

"Jack Miller, twenty-two years old and is a fresh graduate. He studied literature at the Sratol University and is now looking for a job.

"Living with his older brother, Kai Miller, at the rented run-down apartment in the Sratol City. Kai is an educator but unlike the University professors, he was only limited to either young women who had not been married, or to the older women who, for some reason had not become married. Thus, his salary is also limited.

"Wanting to send Jack to the University, they had to stretch out their budget. So instead of renting a more comfortable place, they had to make do with this run-down apartment where there is only one bathing area and two toilets which have to be shared amongst all the tenants. As for the food, they can only afford to eat meat once or twice a week. For the rest of the days, they're having a hard bread that could last longer but tastes like rubber."

I frowned even more as I read the last paragraph.

"Basing on Jack's memories, it seems that I was thrown somewhere in the 17th century. Cellphones weren't invented at this point yet so people had to write letters manually. The modes of transportation are mainly the steam-powered train, ferry, and horse-drawn carriage."