1 waking up in a new world

In a small town, most everyone would overlook a young man stands on a bridge, arms crossed, and his eyes are red and puffy with clear evidence that he has been crying for a while.

Next to him lays a note that reads, "Dear Gerome meet, me at sundown on the old bridge, I need to talk to you."

He came to the bridge, curious who would want to talk to him? The answer a girl who believed he could speak with the dead he could but had spent years ignoring this power he had.

The girl, while he was trying to tell her that no one could talk to the dead, threw her self off the bridge.

He was so shocked that for the longest time he didn't notice the second letter on the ground she must have dropped it before jumping off the bridge, and it read, "Mister Gerome if you are reading this... you tried to lie to me, and I knew you would never help me talk to my dead parents,

so I decided to meet them, thanks for nothing."

And now Gerome has been standing here for a while, and the body of the girl is long gone downriver into the town, and it being a small town, they will know exactly where she came from this bridge.

Him being the smart and pragmatic man that he knows that he could not use the roads to leave town many killers have tried to use this river to dump bodies in the past and it's standard practice to close down all roadways after a body is found in the river.

He also couldn't just go through the woods after all hunters would be the first to know about the corps and would be on the lookout for people trying to go through the woods.

So he had only one option drive his car into the river, hope he lives, and plead insanity if they rescued him on time.

They did attempt a solid attempt, that was probably only so they could throw me into a jail cell for "killing" that girl.

Whelp this is quite a place, no light and seemingly endless in expanse, well except me I seem to take up almost the same amount of space as an aspirin tablet and have a bit of a glow to my ethereal body.

Having nothing better to do, I begin trying to use my power. Maybe in my next life, I will help rather than being the final push someone needs to end it all.

I can't seem to remember how to use my power, and I find myself not able to think about specific details or my other memories disappear faster.

The next time I open my eyes, I am in a far smaller fleshy colored space that I as an Intelectual (good joke right there) know is most likely my mothers. I am not going to finish that.

It has been over eight months. I lost count, and from my body growing, it seems to be in the third trimester, and I have been at this size for a while.

After waiting another month (pregnancy can last up to ten months), I woke up and realized I was being born and I could begin my mission of world conquest (joke not happening. yet)

As many would tell you, being born is a miracle, and I would agree until you take my personal experience of being born and fully aware the whole time after being pulled out of my mother.

I obviously could not see anything and only knew that I was out due to the temperature going from ridiculously hot to a gut-punch of cold air (it is not that cold, but you know).

After being wrapped in a warm blanket and put into the arms of smoothing soft, I assume this is my mother, and I feel something probing at my mouth. I instinctively bite down, doing little to no damage considering the lack of teeth.

That seems to have humored my mother tremendously as I could hear the faint giggle of a young woman, how young is my mother? Oh god, please tell me I haven't been born into some horrible basement family.

After three weeks of the same thing, my eyes have finally started to adapt past the horrid quality of ruff shapes and no color now I have slightly smoother shapes and very basic white and like three other colors.

My ability to understand This total abomination of a language is increasing steadily, including being able to understand some important ritual is to be performed called a Status awakening.

Sounding very important but not matching up with any standard religious practices or practices from my memory.

It's supposed to happen when I can walk, making me want to put the seventeen years of knowledge on how to walk into practice, but alas woe is me my legs are weak. (being a baby and all)

After a grueling eight months of leg training, I can stand and walk for short distances, and I am waiting for one of my parents to come back into the room to demonstrate my expertise in the ancient skill known as walking slightly crooked.

It only took a minute or two for the ever-growing familiar sound of mom's feet walking down the hall from the main bedroom, so I start walking around, trying to make myself seem new to this rodeo.