Although some people seem to believe that you are only really aware after you are born, that isn't necessarily true.
I would know.
...And then suddenly I realized exactly why humans weren't meant to remember that dark time before birth.
In my mind, the times before birth weren't exactly the the clearest memories I had of my early days. But I suppose I was never supposed to remember them in the first place.
But then again, reincarnation wasn't supposed to exist either.
One of the only memories I have of that dark time before life really began were these:
When I first gained awareness, it was dark. And warm. And soft. And wet.
And it felt safe, Like home.
The second was about midway into the pregnancy, I suppose, because I still felt so small in front of the black masses that would crouch in front of my mother's stomach. The only things I could hear in those days was the beating of my mother's heart, her voice, and the mumbled speech of these masses outside of her body.
The third and final memory was the day of my birth.
The warm, damp space was cramped. And red.
Suddenly I felt a great pressure. As if something was squeezing me through a pinhole, then moulding me back into being.
It was painful. Painful beyond words, it was the most painful thing I had ever felt.
More painful than death.
And then...
Relief.
"Waah!"
.
.
.
.
Was that me?!
Well.
That was unexpected.
That, and I wasn't aware that I had such a high pitched voice.
Oh well.
No point in dwelling on that.
Now who is person holding me?
I open my eyes.
Oh.
I certainly didn't expect that.
She had green hair.
I peeked up, with my newly developed sight, and just barely made out her face. She was pretty, in the conventional sense. Almond eyes, soft, kind-looking face, a smiling, full mouth. One that was currently grinning brightly at me.
"Massao! Massao! Come look at her!" She called out excitedly, as she turned her attention from me to the doorway. "Come look at our baby girl!" She then turned her attention back to me and whispered, "That's your father I was calling to just now, little one. He may be a bit loud, so try not to be shocked."
And that was when my father entered the room.
Loudly.
