This is my first story ever, I started this party to practice English and party because I love fanfic and wanted to ty it out. I never done this before so please leave a comment below. I will try to add new chapters weekly or as fast as my time allows.
This is a work of fiction, I own none of it. All claim belongs to J. K. Rowling
The one thing that I can recall with the sharpest of details from my two lives is this moment of tragedy, warmth, darkness the crushing pressure and the agony of choking. My dizzy mind barely recognize it, but in the edge of conscious self I realized the severity of this treat, the imminence of mortal danger, the urgency of action. Yet I could barely move, like I was in one of my many nightmares, unable to muster the strength of my arms, the dexterity of my fingers, wrapped in a damp, hot blanket that constricted me more and more every second. I can honestly say that I was terrified. Yet I fought on for an indeterminable eternity, lamely and weakly trashing and heaving, struggling for the barest of movement while my meager strength deserted me. Still, I fought on with the primal desire to live, yet I felt it wasn't enough, the choke hold was too tight, and I was too weak. Standing on the precipice of darkness, a hair's breath away from giving up, and let myself relax, confining myself to my fate, I cried out, No. One last tug of everything I have, I reached out within myself and grabbed every bit of strength I could find and yanked. A last hopeless charge. At that moment the unfathomable happened, the vice grip loosened without any forewarning, enough to slip out of it. I was free.
My presence of self saved me. If I did not known what's the problem, as much as I could in that state, to what to do with the something, that wrapped around my neck as an angry snake I would have been totally, irrevocably screwed. Still, the situation was far from safety of any form, wrapped in a wet blanket under tremendous pressure, probably stuck under something heavy. While the confines around me was in a constant move, never stopping, never settling in its rhythmic quakes. I the middle of it there was I, exhausted, frail, terrified and all in all half unconscious, unable to turn on my fate the second time I waited, for the sifting to stop and the pressure to lessen, hoping in the recesses of my mind for the help to arrive. In this uncertainty I realized three things, the pressure is raising, slowly but unopposed, I was out of breath unable to take any in my dire situation, and lastly the faint and muffed sound of shouting, with a low but fast rumbling reminiscent of engines. While the uncomfortable feeling in my lungs grown to agonizing, urging me uselessly with punishment to take the breath which I incapable to give. Thrashing pointlessly in my confines I waited. Incapable to do otherwise, meanwhile the rumbles and shouts of my rescuers grown ever so slightly. Driven half mad by the need for air and the slowly ever so squeezing prison I was gripped by fear and doubt, what if they didn't get to me in time. Only finding a still warm yet unchangeably dead body just a few moments too late. It was not meant to be. I was grabbed by strong hands, lifted into the light of the outside world and I cried out with anguish, pain, anxiety and relief. I was held up while I sobbed and wailed as a newborn, literally. This was the moment I born.
Only later did I discovered that only just a few scarce moment later of this lives beginning another ended. Traded on the sake of some cosmic balance or as two separate event only linked by loose causality, I can't tell. My mother, Susan Fatell was brought in the hospital with severe bruising, multiple cuts, and internal bleeding after she was discovered in a public park. After the police checked her ID not much was revealed, she only had a birth certificate and a documented state marriage to a guy named Peter Taylor, which was made not long ago. She fought for hours with her injuries to delivery, and exhausted in one of her last acts she named her son. After an exhausting search the police found no living relative, no previous places of work or even schooling, like she born then until her marriage she did not existed, similar thing where found with the husband no place of previous work or higher education he was put in the missing person list after police failed to locate him. This is how on the twenty-second night of September 1977 William P. Taylor became an orphan.
After my birth the few first months are scarce in memory, I blame it on the defense mechanism of my mind to block this traumatic episode of my early life. A grown up mind didn't belong into a newborns body, the few fragmented memory which I can recall speak about the helpless state of immobility, boredom and uncertainty. Were you can't see, hear of feel that well, and you can't even prevents any of your natural processes to soil you from neck to toe, sometimes literally. The only positive tidbits that I can recall are the gentle rocking of my crib with the calming, sweet voice quietly singing a lullaby. I don't have to say it is merciful bliss that this episode is blocked from me to relive.
After some time I started to regain my control over my body. Slowly, first only the hands legs and head and from there with haste of a particularly slow snail the rest. This time my sight and hearing became advanced enough for more than rough sounds and blurry images of moving or stationary blobs. I finally realized I was in a room with few other cribs, probably in an orphanage nursery. My daily routine consisted mainly of sleeping eating and making dirty diapers for my dear caretakers. During this time I pondered of the metaphysical ramifications of my being here, namely the fact that I most certainly died, as adult, in the future. The memories that I retained from my earlier life where a mixed bunch, names faces Mayor events where a bure or not even that, yet trivial things in life such as the color of my college mug, or my favorite series' are clear like if I seen them yesterday. I wasn't religious in my last life, the closest that I associated was the teachings of Buddha. So with the belief of knowledge shielding from the madness of my situation, I tackled what exactly happened with me. First of all there was no between the two lives, only nothing less like a deep dreamless sleep, no tunnel, no light no, dark, fanfare of heaven or the screams of the damned, only an instant or endless nonexistence with the vague maybe only imagined sense of falling. Secondly it really happened, the smile fact that I can think and have knowledge of the world that I did not attained in this life proves it. The names, functions and meanings of things, the understanding of causality prevents this from previously unseen things if my earlier life was just an elaborate fantasy. With tis I concluded, I lived, died, and now live again.
Thus nothing else to occupied me I started my road to be able to start an actual road. First rolling onto my stomach then crawling on it, to craving on my hands and legs, like a speeded up evolution of those first amphibians who dared dreaming of the dry land. Reaching this Milestone my daily activity was extended with the first socialization with my peers in the form of amateur toddler wrestling on the soft floor of our room under the watchful gaze of our guardians. It was a surreal and tiring experience interacting with toddlers as an adult in a toddler, mostly because the usual ways of doing it where not possible while I was observed and had to half pretend half really act like a drunk with an oversized head, cause I don't want to raise suspicion to me as some Satan baby.
This is how I sent almost my first year until in a humid august afternoon, after innumerable failures I the last few weeks I achieved what taken my ancestors millions of years, with my first wobbly steps while clinging to my crib for support. The victory at that day over the cruel oppression of gravity will inspire generations to come. My caretakers where very proud of me that day, and not going to lie it was pretty good to be praised by the only persons that I could relate and somewhat interact the last eleven months. It was a strange thing, intellectually knowing that these people are virtual strangers to me on the account of poor communication, yet I still felt immerse connection trust and care and maybe even love towards them in a halfway conscious way. The moment when trey lift me up, play with and care for me, fills me with pure joy. If I have to name why, I would say because of my physical brain is of a toddlers with its emotional needs and hormonal reactions, and despite of my two decade of knowledge and wisdom, in the end of the day I still was a child. A bilingual baby with a degree in history, with a define answer to lives greatest question. After achieving the defining feature of most hominids, my developments was breakneck pace, within a year I could run and jump quiet proficiently, and my pretend of learned speech was coherent if a bit hesitant at times, with the unimaginative first word of want. I even coerced Amy, or Miss Amelia Huntington, one of my favorite caretakers to teach me the letters and number, with the most difficult part being is to not give too much too fast and arose more suspicion. A two and half year old learning all within a month of that is highly prodigious, within an afternoon is unnatural. This is how my new chance to life was filled, walking around and more likely running and climbing around, learning to pretend how to learn and behave in a non-demon child way, and the bane of my existence, interacting of my peers in the form of paying which I would summarize as conversing with half-drunk monkeys with barely understandable speech, short attention span, quiet unique sense of logic and huge attitude. All in all huge fun.
Thus happened in one of the latter half of my exhaustive day when number twenty-four of the glue eaters, or Georgy to others, zeroed on me for some play and I desperately wished I was invisible, just then I felt something long dormant stir, awake and ignite with a warm, slightly burning sensation within the core of my being. Dazed by this it taken a moment for me to realize this feeling flowed into my arm, and casting a glance to its direction what welcomed me rather than my natural but slightly pale hue, was my left arm, from the elbow down, in the color of deep blue identical to the table which I supported myself after this event. To which my only reactions was a simple "what the fuck..,,