Chapter 3: CHAPTER 01

CHAPTER 01

*Chirp chirp*

He couldn't help but roll on his bed as he heard the all too familiar sound of the morning critters. Blasted things they were.

*Chirp chirp*

The orchestra of chirps continued in a mix of mismatched notes of symphonies as if comparing their vocal might. With the unrelenting chirps, he rolled over trying to find a position to muffle the cries of his feathery assailants and as he did he breathed out in contentment. Damn he felt good!

Solving an existential crisis does that to you apparently.

Finally, after a few minutes later that felt like forever, he groaned a sound of defeat to his invaders and got up from his bed. After stretching his old bones and getting the satisfying crack sound due to his flexing he turned to his peace dictators at his window and couldn't help but groaned in frustration as he saw only two feathered beast. Just two, and yet they almost drove him mad in his state of bliss.

Flipping them off he made his way to his kitchen, the little tight compartment that housed both his food and the not-his rodents. He beelined towards his black and mugged it to the brim.

Blackgold always did wonders in the morn and taking how good and light he felt this morning, it was like a tripple shot with honey and extra cream with soy. Damn he still felt good!

He still didn't know what to do but given how he felt this morning he wasn't willing to put the bleakers on his mood. Maybe when he got off his morning high… yeah sounds like a plan.

Taking a sip from his 'I *broken-heart* NY' mug and depositing his behind on a couch, one of the only two in his Mi Casa, he picked up the remote control to his TV, he turned it on and the only thing heard after moments were the noise from the appliance and the momentary clicks on the remote.

After tuning in and out of channels and finding nothing watch-worthy to compliment his brew, he hit the number for the news channel and filtered its sound from his ears as he immersed himself in a state of nothing, with a mug in hand he let himself drift into nothing. No thoughts, just a blank state of mind with the occasional sip.

After wandering around nothing for a while, his mind was brought back to focus after a news reporter said something that had him mulling for a while before it clicked.

"… With the council pushing for the mutant suppression act and the recent act of terrorism by the mutant group known as The Brotherhood led by its leader Magneto in Washington, the state has seen a lot of riots and violence from both mutants and humans in the past week. Early this morning, there were talks in the White House about the.. "

"Mutants eh? Fucking terrorists. Always blowing shit up. Well not my probl…? "

Coming to an abrupt pause, he gave a sharp look to the TV and with his eyes still fixed on it, he hit the menu button to know if he was watching a movie from the X-Men franchise. His heart almost went to to his throat when he saw the Daily Bugle on his channel's list.

Still not getting whatever this shit was, he clicked on the Daily Bugle and the news resumed but he couldn't even be bothered to listen anymore.

His mind went haywire and he couldn't focus on a single thought, he kept damning everything that came to his mind hoping to reject whatever conclusion it presented.

On reflex he brought his good ol' mug to take a sip and hopefully drown whatever fuckery was going on here. But that's when he saw it. His hand.

They weren't wrinkled and calloused as he remembered and he could remember damn well because he used his fucking hands yesterday. And now it look liked he just went to sleep while they took the most expensive of skincare therapy. As if he just took an elixir and suddenly he looked…

Dashing towards his bedroom, he made way for his mirror and the moment he found it he paused.

Not stopped but paused. He pretty much seized all biological and chemical motions of his body.

There he stood in a daze as he took in the view of what could only be called a young man.

He looked exactly how he looked in his mid 20's. Dark hair and eyes, beards a little rough with a height of 6'1.

He just stood there for the next few minutes as beheld  his long forgotten visage, touching himself all over seemingly trying to check if his vision was true.

After another few minutes of patting down, he let out a croaked voice from his lungs as tears flowed from his eyes.

A miracle of unheard proportions it was, a life of regrets he had lived yet washed away in nary but a night. He didn't care if he would lose his youth if he went to sleep or this was a last act of his subconscious trying to help him dream once again, for it mattered not.

Just for this moment of reprieve he cried. A man's tears tells his story: his was of regret.

He cried with joy as he cursed.

Joy because if this was just a lucid dream by his subconscious, he would accept it as his reward and move on.

He cursed because if this was real then there was nothing he could do, why when he just gave up? Was whatever god or demon out there laughing at his resolve? Was his determination all but a joke to them? But none mattered for he was but a man.

Joy because if this was real and he could live once more, even if at the whims of some deity, he would. A man can only have so much regrets, he would know because his was as long as he had lived. No… As long as he had dreamed.

He cursed because what could a man be without his dreams, for he knew he didn't have the courage to dream once more. Not after he let it all go. He couldn't go back on his convictions like that. No… not after what he'd been through. He never lived like that and he couldn't.

Damn! He really was tired wasn't he?

Looking at his reflections once more he backed away to his bed and laid on it. He closed his eyes and let it just washed over him.

He couldn't think straight, not like this. So he just let whatever emotions he was feeling wash over him.

He felt myriads of emotions sweeping past him as the moments pass. Fear, helplessness, joy, sadness, resignation, hope and slew of emotions he couldn't feel.

Letting the tirade of emotions sweep him, he drifted off to sleep.

 

He didn't know how long he slept, but it felt like a long time.

With the fluttering of his eyelids, he once again welcomed the light of day. Taking a moment to reorganize himself, he was once again presented with the fact that he was youthful once more.

Twisting his neck a little and getting a view of the mirror and once again reaffirmed that yes, he somehow had regained his youth.

Gathering his strength and courage, he pushed himself off the bed and left his room and made a turn for the bath.

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Throwing his robes to the floor, he once again was presented with his body, but different from last time he only took a glance at it and lost interest or rather he didn't have any interest at it at the moment.

Turning on the cold runner, he inhaled a mouthful of air as an artic cold drizzled over his body and just like that his mind was cleared… too cleared in his opinion.

Head against the wall, he just stayed there and let the cold water wash every part of his body.

After a thorough wash, he turned off the cold and tweaked the heat for the last wash.

With his body temperature alternating between the heat and cold, he left the bath, picked his robes and went to his room.

Opening his wardrobe, he paused as he looked at the set of clothes that was clearly his size and in fashion not the big ass trousers he wore when he started getting on in years.

Somehow looking at his new set of clothes he was disinclined to wear them but well, he couldn't go out with old-ass clothes. He at least knew that much.

So picking a pair of jeans, a tee and a coat he closed his wardrobe and went to his living room. Setting the coat aside he sat on his couch and looked at the still playing TV. The news was out and all he saw was operas and ads.

He clicked on the remote and changed the channels a few times. He checked on other news outlet and movie station before he put the remote down and reclined on his couch.

The fact that the news outlets didn't provoke a response out of him was overshadowed by the fact that he was in the past.

2001.

August 15th, 2001 to be precise.

He let out a dry chuckle when he found out he was back in '01. Another twist of fate? He honestly couldn't care less.

Switching the TV off, he wore his coat and took his keys and his cell, what ever brand this shit was, and walked to the door.

Putting his hands on the knob he came to a stop, sweat drenched hisback as he held the knob with trembling fingers. All it took was a twist and he'd be done but he couldn't, he just stood rooted to the floor.

A part of his mind told him that the other side of the door was just a void, just nothing, regardless of if he could see it from his windows. It suggested just going back to the couch and enjoy what he could from what could very well be his last dream. Since he was putting down his bow he should just enjoy his last aim because if he walked past that door he would wake up living all his dreams behind. 

To be honest, that was what he wanted to do. He'd been moving on reflex since he woke up trying his last attempt to denounce whatever this was. But still, one part of him was nonchalant – if it was it was. 

That part of him was the part that just wanted to pull the bandaid off – it'll only hurt for a moment if at all. 

And just this morning he thought he solved an existential crisis. 

He had the feeling that if he stayed he could dream for a while… just a while. But if he left? He truly didn't know. 

To stay to dream or to dream to not? 

At that thought, he body jerked forward ad he twisted the doorknob slowly rhyming with his beating heart. 

Pulling the door in, his breath hitched as he closed his eyes and took a step outside. 

Thump. 

Thump. 

His heartbeat continued rising as he panicked. 

'Did I make the wrong choice?' he couldn't help but think. 

'Was I supposed to not make any?' he questioned himself as he took in the silence of his surroundings. 

Silence. Nothing but silence. 

Thump! Thump! Thump!

He could feel his erratic beating heart along with the incoming panic attack. 

With every moment feeling like he was being tossed into the cold waters of Antarctica, he steeled his heart. 

If this was his hell, and he couldn't escape it, the least he could do was accept it no? 

With that he shot open his eyes and he blanked. 

Whether it was darkness or light that he saw he didn't know, all he did was blanked as he held his breath. 

5 seconds.. 10 seconds.. A minute. He couldn't tell how long passed but the moment he pulled himself and let out his held breath he heard it. 

The sounds of footsteps, clicking of boots, the loud exhaust pipes of trucks and the noise of passers-by. Slowly his vision cleared as he saw before him a neighborhood of people walking, working, talking and going about their day. 

He could then smell it: the horrid smell of the trash cans across the road, the choking smell from the exhausts of badly maintained cars, the faint yet sweet aroma of freshly baked bread from a bakery around here somewhere, the faint scent of perfume and the librating smell of nature. 

As he stood rooted there taking everything in, he took in large breaths of air as he heaved.

Everything felt like a flash. 

From the moment he walked through the door, the steps he took to his current vision, it felt like only a moment passed. A moment where he questioned his reality. 

He questioned and he denied everything he saw, everything he felt. He both questioned and denied even his brain's processing abilities hence the panic attack and delay of impulses from his organs to his brain, blanking his existence as a person. 

An existential crisis he doubt anyone had ever felt.

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