Ethan Parker lived a life so ordinary that even he sometimes forgot he was living it.
Thirty-one years old, single, working a steady 9-to-5 operations job in New York City. The kind of job where spreadsheets and emails blended together until they all looked the same. His parents lived an hour away in New Jersey, retired and content. His older sister was married and happily absorbed in her own world. No serious relationships in years. No deep trauma. No big victories either. Life simply… went on.
He wasn't unhappy. He wasn't thrilled. He wasn't sad either He was just there He existed somewhere in that wide gray space called normal.
His days were predictable—morning subway, office coffee that tasted vaguely burnt, mid-day rush, evening exhaustion. Nights were spent watching TV shows he barely cared about, laughing at memes in group chats, or grabbing a beer with two college friends whose life paths were just as average as his. he had some fatefull encounters will female gender but nothing to brag about. He always thought that he could do something better with his time then to just live a life but never could gather the courage to take a risk.
He was funny already when he was with his friends & family they would laugh at his comments but when he was among people who didn't knew him he struggled to connect with them. He was not shy just maybe doesn't give best first impressions.
Life was fine.
Until it wasn't.
---
It happened on a Tuesday. He remembered that because he had just mailed a report labelled Tuesday Review, which he now found absurdly ironic.
He was crossing the street on Lexington Avenue, holding a takeaway coffee, scrolling lazily through his phone. Just another forgettable moment in another forgettable day.
Then he saw movement on the sidewalk.
A small boy—four maybe five—was bouncing a red ball while his mother argued loudly into her phone. The boy's giggles echoed in the street, innocent and careless.
And then the ball slipped from his hands.
It rolled off the curb.
The child darted after it.
Ethan saw the car before the child did—silver sedan, speeding, horn blaring far too late. His brain didn't have time to process, to think, to decide.
He just moved.
One heartbeat he was on the crosswalk, and the next he was sprinting, coffee flying, phone falling. He reached the kid, grabbed the back of his tiny jacket, shoved him toward the sidewalk—
And then—
PAIN.
A white-hot, crushing impact that stole his breath before he could even scream.
A cracking sound that didn't feel real.
Then a heavy, sinking cold.
Everything went blank.
---
At first he thought he was floating.
He couldn't feel his arms.
He couldn't feel his legs.
He couldn't feel anything.
Just pressure—soft, warm, surrounding him.
Then sound filtered in. A muffled, distorted noise like someone speaking underwater. No words. No meaning. Just tones. Rhythms. A heartbeat? His heartbeat?
Why can't I move? Why can't I open my eyes?
He tried to remember his name—Ethan Parker.
But the thought felt heavy, like he was dragging it through mud.
He tried again.
E… th… an.
The syllables slipped away like water through fingers.
His head felt too big. Or maybe too small. Everything was wrong.
He struggled, trying to lift an arm, a finger—anything—but his limbs felt like jelly. Weak, uncoordinated, useless. When he finally managed a twitch, it wasn't a controlled movement. Just a tiny spasm.
Why am I… like this?
More sounds. This time closer. Softer. High-pitched. A woman? He couldn't understand her. The words were just noise, pleasant noise, soothing somehow, but still impossible to decode.
He forced his eyes open.
Light stabbed into them like needles.
Everything was blurry—colors smearing together, shapes without edges. A warmth wrapped around him, a blanket maybe, or arms. He couldn't tell. His neck was too weak to turn. His eyelids trembled, then fell shut again.
Confusion slammed through him, overwhelming and thick.
He tried to think—to understand how he went from a busy New York street to… wherever this was. But his thoughts kept slipping away. His mind felt slow, sluggish, fogged. Like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.
He tried to breathe deeply, but even his breaths came out in tiny, shaky gasps, each one automatic and not fully under his control.
His body wasn't responding.
His brain wasn't responding.
Everything was new—raw—unfinished.
And then the realization hit him like a delayed thunderclap.
He wasn't just weak.
He was small.
Too small.
Fragile.
New.
Somewhere far above him, a soothing voice cooed gently. Hands held him with incredible care as someone adjusted the cloth around his body. Something soft brushed his cheek.
He tried to open his eyes again, fought through the blur—and saw vague outlines of a face leaning over him. Large eyes. A soft smile. A glow of warmth.
A woman.
Holding him.
Like a newborn.
His tiny limbs flailed—weakly, uncontrollably. His fingers curled without him telling them to. His legs kicked in random spasms. His head drooped helplessly, too heavy for muscles that barely existed.
No… no, this can't be…
A sudden wail echoed in the room.
He didn't even realize it came from him until the vibrations shook his tiny chest.
His cries were loud, sharp, instinctive—his newborn lungs reacting to the confusion before his conscious mind could.
The woman holding him shushed him, rocking him gently.
He wanted to ask questions—Where am I? Who are you? What happened to me?
But all that came out was another helpless cry.
His vision blurred again as exhaustion won.
Slowly, trembling, trapped in a body that wasn't his, Ethan faded into sleep—tiny, confused, overwhelmed.
A newborn awakening in a world he did not yet understand.