Early morning came, and EMS had already come and gone—taking my mom to the hospital and the police taking my dad to jail. My sister and I were carted off to our grandparents' house while everything was sorted out. My sister was inconsolable, most likely feeling the stabbing guilt that would haunt her the rest of her days, and I was in a daze. Not because my father had broken a lamp against my mother's head, but because it was my second time experiencing it. I remembered what it was like the first time around—how I felt responsible, because of course I had to be. The concept of everything being my fault had long since been beaten into me. This time, I was looking at it from the lens of a thirty‑six‑year‑old man, and the story seemed very different now.
My sister had just wanted my parents to stop fighting, and her three‑year‑old brain thought interjecting herself into the conversation would help. I had felt, at the time, it was my responsibility to stop her—that I should have been the one to protect my mother. But now, seeing it up close again with a new perspective, that event was always destined to occur. It had been building for years. My other close family members played it off religiously, saying it was "godly to discipline your wife," that the bruises she often sported and the limp she carried were expressions of love from my father. All of this, of course, without mentioning that my father had (and still has) severe mental illness—ranging from the "mundane" bipolar to the ever‑so‑frightening schizophrenia. Many of my mom's perceived slights were nothing more than the visions and voices in his head, but try explaining that without "shaming" the family.
So instead, I spent my formative years believing it all. Even when the beatings extended to me, I convinced myself that this was love—that I was being molded and shaped into a better person. Shit messed me up for a really long time and wreaked havoc on my sense of what love was supposed to be. I'm not really sure how I ended up back in time like this, and to be honest, it scared the shit out of me. There were a lot of turbulent times coming up—my mother's consecutive breakdowns and subsequent abusive boyfriends, my father's stints in jail and institutions, only to come out with a vengeance against my mother as though she was responsible for his poor mental health—and many more terrifying things I'm hesitant to even put to paper. I think that's why I decided that, rather than go through all of that again, I would have to off myself. I didn't have the skills to navigate this life again, even though I had so desperately wished for it.
"Woof!"
The sound of a dog barking rocked my soul. Hard to explain how it did, but I felt it in my very being—deep in my core. I looked around for the source of the sound that seemed to come from everywhere, and a small brown dog with black spots materialized in front of me. It was just a mutt, an amalgamation of so many breeds that it was basically a breed all its own now—but I recognized this dog.
"Butterscotch!"
But it couldn't be Butterscotch. That dog had died some years ago—chopped to pieces by my father in a fit of schizophrenic rage. I had buried what was left of the best and last animal I ever cared for in a shoebox.
"Worry not, Master. I both am and am not your beloved Butterscotch," Butterscotch said while wagging his tail.
"How are you talking? You're a dog—and a dead one at that," I said, feeling more surprise than even my reincarnation had inspired.
"Fate has sent me to you to explain your purpose here and to guide you. I carry the soul of your dog Butterscotch, who so desperately wanted to see you again—but I am also… more."
"I'm very happy to see you, Butterscotch, but what does Fate want with me?" I asked, perplexed. "Fate has never been kind to me before, and dropping me off to restart some of the worst years of my life seems like a cruel joke."
"Fate wants to gift you a chance—to create positive Karma and improve your life. It seems you somehow chose every negative road Fate offered you, and since this has never happened before, she has decided to grace you with a new chance. You should be grateful," Butterscotch said stoically, scratching behind his ear.
"Okay, but super important detail—how am I supposed to explain to people that my very dead dog is suddenly back and can talk?"
"Worry not. You are the only one who can see and speak with me, and my only task is to guide you on your journey back through this life. I have many things to offer. Fate, through me, will give you quests to restore karmic balance, and there is even a shop where you can spend these Karma points for useful traits, items, or upgrades. Try checking out the shop now."
"How do I do that?" I asked.
"Simply think 'SHOP,' and a list will appear."
I did as Butterscotch said and thought the word shop. When I did, a translucent screen appeared before me. In the top right corner was an emboldened number—250—and in the middle of the screen, instead of a list, there was a search window like an old‑school search engine.
"Now," Butterscotch began, "the 250 is how many Karma points you currently have. I want you to think of something you could use. Have fun with it—there are nearly infinite things you can request, but the cost is relative to its difficulty or purpose."
Just for fun, I thought of the word immortality, and after a second of processing, the relevant purchase appeared.
Potion of Conditional Immortality
One‑Time Use
Effect: Grants the user effective immortality until such time as they no longer desire it.
Cost: 500,000,000,000,000 Karmic Points.
"DANG! That's a steep price!" I shouted. I took a look around. We were still at our grandparents' house. They were all at work, and I was left watching my little sister, who was still sleeping soundly on the couch in the other room.
"Yes, it may seem that way," Butterscotch said, "but this is only because you have not begun earning points yet. Quests will provide variable points based on difficulty and how much they right the karmic balance of the world as a whole."
"But… Butterscotch, how can I do anything right now? Just a few minutes ago, I was thinking of offing myself because of how helpless this all feels. I don't know how I can do anything to right the world. I don't know what to do." I felt myself sinking again.
Butterscotch, seeing my anxiety, placed his paw in my lap and spoke softly. "As I have said, worry not, little one. Sometimes the most effective Karma is balanced in the smallest ways, and I will help you with what is to come. I suggest you look up a particular potion in the search window—it will help you. Search for Basic Mental Resilience Potion. It should be within your price range."
I did as Butterscotch said and got an immediate hit.
Potion of Basic Mental Resilience
One‑Time Use
Effect: Grants the user a stronger mental psyche and allows better control of emotions in stressful situations.
Cost: 248 Karmic Points.
I immediately hit the buy button—practically smashed it—watching my points drop to two. For my entire life, my response to stress had been a huge weakness. I always fell apart at the slightest pressure, and if this potion could improve that even a little, I was all for it.
A small pink potion bottle materialized in the air, both there and not there at the same time—a kind of Schrödinger's potion bottle. I opened the stopper and drank. It tasted like warm honey and… psychic resilience, which, until that moment, I hadn't known was a flavor. Kind of like burnt sugar and sweat. Surprisingly, it was delicious.
Immediately, a tingling sensation spread through my brain, and I felt more at peace than I ever had in my entire life. Thoughts that had been running wild in my subconscious settled. Things that used to confuse me suddenly became clear. I started crying.
Butterscotch saw my feelings—understood them on a deeper level than even I did—and decided to just be a dog for a while as I processed something so simple yet monumental: the ability not to freak out all the time. No longer living purely in survival mode. Finally able to think clearly, at the top of Maslow's hierarchy. It felt freeing. I felt more alive at seven years old than I had in all my thirty‑six years combined.
After what would once have been hours of spiraling but was now a short moment of reflection, I collected myself. "Thank you, Butterscotch. I couldn't think of a better gift—or a better perk—than this. I promise to work hard to redirect Fate and to bring Karmic balance that allows me to keep growing."
"I expected you would say that," Butterscotch said, nodding his head. "Now, the real work begins."