‘I think I’m gonna go crazy…’

From his calculations, a little over 6 months had passed since his regression to infancy, and already, the young reincarnate felt like he’d reached his limits. The onism his infancy had so generously gifted him had brought him to insanity’s doorstep, and he’d just about had enough of it.

It was seriously suffocating, and the feeling was one he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. He was surprised it had even taken him this long to show signs of capitulating. After all, he felt trapped, no different from being in solitary confinement.

Not only were his movements extremely limited, but he also couldn’t understand anything going on around him. By now, he could make out some words of the agglutinative language the people around him spoke, but that was it. Nothing more.

His only companion—if he could even call it that— was his mind, and even after spending so much time together, they were far from being on friendly terms. More than once it had tried to enslave him in its twilight, and each time, he’d always barely escape its encirclement.

The thought of his friends, dog, and all the happy memories he’d experienced haunted him. They were all gone, now a relic of the past, and he was struggling to accept that. Often, he wondered what happened after he left earth.

Did his friends survive? Was Billy Reed put behind bars? Did anyone attend his burial? Did...did anyone still remember him? And Rover, his dog, what happened to him? Was he able to find a good new home?

Each question had the weight of a mountain, and they ruthlessly crushed his already battered spirit. Anakin wasn’t even sure how he’d managed to survive their bombardment. Perhaps they weren’t as heavy as he thought?

It was a possibility, but he didn’t know, nor did he care. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Anakin Ross was gone forever, and the only remnants of his existence laid within his memories. That was the only thing he was certain of.

He’d tried to convince himself that he was no longer Anakin, but that hadn’t been going well. It was impossible. If he wasn’t Anakin, then who was he? The strange people of this world called him ‘Arlo’. Is that who he was now?

He’d asked himself several times, and by now, the answer to those questions seemed uncertain.

Arlo. The name sounded nice, and he wondered if it was spelt the way he was envisioning it. Though, he was reluctant to take it up. His name, Anakin, was one of the only things anchoring his spirit. If anything, he was sure that it was a name that truly belonged to him, not some illusion or lie he was forced to believe.

Additionally, it was one of the only things his deceased parents had given him, so it was a memento to their existence. He oftentimes wondered why they had given it to him. ‘Warrior’, the meaning of the name, encapsulated his personality perfectly, so could they have been psychics of some sort?

He was more convinced that it was a coincidence. It had to be —that was the only reasonable explanation. Either that, or they were simply Star Wars fanatics. He wished they lived long enough for him to ask.

They had passed away in a car accident when he was merely three, so he didn’t remember much about them. Though, he’d seen pictures of them, and from what he saw, they looked…pretty average, if he were to be brutally honest. Simply incomparable to his supposed new parents, whose appearances were like eye candy.

Aside from that, he knew next to nothing about them. His aunt hadn’t spoken a word about either of them, and thankfully so. The woman was a psychopath, and Anakin would be beyond disgusted if he heard about them from her. He had no doubt she’d twist their stories to fit her ludicrous worldview.

A wretch, the woman was —one who belonged in the deepest pits of hell. If there was anything positive about his death, it was that he would no longer hear anything about her. The malevolent side of him hoped she continued to rot in her dirty little prison cell. Such an end was only fitting for a nut job like her.

The prospect of never hearing about the woman again was one of the few things sustaining him. Though small in number, they had prevented him from succumbing to madness. Any extra help was needed, as his onism had obtained a co-conspirator in the form of monotony.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure which was worse—the onism, or the mind-numbing monotony of the past few months of his life. The latter was a perpetual loop, one which seemed to be in cahoots with the former.

Eat, bathe, sleep, shit, get diapers changed, more sleep. It was a strict routine in that very order. It had become exasperating, and Anakin couldn’t wait for it to come to an end. It all felt like a chore, the sleeping most especially…

He was almost always sleeping. In fact, Anakin would be surprised if he’d stayed up longer than 3 hours on any given day. He always felt tired, sometimes immediately after he woke up. At some point he tried to cease thinking altogether in a bid to conserve some energy, however it had no effect.

He still slept like a drunkard.

The outcome didn’t surprise him, however. From his knowledge, babies, on average, usually slept around 17 hours a day, so what he was experiencing was expected.

At this point, he’d gotten used to it, but that didn’t make it any less unbearable. In fact, in some ways, it made it worse, as a subconscious acceptance of the monotonous routine left him at the mercy of his mind and well…that wasn’t exactly a better outcome.

Fortunately, though, there was a silver lining — his supposed new parents, particularly his mother. By now, Anakin was convinced she was some immortal goddess untainted by the dregs of mortality. Everything about her was simply extraordinary.

To the young reincarnate, it seemed that the woman’s life’s goal was to shower him with love, as there wasn’t a single day that she didn’t cuddle, sing to, or play with him. He saw her constantly, even with his recent relocation to a separate room.

Furthermore, she did everything for him. Whether it was changing his soiled diapers, breastfeeding him, bathing him, or putting him to sleep, the woman had handled it all…exceptionally well if you asked him.

Initially he had found it awkward and embarrassing to suddenly have all his needs taken care of by another person, but by now, he had long become accustomed to it. In his eyes, as discomfiting as it was, there was no point squabbling about it. He couldn't even take care of himself if he tried.

The breastfeeding was what took him the longest to get accustomed to, and even now, he still felt somewhat sheepish about it. Quite literally, he was sucking on a woman’s breasts for food. It was odd, and he felt like some sort of human leech.

Nevertheless, it was bearable. Though, his taste buds were in agony. He’d had nothing but milk, and it tasted a bit bland. He couldn’t wait to grow up and eat actual food. Several times he found himself daydreaming about eating a fat juicy piece of chicken, or some grilled cod.

Christ, the thought was simply mouth-watering. He wagered that the food, whatever it was, would probably be delicious considering the household’s wealth. Surely, it had to be. Otherwise it would be a great injustice.

Back to his mother, though. In addition to showering him with affection, she often carried him around the residence, so he’d seen most of it by now, including the outside. From what he could tell, the residence was most likely a manor, as it was a huge mansion surrounded by a vast expanse of land.

The gardens immediately outside the manor were the most beautiful he’d ever seen, and that was not an exaggeration. It was a haven of peace and tranquility stuffed with a plethora of ornamentals and picture lush greenery.

The gleaming white marble fountain at its center only added to its beauty. The work of art was etched with delicate patterns and cherubs, perfectly capturing the beauty and serenity of the garden.

Occasionally, his mother had read him stories in front of the garden. They were some of the only eventful moments he had experienced in this strange new world, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t one of his favorites.

It was, quite literally, heaven.

His mother’s frequent conversations with him was the major reason he’d learned part of the language as of now. The woman spoke a lot, and her clear, euphonious voice was easy to grasp. As such, he picked up on the language rather quickly.

As of now, he roughly knew how to construct elementary sentences — such as ‘I am hungry’ or ‘I like food’—, albeit a tad incoherently. The language was pretty interesting, to say the least. Some words sounded a bit like Earthian French, while some others sounded as if it were straight out of the German alphabet.

It was a weird mix, though even with that it was still distinct.

Nevertheless, gradually, his mother’s unfading affection warmed his heart. It had taken a little while, but by now, a part of him considered her his real mother. The woman’s ethereal charisma was too enchanting, and it had caught him in a trance.

It caught him rather easily. He’d never had a real mother, so he never really understood what true motherly love felt like. Actually experiencing it felt surreal, and for some reason he felt himself getting addicted to it.

It was like an extremely potent narcotic. Except, it had no side effects.

That, alongside the prospect of performing the supernatural, were two of the main things preventing his mental health from capitulating.

As a small ‘thank you’ token for all the nice things she’d done for him, he called his mother ‘Mama’ about 3 months back. It had taken him a while to learn how to actually say it, but eventually, he got it.

The woman’s reaction was one he hadn’t expected. She literally screamed, twirled with him in the air, and ran off to find his father before jabbering god knows what to the man. The man himself seemed just as shocked at the woman, and even tried to get him to say ‘Dada’.

Anakin found it amusing, so he called the man ‘Dada’ almost immediately, and all hell broke loose. They began giggling to each other, akin to little kids when presented with a new toy, and in the end, took him to see the old woman, whom —due to her constant presence, and overtly affectionate actions— he had assumed to be his grandmother.

The old woman joined his parents in their minor festivities, as she showered Anakin with kisses and coos. Weirdly, seeing them all so happy filled Anakin with glee. Their happiness was innocent, and a part of him was glad he was the cause of it.

‘What a nice family.’ he had thought, the moment it happened. It had caused him to subconsciously form a positive view on both his parents and grandmother. Surely, they must be nice people. After all, they seemed too vivacious, and pure, which was a contrast to the dark outlook of the Victorian Era he had preconceived prior to reincarnation.

Perhaps it was because of their wealth? Anakin had wondered, but he was more inclined to believe that they were nice, respectable people. His father most especially, the man was a surprisingly remarkable parent. So far, at least.

Similar to his mother, through cuddles, and stories, the man showered Anakin with unconditional love, though his was not daily. Sometimes he would be absent for a few days before returning with even more affection.

In addition, he sometimes read stories to him with his mother. Most of the time it was before bed, though a few times it was down in the gardens outside.

His father’s actions surprised him. He had assumed that the man would be fairly distant to him. At least, for the first few years. By now, he was a hundred percent certain he had reincarnated into some alternate Victorian era timeline, and during that time, society was strictly socially conservative, so he had assumed that his father would be absorbed with work given the family’s wealth.

It seemed that the man had specifically made out time for him. Either that or he wasn’t as busy as he assumed he was, though Anakin was more inclined to believe the former given his observation of the man. He was a true gentleman in every sense.

One of the major reasons he was sure he had reincarnated into a Victorianesque alternate reality was the house’s architecture, as well as his parent’s fashion. Both embodied the ornate, and elegant style of the Victorian era. He’d seen his father wear a full three-piece suit and top hat that greatly resembled that worn by gentlemen during those times.

Not just him, nearly everyone around him —from his mother and grandmother, to the maids — wore clothing that looked right out of that era. Anakin didn’t really know how to feel about being born in said timeline, though if anything, he was thankful he was born in a wealthy seemingly-aristocratic family.

If he’d been born in some working or lower class family, he was sure he wouldn’t live past the age of 10. Disease and overexhaustion due to work were bound to fatally clobber him. At least, that was what he thought based on what he’d read about 19th century Great Britain.

If you weren’t part of the upper class or nobility, it was really an atrocious time to live in. Poverty was widespread, and children as young as 5 years old were often employed in factories, mines, and other hazardous conditions. They worked long hours for low pay and had little time for education or leisure.

It was simply a far cry from the 21st century, and Anakin knew this well.

One other thing he was certain of was that he was the eldest son. The discovery had elicited a wicked grin on the infant's face. He had really scored it big. Perhaps all his life’s luck was used to ensure he was reincarnated with arguably one of the best circumstances.

He was certain because 6 months had passed, yet he hadn’t seen or heard mention of a sibling. Surely, if he had a sibling they would have at least come to see him once. He hadn’t interacted with anyone other than adults so he had good reason to believe he was the eldest.

Although his assumption had some degree of uncertainty, it was miniscule, and that was enough for him to conclude such.

The realization had also convinced him to take advantage of the opportunity. Since he was the eldest, and he was expecting siblings, he needed to get a head start. His plan, for now, was to display his young-adult level intelligence and be deemed an intellectual genius.

He had no doubt that it would score him major favorability points from his parents, most especially his dad. It was a step towards the ultimate goal of seizing the family’s inheritance.

Thus, the young reincarnate had been actively searching for opportunities to display his intellect. He tried speaking more words, but that didn’t work. His vocal cords still seemed to be developing, so his limits, for now, were ‘Mama’, and ‘Dada’.

Another thing he’d tried was showing curiosity about…well, everything. Whenever his parents read him a book, he’d display a great amount of enthusiasm, and its effect has been fairly positive as of now. Usually, it would result in them reading him more books, and showering him with copious amounts of attention.

It wasn’t much, but it was definitely something.

He’d been thinking of stepping it up a notch, and the avenue he had decided on was through locomotion, but he hadn’t had the opportunity. His parents had yet to place him on the floor, so he couldn’t attempt to walk, much less crawl.

He hoped that they would put him on the floor soon…

‘Not again….’

Suddenly, he felt drowsy. It seemed it was time to return to dreamland. Instinctively, he tried to resist, however, it was all for naught as within seconds, his eyes began to close.

…Zzz

He had fallen asleep.