Simon

My name doesn’t matter, does it? I mean, I’m not that person anymore. I was born in Tokyo, I had two parents who loved me, and I was entirely average. I had average grades, I was average in PE, I wasn’t popular, but I had friends. In everything I did, I was average. The only thing that I could remember standing out from my previous life was the smile on my parents’ faces in this one picture we had. It was from when I was really young. I stood between the two, holding each of their hands. We were walking somewhere on a vacation and we were all really happy. I always saw that picture when I went downstairs from my room. I never felt all too happy for most of my first life, but whenever I saw that picture, I knew that my parents loved me, so I would be fine.

My only other memory from my previous life was the faces of my parents when I was laying on the street in front of my house. I was hit by a truck. I couldn’t feel my body. The only thing I felt was the heat of the blood that was pooling around my head. As I was losing consciousness, I could see my mom crying and standing above me, while my dad was trying to talk to me, trying to keep me awake. I couldn’t remember if I had been leaving for school that day or if I was going somewhere else, but I could remember how cold I felt as I died. I lived to the age of 16, but it was a happy life. I didn’t stand out and I didn’t mind that fact. As long as I was happy, my parents were happy, and my friends were happy, then I lived a happy life.

When I woke up, I wasn’t greeted by some breathtaking sight. There was no all-powerful goddess, no loving family holding their newborn baby, and no grand adventure set out before me. I was in a large house, standing before the dead bodies of two unknown adults. I could feel memories rushing into my mind. I could remember my new parents, Count William Westwind and Lady Erica Westwind. I was Simon Westwind, 16-year-old heir to the Westwind family name. He- I had my father’s eyes and my mother’s hair. I had fair skin and golden hair, like some fairytale prince, but the magic stopped there. My eyes were a muddy brown, my hair was messy, and I wasn’t wearing anything fancy enough to be a prince. My clothes were a loose-fitting white buttoned shirt and black trousers. At one point, I think I had fancier clothes, but I could remember selling those clothes. I could remember the day’s events: I had been visiting my father to talk about our family’s debts. I went into the room, only to find my parents collapsed, dying. I tried to call out to them, only to feel my lungs fill with the air in the room. I could feel my breathing become strained, feel my lungs grow heavy, and I fell to one knee.

Then, I suddenly felt my body surge in strength. That was the minute I could feel my memories of my two lives overlap. I was both the student from Tokyo and the heir of a family. My lungs no longer felt heavy, my breathing returned to normal, and I stood up. I had one loving family that was in a different world and another loving family that just died in front of me. I had nothing left. I couldn’t take my father’s position. I didn’t know how to be a count. The family was also in financial troubles, so there was no one else to run things for me. I was all alone. I stood there in silence, letting the weight of my situation wash over me. I had no family left. My mom and dad were in another world, my mother and father were dead, I had no siblings in either life, I had friends in another world, but not the one I was in, and there was no one here to help me.

I ran to my father’s office. He always told me that there was a safe with money in it in case of an emergency. The code to the safe was my birthday: 12-31-08. Somehow my birthday was the same in both worlds, but I had no time to consider that fact. I opened the door and grabbed a bag filled with gold coins. I didn’t know what I would do, but I knew that I needed to go somewhere. I didn’t know what killed my parents, nor why I survived, but I wouldn’t be able to survive on my own in this big, empty house.

Oh. That was right. I was alone. I had this money, but there wasn’t anyone that could help me. I didn’t have any aunts or uncles, no family connections who would help me out. I was an orphan. Alone in a world I barely knew, in a house that was simultaneously familiar and foreign, with no purpose in life. I was a void. Say I brought this money somewhere and was able to restore my family’s house to its proper financial status, would that make me happy? Say I found a new family to take me in. If they adopted me, would that make me happy? Say I found out what killed my parents. If I got revenge, would that make me happy? Say I went on a grand adventure to find some deep, meaningful purpose in life. If I saved the world, would that make me happy? When was the last time I felt happy?

I remembered going down the stairs, turning the corner, and seeing a framed picture. My mom and dad were holding my hands as we walked along the beach. We were all happy. I saw that picture every day. I could have a terrible day at school, but if I saw that picture, I knew that my family loved me, and I would be happy. I didn’t have anyone left in this world, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have a family. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to go back to my old world, maybe I could. Maybe I would find a new family here, maybe I wouldn’t. My happiness never came from me. If the people around me were happy, I would be able to find my happiness through them.

I heard a knocking on the front door of my house. I turned to face the direction of the sound. There shouldn’t be anyone here. My parents had let go of all the housekeepers when they weren’t able to pay them anymore. Was it the person who killed my parents? I grabbed a heavy book off of a shelf close to me and slowly crept toward the front door. The house I lived in was very nice, but it had been slowly accumulating dust without anyone to clean it. The building had two floors, each with a number of rooms on them. The bottom floor had a kitchen, dining room, a bath, and four empty rooms. They had previously been rooms for the housekeepers to live in, but when the staff left, my father sold all of the furniture in those rooms. The top floor had my room, my father’s office, my parent’s bedroom, and three other empty rooms. There was a library at one point, but like the other two rooms, everything was sold to pay the staff for as long as my father could. The only other place with furniture was the living room by the front door. There were two couches, a table, and a chair, but even those were going to be sold. My father only kept them for this long because of the memories we had as a family there.

I reached the front door and opened it, book in hand, ready to defend myself from anyone who might have killed my parents. Standing in front of me was a girl who was probably my age. She was wearing what could only be described as rags. She had matted and muddy white hair, piercing golden eyes, deathly pale skin, and wings that could have maybe been called pretty at one point, but were now covered in black spots, feathers that were falling out, and covered in the same mud as her hair. She saw me, bowed deeply and said, “Please let me work for your family.” However, before I could respond, she passed out.