"…So… there's no way for me to return home…" Zac's voice trailed off, his eyes landing on his hands—soft, uncalloused hands of a person who never had to work or survive in the wild.
"It could've happened to anyone else," he muttered, disgust dripping from his voice. "But why me? All I ever wanted was to be good enough to stand beside her as an equal. After that, I would've retired, lived a normal life, started a family, and bought a house. But instead, I'm here."
His hands curled into a fist, the nails digging into his palms, as he bit his lip. A moment later, he breathed deeply and released, easing tension from his hands.
"Am I supposed to live in this body now?" he whispered. "Was it that woman who brought me here? No… she seemed as surprised as I was when I bled. She didn't know."
His mind was a maelstrom, his thoughts racing as he tried to put together the fragments of his situation. "I guess my only goal now is to find out why and how I ended up in this world."
Zac's eyes strayed to the dresser mirror. The reflection didn't hold any clarity. His features were vague as if in a mist. He could only make out the impression of someone who was not quite careless but did not have any real drive either person who kept things tidy but with little effort.
He looked around the room again and moved towards the closet. It held just a few clothes. His eyes swept back to what he had on: a long T-shirt that fit loosely over most of his body and a loose pair of pants with small holes all over.
Gingerly, he caught the T-shirt up under his nose to sniff- no worse than he was expecting it to be, anyway. For all intents and purposes, it smelled mostly fresh, at least.
"Looks like everything here is well taken care of," he mused. "But the lack of clothes. Maybe the family isn't doing so well financially. Then again, clothes alone don't tell the full story."
He closed the closet and went back to the bed to sit down on the mattress. His mind was racing round and round, trying to make sense of this world; the memories given to him were knowledge of his name and who his supposedly family was.
"Can I at least read? the writing in this world?" He said, speaking out loud.
The thought brought a frown, and he started peering around the room for something to read. After searching the room without results, he knelt beside the bed and looked underneath, seeing one letter hidden there.
The paper was worn, and the text scrawled across it was an unknown script, unlike any he had seen. He stared at it, furrowing his brow in an attempt at concentration. All of a sudden, memory surged through his mind, like a flood, and those characters that were once completely undecipherable slowly shifted.
What had been foreign was now native. The tongue was a hybrid of sorts, almost an amalgamation between Korean and Arabic. It was easily read now; the process of writing remained obscure still to him.
"It is more understandable now," he whispered as he studied the letter. "But it is not understood well enough for me to be able to write."
He set the letter down, his mind whirling with questions and half-answered answers.
Zac looked down at the letter in his hands. It seemed like a simple good luck charm- or at least, that's how it seemed to him.
"Is Vonnegut having streams of bad luck?" he wondered, his thoughts churning. He turned the paper over, studying its worn, wrinkled surface. The creases suggested it had been held and folded countless times, perhaps for years.
"I don't know the traditions of this world," he muttered, "so I'd better just put it back."
He rose from the bed and carefully returned the charm to its original place under the frame. The act somehow felt respectful, like fiddling with it anymore would break something indiscernible.
Presently, boredom started setting in. To some, going to another world might sound like a dream come true, what one wished for to get out of mundane problems and ugly people. For Zac, though, the novelty had already worn off.
"Boredom," he muttered, shaking his head. "It's one thing to escape your old life, but this… acting recklessly here could lead to consequences I'm not ready to face."
His thoughts wandered before settling on an idea. "I wonder how strong this kid is," he mused, glancing down at his arms.
With a shrug, he dropped to the floor and attempted a push-up. One. Two. Three. His arms shook by the fourth attempt, and he fell onto the ground with a groan.
"This body's out of shape," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. But instead of giving up, he set his jaw with determination. If this was the body he was stuck with, he'd make the most of it.
For several hours, Zac had been pushing himself, cycling through exercises to test his limits. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored the discomfort, forcing his body to move. It wasn't until he noticed the first rays of sunlight creeping through the window that it was already morning.
A slight frown crept across Zac's face, deepening into a grimace.
_This body is far too weak for me to even try and learn anything. It's going to take forever for it to catch up to where I was…_
A sigh escaped his lips as he stretched his tired arms. A sudden, sharp jolt of pain shot through his muscles, but he brushed it off, he would not be held back by mere discomfort. He moved to the door, placing a hand on the doorknob.
The moment his fingers contacted to the door knob, a sea of memories flooded his mind; he could envision the setup of the house -a wooden cabian, while the outside was made from brick- as though he had walked through it a hundred times. All corners, all details, all that were hidden- even what his mother had thought well out of sight in herbal stores knew.
Impulsive, too? he mused, rolling his eyes. The thought continued to echo in his mind as he twisted the knob and stepped into the hallway.
He strode toward the bathroom but stopped as memories began to flow. Vonnegut was never an early-morning person. He typically started his day quite a bit later. At first, Zac thought little of this; then he took a second to think and headed back into the room.
"Better not disrupt the loop just yet," he muttered. For all he knew, his parents were unknown variables, and this routine was better followed till he had a proper idea of what was at play.
Time ticked by as Zac busied himself in his room, arranging things and getting used to the space. By the time he was done, he could close his eyes and picture everything perfectly. He even felt confident enough to pull off flashy moves without risking a stubbed toe.
Eventually, he made his way out again, this time toward the bathroom. As he reached it, the door opened, and a big olive-skinned man came out with a towel hung around his neck, below was another towel covering his lower regions. Even though Zac did not get a good look at him, there was little doubt from the weathered features and the imposing frame.
the man had midnight long black hair the flowed down his neck, his facial features were soft yet rugged, his good eye was a light green, his left eye had a black eyepatch on it.
That would be Quinn—Vonnegut's father, Zac thought. As if on cue, more memories filtered in, filling in the blanks about Quinn and Maya, their habits, and their surface-level personalities.
"Glad to see you up!" Quinn greeted warmly, a wide smile plastered on his face. The friendly slap on his back carried enough force to make him stumble slightly.
Zac snapped up, his body acting as if it were on autopilot. "Would've stayed longer in dreamland, but there are some things I need to do."
Quinn laughed heartily and nodded in approval. Zac couldn't help but feel relieved that he had conducted the interchange well, and for now, at least, it seemed like he was blending in.