[ WP ] You wake up on exact date of your 5th birth date in your 5 year old body , with your current memory .

Consciousness filtered in slowly as I flopped over in bed, hoping to drift back off. My alarm had n't gone off yet - and I was going to get whatever moments more sleep I could! 
 
 Unfortunately, the bed was smaller than it should have been. Instead of flopping onto my favourite ( extra floofy ) pillow, I flopped halfway off the bed. The sudden drop and subsequent throwing out of my arms to stop myself from tumbling out ruined any possibility of going back to sleep. 
 
 Confused and groggy, I hauled myself back up onto the single, 101 dalmatians print bed. I could n't have fallen out of bed. My bed is surrounded on all sides by walls, shelving and a desk. There's only a less than a metre gap at the bottom to get out of. 
 
 Finally, what I was seeing filtered in. Those little people toys - what were they called? - Oh yes, playmobile littered the floor. White shelves and toys. A window with light filtering - very different to my own bolted shutters. 
 
 What the absolute fuck. My brain stuttered and started, trying to process what was happening. My hands flew to my face - small, slightly pudgy with puppy fat. Then my hands pulled back - tiny, childish things. 
 
 Panic filled me. I slapped myself. 
 
 It was a dream, clearly. My dreams have always been realistic - but usually not my own history. I carefully eased out of bed. What would n't have even been considered a drop twenty years from now suddenly seemed like quite a height to lower myself. I opened my bedroom door, peaking out. My childhood home. My bedroom was still cream. So I was... before seven, at least. 
 
 A noise startled me and I turned - only to see my beloved childhood dog Susan wagging both her tail and bottom furiously. I did n't even have to kneel over to pet her, she seemed so big! Even so, I ended up sitting there with her, hugging her, telling her how much I loved her. What a good dog she was. 
 
 As I sat there, partially clinging to Susan, I took stock. The more I woke up, the less this seemed like a dream. It was still early, maybe about 7am. No one would be awake for hours... I think. I do n't remember much from this period of my life. Maybe waking up at 1pm was n't normal for mum at this point. 
 
 Locating what appeared to be my school bag, I found the date. 1997. Fuck, 1997. Was this real? Did it matter? My brain whirled. I did n't know if it was real or not, but ultimately... on the chance it was? 
 
 I walked up to the kitchen - God I was so short! Stairs seemed so much bigger. I had to use a chair to reach the counters. My memory of this time was so hazy. I do n't know if it had happened yet, but I did n't care. I could at least stop what would happen to mum. They'd hate me, but it would be better in the long run. Everything would be better for them. 
 
 I took a knife, the biggest, sharpest one I could find. I found the packing tape and secured it to my hand and arm as well as I could - little hands mean weak hands. I refused to be stopped midway. Briefly, sadly, I realised my little brothers would never exist. I loved those two. They're hilarious little fuckers. I'm so proud of them. 
 
 But it's better this way. 
 
 Down the stairs from the kitchen, and up the opposite stairs to the bedroom. I hid the knife behind me - creeping as quietly as I could. Mum and dad were asleep. God, mum looked so young. So many lines and etches simply non-existent on her face. She looked so happy. I wondered what she looked like awake - that night had changed her. I do n't know this woman. I would have liked to, I think. 
 
 I was hesitating. I'd get caught before I did what had to be done if I kept at it. Going around the right side of the bed, I looked down at my sleeping father. The man who destroyed everything. Who hurt mum. Who fucked me up for years. Who traumatised me so badly that twenty years later I'm still recovering repressed memories. The reason I do n't remember anything about most of my childhood. 
 
 Again, I hesitate. My poor older brother. My poor mum. They wo n't understand. They wo n't know. They still do n't entirely know, even in the future. I mourn my little brothers that I love so much. 
 
 I thrust the knife down with all my strength into his eye socket - the easiest, most lethal place for me to penetrate with my tiny arms. Dad wakes up, screaming, trying to push me off. Mum wakes up with a start, clearly confused and startled. I use my other arm to shove the knife-taped one deeper. I feel something give way. A squishing noise. Dad's face still looks like he's screaming, but sound stopped coming out. The arms scratching and pushing and clawing at my tiny body fall limp. My mother's screams echo in my ears. 
 
 With all the strength in my little self, I pull the knife from the socket and sprint. Back down the stairs, back up the opposite stairs, through the kitchen - blood dripping from my equipped arm the whole way. I slam my way out the backdoor, running as fast as my legs will carry me. Out into the garden, up the hill, around the bed, into the shrubbery surrounding out home. I still remember where my tree is - the tallest one where I found a crows nest at the top. The one that years from now - and years ago - gave me a fear of heights after I fell from it, the only thing saving my life was being lucky enough to hit branches on the way down that slowed my fall yet did n't hit anywhere that would injure me permanently. 
 
 I do n't even bother removing the knife, I just scramble my way up the tree. I can hear my mum screaming my name now. And just screaming in general. I find it difficult to grab the branches with my taped, bloodsoaked hand - but I reach the top quicker than I thought possible. 
 
 I take a moment, remembering how I used to feel on top of the world up here. Looking down at my home town at the bottom of the hill, feeling the wind cut through me, the bark biting my bare feet, seeing the beautiful pink and orange morning sky light up the sea in the distance below me. 
 
 And I jump.
