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

The world is a different place when you are five. Bedtime at eight, sharp. Diet dictated by your parents. Entertainment is demoted to colourful flashes of colour and high voices talking to you from behind a screen, asking you to find the red bridge that is clearly right behind her. Freedom is limited to the toys you can play with when you are finally told that, yes, you can go and play with them. 
 
 Toys… 
 
 When was the last time you played with toys? With nothing you talking to them and waiting for a reply. 
 After a certain point in life, you begin to seek out more than toys. You want something more to fill in your time. You want books, television. You want something with more thought behind. Maybe a narrative. Or something with a high level of effort put into it. 
 
 That ’ s when toys stop being fun. When you ’ re forced back into them, they seem empty and hollow. The characters you imagined are all gone and you ’ re left holding their static remains. 
 
 You have no peers. No one is at your level. No one is anywhere near you ’ re level! Everyone talks about cartoons and superheroes and Barbies and all the other things you think you ’ re over but it ’ s all you have. They aren ’ t smart enough. They ’ re aren ’ t emotional mature enough to give you anything more than a headache and a sour mood. 
 Adults don ’ t talk to you. You can offer up the conversation you want to have, filled with all the maturity and sophistication that you can manage from your tiny, underdeveloped vocal chords. They just smile and pat you on the head. 
 
 Or maybe the nod and think you ’ re being cute. 
 
 You know everything. School becomes a pointless drag with no difficulty. Even the subject you ’ ve long forgotten are too basic to offer a challenge. You hope something comes along to test you, but it doesn ’ t. Colour in the Roman armour. 
 
 Join the dots to make a cat. 
 
 Draw arrows to the leaves and petals of the flower. 
 
 Read the books you can manage in under give minutes. Now do the next one. 
 
 But then enough time passes and you do manage to get that little bit extra. Your parents give you weird looks, telling you that the book you want is ‘ too hard for you ’, but you persevere. You get that novel you never read and always thought sounded fun. You find out you love it. 
 
 Your parents are impressed. Six years old and reading books that are usually for teenagers. They talk to your school, asking if you can get into harder material. Everyone agrees and the books you get for homework are better than the ones from before. Spot the Dog is replaced by The Lord of the Rings and Discworld and, suddenly, parts of your life become bearable. 
 
 School gets ever so slightly harder as your other subject follow suit. There ’ s challenge in life again. Adults treat you as some sort prodigy and offer conversation that, while dulled and softened for your little ears, entices you to go back. They offer a social life. 
 
 Not a fulfilling one, but something. 
 
 You go up a year in school. You still find everything entirely too easy. 
 
 You ’ re almost seven and something is very wrong. Your parents are spending more time with you, pleased with your progress. They go out of their way to give you mental stimulation, making sure they help your gift flourish. They want you to succeed. 
 
 They love you. 
 
 It ’ s three months until your little brother ’ s birthday. 
 
 Your mother is not pregnant. 

