A/N: After seeing the film 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' I felt inspired to write a fanfiction based upon it. Hope you enjoy!

Two thousand and nine was assumed to be the international year of Astronomy, reconciliation and natural fibres. . .

Somewhere across the city, in a forgotten basement a clock is ticking backwards—and was the only possession in the room that is suprisingly undamaged from natural causes and erosion.

For Benjamin Button, two thousand and nine was a year to start all over.

- -

In the dim light of the graveyard, a faint sobbing could be heard. Two watchmen lowered their coffee flasks and strained to hear the noise.

"Eh, probably nothin' but our imaginations runnin' riot, y'know what it gets like at nigh' time sometimes, Graham."

Graham doffed his cap and shook his head in disagreement. "We should probably go 'n' investigate anyway. C'mon, Max."

Max, begrudgingly, climbed down from the wall were he had been sitting for the past three hours, and made his way towards were the sound of sobbing was growing more and more profound. "What'cha' reckon it is?" asked Graham nervously.

"Uh, uh, probably a cat or somethin' that's been injured."

"Shush a minute, Max." Graham kneeled down by a grave and pressed his ear to the earth. There was a tapping sound now, accompanied by the sobbing.

"Good lord, someone's alive under there!"

"Well, What'cha waitin for? Get the poor owld bugger out!"

The two men began to dig desperately and after a while they pulled out a small box; an infants. "This grave 'ere says that the fella was...eighty-five," murmured Graham. Max said nothing and lowered the box onto the grass. The sobbing had gone.

"Uh, maybe we were imagining things," faltered Graham. Max opened the box and glanced inside.

Inside was a tiny baby, pale from the lack of oxygen. His features were beautiful, if slightly decomposed.

"Holy..." Max fell backwards on his knees and watched as Graham lifted the infant from the box. "Is it alive?"

The baby suddenly opened its eyes—a sharp blue colouring. It opened its mouth and once more began to cry.

"Where do we take it?" asked Graham.

Max shrugged. "Nearest god damn orphanage, I ain't raisin' a god damn baby."

"Was' the poor buggers name?"

Max examined the headstone. "Benjamin Button," he said quietly.

The baby gurgled quietly, as if he remembered his name. "Quick—who was he buried next to?" urged Graham, wrapping the baby up in his coat.

Max squinted in the darkness. "Some woman called Daisy Fuller. Here, listen to what it says on the inscription—in life we grow or die; the shadow inbetween is not for us to see. Live long and grow your wings—I know you can fly again someday.' What do you suppose that means?"

Graham stood up, holding the weak baby close to his chest. "I'm not sure, but I'm telling you, this baby is gotta be the luckiest thing I've ever seen. Do you reckon someone got rid of the corpse and replaced it with a baby? I've heard about these kinds of things on the news, you know?"

"Hmm. I'm not too sure... let's get going—judging by his face that baby could do with vodka or two."

"Vodka? Don't you mean a damn bottle of milk?" The two men began to walk towards Max's old truck.

"Nu-uh. Vodka. Looks like a drinker to me."

"You're a damn weird man at times, Max Gateau -- 'Baby Benjamin looks like a drinker,' you're from another god damn planet. Come on. Let's get going."