My death was messy.

It was the kind of death that you would probably think that you could overcome if it were you. The "What would you do?" question is easy to answer.

"I would scream for help." someone might say.

"I would kick their ass!" could be another reply.

"I would get the hell out of there!" is probably what most would say.

It's not as easy as you would think, to react immediately. There is a stalled moment of disbelief that flashes through your body that can paralyze you.

My attacker took advantage of that and struck before I could even run or scream. I was gutted and left in an alleyway to bleed to death. I remember trying to hold myself together with fumbling hands.

Trying to keep my insides inside, and failing completely.

Gushes of blood kept coming out and I had no idea what I could do to stop it. I was terrified and numb but I knew how much trouble I was in. I felt too fragile to even move. iI felt like if I called out for help, more blood would come flowing out of my mouth and stomach.

I should have fought harder to prevent the attack.

I shouldn't have stayed out so late.

I shouldn't have taken that shortcut.

I had friends, family, I had just finished art school too. My entire life that was once ahead of me was now slipping from in between my fingers because of some stupid mistakes.

I couldn't die now.

I shouldn't have to die now.

Wasn't there supposed to some type of rule to make sure that people minding their own goddamn business shouldn't have to die for absolutely nothing?

It wasn't fair! I refused to die when I had done nothing to deserve it.

I was NOT going to die.

Even if my body refused to stop spilling blood onto the concrete, even if I felt myself growing colder, even if I felt my wound bled less and less because there was barely enough to bleed, even if I felt my eyes close from a sudden sleepiness. I refused to die from something as stupid as this.

I had to live.

I just had to.

It was warm when I finally came to.

And wet.

It was too tight.

And I couldn't breathe.

I panicked.

I slipped and rolled around the tight warmth, trying to find a way out.

It lasted for what seemed like forever and the pressure only seemed to increase by the minute.

Finally though, the bone crushing pressure lessened and with a pop and I squeezed out of my tight and constricting prison.

The lights hit me.

Everything was too bright! I could only see blurs of images and colors whenever I tried to open my eyes.

I smelled blood.

I screamed, but it sounded shrill and squeaky. My body was so damn cold!

My brain felt foggy, but I realized on some level that I was still alive. Relief overwhelmed me. I wasn't dead afterall. Was I in the hospital? Everything felt...weird.

And…slimey. What the heck did they put in my mouth? WHERE ARE MY TEETH!? "AHHHHH." I immediately began screaming again. I was vaguely aware that I was being held and passed to someone. The hold was strong and uncomfortable. I felt small. Too small!

I tried to lift my hands to touch my face but they felt flimsy and chubby, they wouldn't cooperate. I screamed and screamed and screamed. What was happening, this was not normal, this was hell! I lessened my screeching when I heard someone try and speak over me.

I couldn't understand a word. There was stuff in my ears that reminded me of the times that I visited the pool. I listened harder but all I heard was a soft melody that was probably meant to be soothing.

It wasn't helping! What the fuck was happening!?

SHIT! Calm down, breath! But it was difficult to even do that, it felt like there was fluid in my lungs.

Okay, you're alive, good...but now you're some type of slimey alien monster...that's very, very bad.

The melody continued in my ears and against my will I started feeling sleepier and sleepier.

I was so fucking exhausted from trying to get out of that bone crushing trap.

Sleep would help...…right?

And so that's what I did.

I fell asleep.

About a month later when I was finally able to open my eyes fully and actually see beyond bright colors, I was able to confirm my suspicions about what was going on.

Second chance at life or reincarnation gone wrong? There was no one around to answer my god damned questions. The only thing I that I did know was that I was once a twenty three year old woman and now I was somehow in the body of a tiny couple's baby.

It wasn't easy to accept but I had lots of time to think it over.

The next 3 years of my new life were the most frustrating and humiliating times that I can ever remember having. I had to drink milk from a grown woman's breast or starve, I had to rely on other people to clean up my messes, I had to learn an entirely new language, and throughout all of this, I could not express myself in the way I so desperately wanted to.

It was only at the age of 2 that I had decent controlled over my limbs, so in private I practiced my speech and balance.

It was difficult to learn the new language that everyone seemed to speak but I learned as fast as I was able. It sounded like Japanese but I wasn't able to confirm it for a long time.

I worked hard to be able to speak without lisping, and never bothered to speak when I was not certain that I wouldn't slur.

I refused to be some ditsy starry eyed toddler who spoke with lisps and couldn't walk in a straight line to save their own life.

I held onto my own identity and refused the one my new 'parents' tried to give me. My name was not Mikasa Sabaku, it was Lottie Taylor, and I'd be damned if I let anyone say otherwise.

My name was a touchy subject for me and I'd made sure 'That woman' knew it.

After being fed up with being called something else but my name, I looked straight into my 'mothers' eyes and spoke in a surprisingly loud voice for a toddler, "My name is NOT Mikasa, its Lottie!"

She had seemed startled by the fact that I had actually raised my voice at her. I had barely spoken a single word to both of 'Those people' and anyone else before so they had just assumed that I was just a naturally quiet child.

Only 'That woman' ever called me Lottie. She had made it into a nickname of sorts. She had only ever approached me with good Intentions, but I rejected her attempts at bonding each and every time. Looking back, she did not deserve the shit I put her through.

She never gave up though, and loved me unconditionally like any mother should.

It frustrated me.

It made me bitter.

I was only filled with so much resentment towards my supposed 'parents' because I so desperately missed my original ones. The new 'mama and papa dearest' weren't anything like my real family.

My real mother was a Loud mouth, but friendly Bi-polar, and my father was a heavily muscled man with the mean streak of a kitten playing with marshmallows.

My new 'mother' however, was too gentle and soft spoken, and my 'father', uncaring and strict. He expected to be obeyed, and his word was law.

They were nothing alike.

Confusingly enough though, he did his best to pamper and spoil me. I was given anything I asked for no matter how little or big the request.

If I hadn't come into this family pre-programmed I was absolutely sure that I would have been a rotten little daddy's girl that asked to have things just to have them.

I was treated well.

They had never done anything to deserve my dislike and my 'mother' had only given me love despite my ignoring her, but they would never take the place of my real family. And I hated them for trying.

I hated them silently.

I hated the world silently.

I think of that time as a sort of toddler midlife crisis that I was going through.

I mellowed out a bit as I got older and was able to be more independent.

I found out that I was currently being raised in a village, and that my 'father' was the leader of the village known as the Kazekage.

I was in japan it seemed, and surprisingly the village had ninja's.

I had almost scoffed at the information I had gotten from 'That woman', I had thought it was just another silly fairy tale that she was always trying to read to me.

That was until I had actually seen grown men and children throwing dagger-like weapons of steel at practice dummies and saw people disappearing in a flashes of smoke from my bedroom window.

I'll admit, it had taken some time to process that.

But after I had come to terms with it, I became somewhat interested in the ninja of the village.

I sometimes even watched them leaping from house to house late at night when I couldn't sleep. I could tell that 'That woman' hated the idea of me becoming a ninja, out of fear for my safety or whatever.

Which is exactly why I considered becoming one just to spite her.

I decided against it though.

Being a ninja meant the risk of dying.

No way was I going through that again.

Instead, I happily shut everyone out once I was finally allowed more freedom. I built a bubble around myself and sketched in my notebook to fill my time.

After all, I was aiming to be a professional artist in my past life and it was still something I truly loved to do. The fact that I had to wait such a long time to be able to properly hold a pencil or paintbrush just added to my (almost mellowed out, but not completely) attitude and bitterness.

When I was finally able to draw a decent sketch and paint a decent picture, I painted EVERYTHING that I remembered about my past life.

I felt that I had to capture every insignificant detail from my past life before it slipped away with time. I hid the important and detailed pictures under my bed, while I left the still life paintings out in the open as an explanation for what I used the paints I had asked for on.

'That woman' seemed to really enjoy them so I continued to receive expensive art supplies and praise.

I sketched the faces and scenes that haunted my dreams every night, the faces that let me get little to no rest. I also wrote down the lyrics of the songs my mother used to blast in the car.

I drew and painted many things but my favorite piece was the painting that I had of me.

My hair was long, black, and curled. It was always springing in my face. My skin was a light brown because of my ethnicity of African American and German.

My eyes were big and dark brown with long curled eyelashes. My upper lip was a dark mocha while my bottom was a soft baby pink. My cheek bones were high and I had dimples. My eyebrows were naturally arched, giving me that sarcastic look. Narcissism 101, goddamn it, I used to be pretty.

I was 16 in the painting.

I would stare at the past me for hours, and she would always stare back.

I knew I would never look like her ever again.

This new body was small with pale chalky skin because I rarely left the house. Dull red hair that was similar to the rusted color of blood stuck up in all directions on top of my head. It tangled easily so I kept it cut close ('that woman' had a cow when I cut it myself) although It was still unruly and did as it pleased. My eyes were slanted black holes that held no shine or reflection in them.

My face was now a round shape and my lips were bitten red, and my nose was small and straight little thing. I looked like mean baby doll.

I took after 'that man' when it came to features, and perhaps his personality as well. I had become cold and apathetic just like him, and generally a shitty person.

Something that I had never been before.

Hm, I used to be so different in the past. I used to be happy, funny, and liked to talk to people.

Things certainly do change don't they?

When I was four years old I was told by 'that woman' that I would have to be expecting a sibling in a few months' time. I only grunted in response.

I mentally gagged at the thought of my makeshift family having relations.

Disgusting.

A few months later and I had a little sister.

They named her Temari.

She was loud.

'that woman' would try her best to calm the banshee down and give her plenty of love, but Temari always seemed to cry for absolutely no reason. She was so perplexed that she had to hire a live in nanny to help take care of Temari. I was her first child so she obviously had no experience in mothering a REAL baby who will shout for the sake of shouting, throw up everywhere, and put everything she could get her hands on into her mouth.

But still, 'that woman' loved her anyways.

I was an only child in my past life so I had no idea how to deal with babies.

She once tried to get me to hold Temari when she was just a few days old, to which I responded with "I'll probably drop her on her head." I said flatly. She couldn't ask a 4 year old to hold up a chubby baby, not with My noodle arms.

She never asked me to hold Temari again after that.

I was sure she wasn't angry with me or believed what I said to be true, I think she somehow knew how uncomfortable I was around other young people. Whenever she would set up a play date with one of her girlfriends, I would always do my best to avoid the other children for fear of drool, snot, and other bodily fluids.

Kids were messy. I wasn't.

We just didn't click.

Probably never would either.

Temari was a different story. When she wasn't screaming her head off, she was a friendly girl.

I think 'that woman' enjoyed taking care of Temari more than she did taking care of me when I was a baby. When I was an infant I was all sass and defiance when it came to accepting her as a mother.

I had gone without breastfeeding for two entire days when I was newborn, but I soon gave in once I realized that it was for the sake of survival.

Temari however, had no problems with latching on without a second thought. I hated it when she would breast feed in the same room as me. It brought back unwelcomed memories.

I had no problems with Temari, she was a cute baby even if she was loud, but I still made no extra efforts to spend time with her. I ignored her most of the time because I knew that she couldn't speak anything more than gurgles and coos.

The next sibling that followed, not long after Temari, was a boy.

His name was Kankuro.

He was too happy.

Every time I decided to glance over at my younger brother he would have a smile on his face. This irked me to no end. He was a small, incapable, fleshy mound, what could he possibly be happy about? He was always giggling or putting his feet in his mouth. It drove me mad that I had never even heard him cry once!

So when I was in one of my crueler and curious moods, I wanted to know if he was even slightly capable of being upset.

I regret my actions to this day and I am by no means proud of what I did.

I took a sewing needle and gave him a quick and shallow prick, not enough to break the skin, but just enough to hurt. His response was an immediate shrill cry that had my ears ringing. I ran out of the room before 'that woman' or the nanny could come rushing in to see what was wrong.

I felt guilty as soon as I had been able to make him cry.

Kankuro always seemed to stir uncomfortably in his crib whenever I turned my black gaze upon him from that point on.

By then I was five and Temari was one. She still couldn't form a correct sentence but she was at least able to support her own back and sit up.

One year and a half later 'that woman' told me that she was expecting another child.

At this point in time Temari was up walking around on chubby and unstable legs and almost making sense when she screamed out slurred jumbles of words. She was also a menace that loved to get into things just like her brother. I had learned to lock my door whenever I was not in my room after an incident concerning my paintings happened because of them.

I did not like playing role of the big sister who they looked up to. Temari often cried when I refused to play dolls with her.

She was still loud when she wanted to be.

But of course, what else was to be expected? We were all spoiled rotten and were used to getting our way when it came to requests.

The latest child would be no different. They had already filled his soon to be room with toys and trinkets, much more extravagant than what a child of infancy needed to have.

This child was going to be the most spoiled one yet.

Did she really need another troublesome child to take care of?

Wasn't three already enough?

I guess this woman saw something more in her children than just walking headaches.

Too bad I didn't.

Months later 'that woman' was in labor.

I was seven at the time and I probably should not have been in the room while she was giving birth, but she had just kept on begging, screaming, and crying for me to be at her side.

Eventually the medic-nin brought me in to see her so she would calm down and stop thrashing about. She was not yet finished trying to push out my sibling who was still somewhere constricted in her womb so she was sweating bullets.

This was a premature birth, and I could tell from all the blood coming from between her legs that this was not going to end well.

I was surprised that I actually felt something ache in my chest and reach up my throat to choke me breathless.

I gasped for air and pressed my hand to my throat, hoping to ease the pain.

It didn't help.

I had felt this once before, in my past life.

It was when I had found my puppy's corpse smeared across the street because I had forgotten to put him back inside the house after I was done playing with him.

Fear.

Shame.

Guilt.

Grief.

I was feeling all of these emotions gripping my heart so tightly that it felt as if it would burst at any moment.

When had I actually began to care for this woman? When had I started not to mind her being around? I couldn't remember. I had never acknowledged her as my mother but it seemed that I had, without my consent, gotten attached.

'Dammit!' I screamed mentally, since my voice just wouldn't come out.

This fucking hurt to watch!

She just kept on screaming and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it.

I had never felt so...weak.

Not even in death had I felt this helpless before.

When she was finally done delivering the baby I had a new little brother. He had red hair like mine, pale skin, and black rimmed teal eyes. He also had a noticeable lack of eyebrows. He was unnaturally small too, his head about the size of a tennis ball. Would he even survive like that? Mother held him on her side and cooed to him adoringly, "he's so tiny." I heard her whisper, "I love him."

She turned her gaze upon me then and made a weak gesture for me to come over to her. I hurried over to the hospital bed, stumbling over my weak and trembling legs.

Once I was at her side I listened intently to what she had to say.

She leaned over to touch a cold and damp hand to my cheek. She was fragile. So very fragile.

"He looks...a lot like you, doesn't he?" her breath was ragged and I had to lean over her just to make out her words.

I had already lost my voice from the unbearable thickness in my throat. My eyes felt achy and prickled with unwelcome tears.

"Lottie..will you...make...sure..he is...loved?" She whispered to me with seemingly great effort.

Not knowing what else to do, I nodded dumbly.

She smiled up at me affectionately.

Then her hand went abruptly limp and was falling away from my cheek.

I froze.

The medic-nin rushed over to retrieve the small premature redhead and tend to him. They frantically tried to restart my mothers heart with a Medical Jutsu and they failed.

She was dead.

.

.

My brother wailed.

.

.

I cried with him

.