A Fresh Start
You’d think being able to become anyone or anything would be a blessing. A gift. Something people would kill to have.
For me, it’s a curse.
A new face. A new name. A new city. A new backstory to memorize and a new life to pretend is mine. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve started over.As if shapeshifting weren’t enough, I was also blessed with an abnormally long lifespan.
Lucky me.
The last city had been home for longer than most people would consider sensible. I’d watched classmates grow older, settle down, start families, and develop the little lines around their eyes that come with time. Meanwhile, I still looked like the baby faced eighteen year old kid who’d walked across the graduation stage all those years ago.Eventually, people started noticing. Questions turned into curious glances, and curious glances turned into the kind of attention I couldn’t afford.I suppose I could’ve made myself look older. Added a few wrinkles, changed my hair, maybe thrown in a gray streak or two. It wouldn’t have been difficult.
But honestly? I was bored.
Bored of the city. Bored of the people. Bored of pretending I belonged somewhere when I knew I’d eventually have to leave.
School hadn’t been necessary, of course. Neither had most of the jobs I’d taken over the years. They were simply ways to fill the endless hours and make myself look normal.
Normal. What a ridiculous concept.
When you have more years ahead of you than you know what to do with, even the smallest things eventually lose their appeal. People come and go. Places change. Everyone moves forward while you’re left pretending that time hasn’t touched you at all.And loneliness becomes less of a feeling and more of a way of life.I could still hear my father’s voice sometimes, as clear as if he were standing right beside me.
Never trust anyone. And never let anyone get close to you.
Those were the last words he ever said to me.
I’d spent my life following them.
Now, standing outside my new apartment with a set of keys in my hand, I repeated my latest identity in my head, making sure every detail was firmly in place.
New name. New history. New job.
Another fresh start.
God, I was getting tired of those.
Tomorrow, I’d have to put on a convincing smile, shake a few hands, and pretend I was just another guy trying to make a living. I could already feel the exhaustion creeping in, and I hadn’t even started yet. At least there was one advantage to working in cybersecurity: creating a new identity was practically second nature. Digital footprints could be manipulated. Records could be altered. A little patience and the right skills could turn a person who’d never existed into someone with a perfectly believable history.
To everyone else, I’d spent the last few weeks preparing for a new job and settling into a new town. In reality, I’d been building another version of myself from scratch.Sometimes I wondered how many times a person could do that before there was nothing left of the original.
I pushed the thought aside and headed inside.
The apartment was still half-empty, with boxes scattered across the floor and furniture waiting to be assembled. It smelled faintly of fresh paint and the cleaning products the landlord had used before handing over the keys. At least it was quiet. I dropped my keys on the counter and wandered into the bathroom, stopping in front of the mirror.
Dark hair. Brown eyes. A little stubble along my jaw.
The complete opposite of my last appearance.
I leaned closer, studying the face staring back at me. The features were familiar because I’d chosen them myself, but the person looking back still felt like a stranger. That was the strange thing about changing your appearance. It never really felt like becoming someone else. It felt like erasing yourself and hoping the replacement would be convincing enough. I held my own gaze for a moment longer before turning away.
There were still boxes to unpack, but I had neither the energy nor the patience to deal with them tonight. Instead, I ordered takeout, carried my laptop to the kitchen counter, and began reviewing the information I’d gathered about my new coworkers. It was a small town, which meant the office was small, too. That suited me just fine.
My last job had been at a large corporate company, surrounded by more people than I cared to count. Too many conversations. Too many curious questions. Too many opportunities for someone to notice something that didn’t quite add up. A smaller office meant fewer people to keep track of and fewer chances for my carefully constructed life to unravel.
Or so I hoped.
I was halfway through another employee profile when the doorbell rang.
Finally.
I closed my laptop, collected my food from the delivery driver, and returned to the kitchen. Once the door was locked again, I settled at the counter and ate in silence.
No television. No music. No company.
Just me and the sound of the clock ticking away on the stove. By the time I glanced up, it was already 10:30 p.m. I sighed, tossed the empty containers into the trash, and gave the unfinished boxes a passing glance.
They could wait.
Tomorrow was my first day at work, and whether I liked it or not, I’d have to play the part of the new guy starting a new life.
Again.
I switched off the kitchen light and headed for bed, hoping that, for once, this fresh start wouldn’t turn into another reason to run.
