Rewind

Chapter 1: My 17th Birthday Party (Age 17)

It all started the moment I turned seventeen and made the absolute worst wish of my life—to be born again.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: typical dramatic teenager, right? Probably one tantrum away from writing poetry about how nobody understands me. But strap in, because this isn’t a phase, and it’s definitely not a joke. This is me, living proof that some dumb wishes come true — and not in a cute Disney way. More like the “cosmic horror meets existential prank” variety.

It began with my parents, who apparently think planning a birthday is equivalent to negotiating world peace. They decided it would be a stellar idea to invite Grandpa Woodruff — who looked like he personally fought in the Civil War — and some rando named Jon, who immediately decided his life’s purpose was to ruin mine.

First move? He snatched my phone straight out of my hand like he was performing some sacred rite of douchebaggery.

Seriously, what the hell, Jon? Last I checked, you weren’t my parent, therapist, or even qualified to use a calculator, so how about you hand that back before I commit a minor felony?

Jon plopped into our fake mahogany chair — the one that’s supposed to “class up” the living room but mostly screams midlife crisis disguised as furniture — and started ranting about George Bush. Not the one with the Texas smile, the other one. The one nobody really remembers but everyone pretends to have strong opinions about, like it makes them smarter.

So there I was, nodding like a hostage in a TED Talk, pretending I cared while secretly plotting his demise. My thumb twitched with withdrawal. My phone — my last link to sanity — was inches away, held hostage by a man who probably still used Internet Explorer.

And then I escaped.

Slipped into the hallway like a stealth ninja fueled by teenage misery, and sat next to the birthday candles flickering on the dinner table. I must’ve looked like I was auditioning for a tragic indie movie titled The Boy Who Wished Too Hard.

Half-joking, half-praying, I whispered the dumbest wish of my life:

“Erase seventeen years and let me start over.”

I laughed — the kind of laugh that breaks halfway into a sob.

Ridiculous, right? Except the universe has a dark sense of humor. One that apparently listens.

The night got weird fast.

Kayla arrived first — all sarcastic grace and rolled eyes — hugging me with a “Happy Birthday, you i***t” kind of warmth that almost made everything okay. Then Marco barged in, holding a pizza like it was Excalibur. “You really thought I’d miss your trainwreck of a party?” he said, shaking the box like it contained divine secrets. Kayla tried to steal a slice, he refused, and balance was restored to the universe.

Then came Nate, my best friend and part-time cynic, giving me that unspoken bro-nod of solidarity.

“Seventeen,” he said. “Congrats on being one step closer to becoming an adult who still has no idea what they’re doing.”

We laughed — because it was true — and for a brief second, everything felt… normal. Just friends, noise, chaos, pizza grease, and stupid jokes. Grandpa mumbled about bayonets or the Confederacy in the background, Jon kept talking politics like he was auditioning for CNN, and I didn’t care.

It was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

The laughter faded into static. The room’s edges blurred, colors melting into something too bright, too alive. I drifted back to the candles, whispering the wish again:

“Start over. No mistakes. No scars.”

The flames flickered like they were listening.

I blew them out.

And the world broke.

Everything melted — walls liquefying, faces warping like smeared paint. Light bled into sound. Then… silence.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in my house.

The air smelled like moss and rain. My blanket was gone, replaced with something rough and scratchy, woven from nightmare fabric. Every sound was too sharp — water dripping somewhere, something breathing nearby.

And there, in the dim light, was Grandpa Woodruff.

Of course.

Looking exactly like he’d crawled straight out of a gothic fever dream.

“Ah, you’ve arrived,” he said, like this was all perfectly reasonable.

Arrived where, Grandpa? Hell? Narnia?

I tried to speak, but my throat betrayed me. Everything felt wrong — the air, the ground, me. My hands looked smaller, softer. My voice cracked when I finally whispered, “What is this?”

Grandpa smiled, half-wise, half-insane. “You got your wish, William. Rebirth. Be grateful.”

Grateful? For this? For the whispering moss, the trees bending toward me like they were gossiping? For the voices? Because yes — they came back too. Faint at first, humming beneath my thoughts. Then sharper, more cruel.

They told me I’d ruined everything. That I’d asked for this. That this was my fault.

Grandpa raised a flask, toasting the chaos. “Ah, don’t worry. Everyone in our family gets a starter pack.”

Starter pack. Right. Mine came with trauma and moss that speaks Latin.

Days — or weeks, I don’t know — passed. Time didn’t work here. Shadows stretched wrong. Trees leaned closer every time I blinked. The moss started whispering words like names, maybe memories, maybe warnings. I started talking back. Don’t judge me — isolation makes you weird.

When the voices got bolder, I realized this wasn’t a dream. This was a rebirth — cruel, literal, cosmic punishment for one dumb teenage wish.

Everything I’d wanted to erase — the loneliness, the mistakes, the noise — had just been repackaged. New world, same storm.

I wanted my friends. My pizza. My crappy living room. Even Jon’s stupid rants.

Instead, I had trees that breathed and moss that mocked me.

And through it all, the sarcasm stayed. It was the only armor I had left. The only proof I was still me.

So yeah — seventeen, reborn, stuck in a forest that hates me, haunted by my own wish. No instructions, no exit, no undo button. Just me and the consequences of my cosmic stupidity.

Wish granted.

Total chaos delivered.

And I’m pretty sure the universe is laughing its ass off.

Would you like me to continue from here — showing how William starts trying to survive in that forest (and how Grandpa’s “starter pack” of hallucinations begins to blur the line between reality and madness)?