Walking down the street on my way home from school. I can’t seem to not feel stress, all the time. Not sure what to do anymore. It’s my birthday, but I honestly don’t care. I used to care. Back in 3rd grade, I would get exited weeks in advance. What has changed? Finally I arrive at my door. I walk inside, and i’m greeted with the scent of cookies. “Hey mom. I’m home.” She comes around the corner as if she’s been waiting there all day. “How’s my big 16 year old?” she says cheerfully. “Fine” I say, not really sure of it. “why don’t you try a cookie?”. I’m not really hungry, but I agree to try one. For some reason she carefully picks one out, as if he rest are toxic. I take a bite and realize that these are just like the cookies my dad used to make. Of course, he’s long gone. I can’t decide if i’m happy or sad to think about him. I go to my bedroom to start doing some homework. Abut an hour later, in the middle of writing a report about some guy who nobody has ever heard of, I realize that my shirt is feeling a bit loose. In fact, all of my clothes feel loose. I decide to ignore it. Suddenly I wake up at 11:00 AM. When did I fall asleep? More importantly, I’m 3 hours late to school. I walk downstairs, too tired to panic. “Mom!”. No response. “Mom!” I say a bit louder. All of the sudden she walks up the stairs like she’s been awake for hours. “Why didn’t you wake me up!?” I say, panic finally coming. She looks happy, but almost remorseful. “Honey we have to talk.” “Trust me mom, I already know about the birds and the bees.” I say back. “It’s not that honey. You see, I know that you were happier when you were younger. So I did something about it.” She says, as if it makes sense. “What are you talking about?” I ask. “I found a company that sells age reversing serum. I put it in the cookie.” She says, already preparing for the angry retaliation. “What!? Are you serious?! How young will I get?! How quickly?!” I say shocked. “You’ll regress about two years a day. In the end you’ll be 6 months old.” She says quietly. “Mom is this even legal!? How could you?!” “It’s perfectly legal, and it’s for your own good.” She says matter of factly. For my own good. What bullcrap.
Today, I am officially 12 years old. My pubic hair is receding, and my voice is getting higher pitched. I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve been officially pulled out of school, and I can feel my more recent education disappearing from my mind. What should I do with my time? Is it worth trying to stop this? Maybe I should just sleep. then I wont have to be awake during this nightmare. But, no. I can’t just lie down. I’m going to do everything I’ve ever wanted to do. I walk out of my room, and don’t bother to tell my mom where I’m going. But the door is locked from the outside. Shit. “Mom!” I call. “Yes honey?” she calls back, from the basement. “Why is the door locked!?” I ask, as if I don’t know. “Honey, it’s for your own good!” She lies once again. Since I have nowhere to go, I decide to watch T.V. One more day wasted.
I wake up, instantly noticing how small I am. I James Kyle Johnson am 10 years old. I decide to read my favorite books, even if I can’t finish them. Another day.
I’m up again. 8 years. Not much longer now. I can feel how empty my mind is, and I try my best to not like it.
I’m bedwetting again, but pullups are just the start. My mom just finished remodeling the spare bedroom. Now, it’s a nursery. I decide to go on the balcony, just for one more day of fresh air. Of course it’s locked. Screw it. I find a paper clip, and struggle to pick the lock. I get it open just in time, my mom is coming. I get on the balcony and lock the door behind me. I sit there for the rest of the day, thankful that my mom can’t pick a lock.
This is it. My last day as me. Or what’s left of me. My thoughts are getting less complex. Heck, I’m glad I still remember that word. Complex.
“Hi honey!” My mommy walks in, looking happy about something. “Wha du youh wan?” I ask trying not to sound childish. “It’s time we put you in diapers.” She says like it’s a normal sentence. “I don wanna!” I say back. “Well honey, your too young for big boy pants, aren’t you?” Next thing I know I’m all powdered up in a diaper. I decide to give in and play with my blocks. Suddenly, my crotch feels warm. What’s happening? Then I realize. I’ve wet my diaper. Even worse, I’m feeling pressure in my gut. I try to hold it back, but I’m not strong enough. Warm mush fills my diaper, and smears in every crack of my privates. I can’t help but cry. “It’s okay mommy’s here. Oh did you make a mess?”
As mommy changes my diapee, I realize how much less stressful this is. Is this better? I manage to get one more question to mommy, before my brain is reduced to mush. “Wi I gwow uwp agwain?” I ask. “When you’re ready honey. When you’re ready”. Then I’m gone. It’s so pretty, all of the colors. Hungry. Tired. Messy. Loved. For my own good.
Normally, I’d say holy wall o’ text, Batman, but this is a story squashed into a paragraph. It’s always good to spellcheck before posting a story. A few misspelled words happen, but there are multiple misspelled words in that one paragraph. Each new speaker gets a new line of dialogue. Smashing all the dialogue into one paragraph can make it confusing for readers.
Slow down. As this is now, it’s more of a story sketch than an actual story. Set the scene and develop your characters. Show us who the characters are; that’s part of what pulls readers into a story. You’ve touched basics here with a sprinkling of characterization. The boy is apathetic; he claims he doesn’t know why yet there is mention of the cookies “just like his dad used to make”. Is his dad dead? Run off and left the family? Is this what is causing his stress/ apathetic attitude? Why does the mother resort to turning him back into a baby? She says “because you were happier younger” yet this is a shallow motivation for such a drastic action. Why doesn’t she try something more reasonable- such as therapy, talking to him about his issues, etc- instead of jumping the gun to such an extreme reaction like an age reversing serum?
There are a few quick things you can do to make your text a little easier to read. For example, starting a new paragraph whenever somebody new speaks in the dialogue. (This has the added bonus of making your text seem longer too.) You might also want to restrict your use of multiple exclamation- and question marks to only the most extreme cases. Finally, remember to capitalise things like “I’m” and the first word in a sentence. (A quick read-through once you’re done writing will usually help you spot this.)