Time

Share what you know about the year you were born.

There was no time to think, no time to ponder. One moment, I was a newborn somewhere, and the next, I was gone. Poof. No grand reflection, no celestial conference. Just an impatient voice booming, “You! Over here! No time to waste!”

Before I could question the logistics of an afterlife, I was sucked into a vortex of blinding orange light. No pearly gates, no serene meadows—just the unsettling sensation of being shoved somewhere tight and humid.

“Wait, what—?” I tried to yell, but the voice was fading.

“Next!” it bellowed as if this was some sort of cosmic assembly line.

And just like that, I was lodged inside a stomach. Again. A stomach! My existence had been reset, and irony decided to slap me with the same starting point: a newborn.

No lessons learned, no karmic upgrades—just me, a fresh little soul, tumbling back into the absurd cycle of life. Only this time, I swore I heard faint chuckling from the cosmic bureaucrats as the light faded away.