Donothan Walker pulled back the tan curtains in his living room and let the light flood into the area. He proceeded to sit down across the room on his red, comfortable reading chair and removed a magazine titled "Our Time." The magazine was about events that happened each day sixty years ago. An issue was released every month and it contained either thirty two or thirty three pages, one for each day of the month, and two additional ads and credit pages except for February when there were twenty eight or twenty nine days and four ads and credit pages. After reading a few articles he looked up above the pages of his magazine and out the window. He saw a black SUV pull up to the sidewalk and watched four people dressed in SWAT uniforms jump out of the back. Donothan's eyes were fixed on the movement outside as his hand jumped around looking for his glasses. He put them on and blinked a few times, testing if his old eyes were merely playing tricks on him. After trying this a few times he realized that it was indeed happening. One of the SWAT team handed out assault rifles to his crew and then pulled a small handheld weapon which he slid into a holster on his leg. The SWAT member then removed a riot shield from the back of the van and held it in front of him. He held up two fingers and waved them forward. The team appeared to approach the neighbors home.
Donothan knew the neighbors and knew they had a teenage girl. Sure, she could be quite a riot sometimes, but he never could have expected she could have committed something worthy of this magnitude of response. Before he knew it, the team was out of sight. Donothan relaxed and returned his eyes to the magazine. "September 11, 2051: History's Most Fatal Repeat." He decided to skip this page. That date dug deeper in him than any other thing in the world, and he wished not to relive it.
Suddenly, Donothan heard a loud crack and then several shouts. His body became stiff and he dropped his magazine. Bronze, his german sheperd, gave three barks and then dashed into the living room. It stood at the foot of his chair and faced the door, growling. Donothan heard footsteps approach the room he was in. The SWAT member holding a handgun stepped around the wall and into the room.
"What the hell?" He said. "Command, this guy is harmless. He's ninety."
Shyly, Donothan spoke, "Umm, I am actually eighty eight."
"Oh sorry," the SWAT member replied, "He is eighty eight." The other three team members entered the room.
"All clear sir. He is the only resident," one of them reported.
Bronze started barking vigorously. "Heel, Bronze, heel," Donothan commanded. The dog complied.
"Sir, are you Donothan Joe Walker?" The SWAT team leader asked?
"Yes, but please, call me Don. Why?"
"We need to ask you a few questions about your career."
"Okay, shoot."
"What was 'Project Kyle?'"
"Please, have a seat. This will take a while." Don took a long, deep breath, and reminisced a day sixty years ago.
Don helped his five year old son into their silver Nissan. He reached across his son's lap to grab the seatbelt and pull it across his chest and waist. Don secured the seatbelt in its lock and shaked it a few times to ensure it was functioning properly. After being satisfied with the seatbelts operation, he closed the back door and opened his drivers side door. He stepped in and buckled his own seatbelt before inserting the key in the ignition and giving it a good twist. The engine revved up and Don backed out of the driveway.
"Daddy, do I have to go to school? I want to stay with you," his son asked.
"Kyle, do you remember those numbers and letters you asked me about the other day?"
"Yes."
"If you go to school, eventually, you will understand what they mean, and even be able to write them yourself."
Satisfied with the answer, Kyle moved on to several, unrelated questions. Don answered these all swiftly except "where did I come from," to which he replied, "home, and now you are going to school." Fortunately for him, Kyle did not ask such a question again.
The school was only a few miles away now, and Don was approaching a stoplight. The stoplight was red and so Don slowed to a stop. He was at the front of his lane. As the red light turned to green, Don accelerated across the intersection. He was nearly across when he heard a loud crash and felt the car jerk sideways. His body sprung to life as he slammed the breaks. A blue toyota minivan had smashed into his right side. Don hopped out of the car and ran over to the back door, expecting to open it and hear crying. Don opened the door, but heard nothing. He grabbed Kyle and pulled him out into his arms where he carried him to the side of the road and lay him down in the grass. Kyles face was covered in blood and his right side was covered in bruises. Don knew that if Kyle looked this bad on the outside, he was bound to have broken bones on the inside. Kyle gasped and looked up at his father once before his eyes shut for eternity. Don leaned over and kissed him, and then remained on his knees, looking at Kyle's lifeless body.
A woman dressed in a suit hopped out of her car with a frown. She marched over to him and handed a white buisness card. Holding it out, she said, "Call my insurance company." When Don didn't look up she dropped it on him and pulled out her cellphone and began texting. After a minute she looked back at Don and noticed two little feet laying in the grass. "Oh crap! Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!" She shouted. An ambulance arrived at the scene and took Kyle to a hospital, although Don was sure Kyle was dead. However, it was required that all non-responsive patients undergo a day of life support in case a miracle occured.
At Kyles bedside, Don found a magazine called "Our Time." It was fairly new and he hadn't heard many good reviews, but for lack of a better thing to do, he read it. Don eventually came to a page about July fifth (it was an old issue). It was titled "Dolly."
The article told of a sheep who had been successfully cloned, making it the first mamal to ever be cloned.
Then Don's mind began to conjure a strange, almost hopeless idea, that might could revive his son. Only, it wouldn't reviving, it would be rebirthing.
