(First Person POV)
Growing up near the Emirates Stadium, football had become a regular part of my life.
Once I dreamed of it—to play next to the greats. How amazing that would have been. But as they say, not everything goes the way we want it to.
Yeah, getting kicked out of the youth academy for fighting was the last thing I remember about playing football.
Well, there wasn't much regret I felt after getting out. I mean, I was a mediocre player at best.
I didn't have that vision and ability to assist like Zidane or finish like Lewandowski.
But even then, I enjoyed watching my team play, always shouting at the top of my lungs... But it all ended abruptly.
"You were not supposed to die."
Ayo, what?
I looked around to see where I was. I don't know where I am!
What is my name?!
I don't remember anything!
I tried to go through my memory—
Wait! Someone was here!
Again, I looked around to see my grandfather, who had passed away five years ago, appear from a golden light.
"Grandpa!" I shouted, overjoyed. I ran towards him... wait, I looked down.
"I don't have legs!"
"Neither do you!" I said, panicked, pointing towards where his legs were supposed to be.
"Calm down, child... I am not your grandfather," he said with a sigh.
But... he looked exactly like him.
"Then who are you! What did you do to him?!"
"Don't worry, your grandpa has been reincarnated... he is having a good life. But you, my boy... you are an anomaly."
"W-what do you mean anomaly? I'm me! And you still haven't told me who you are?"
"I'm God, the one who oversees Earth and its timelines. And you, child, died without living your complete time. You weren't supposed to die," he said with an amused smile.
Wait, supposed to?
"So you're saying my dying didn't follow your script! And what do you mean I wasn't supposed to die? I had a genetic disease which killed me. It's not like a natural accident happened, or a truck ran me over."
"It was not a genetic disease, child," he said, his smile growing wider.
I was confused. My family had spent a considerable amount on my treatment, and we visited more than thirteen hospitals across the globe and found out about this disease. And here Mr. God was saying it was not!
"What was it then?" I asked calmly, raging inside.
"Well, there was a group that was planning something horrible—like, really bad. It would have affected half of the globe." He paused.
What is God on about!
"So the leader of the group had a girlfriend, a woman in her twenties, with a butterfly tattoo on her neck."
"That's not what I—" Wait, butterfly tattoo on her neck... I had seen it somewhere.
"She was an Arsenal fan and went to watch a game. Alone," said God cryptically.
Holy shit.
"Yes, the day you lost your virginity. Hahaha," he was full-blown laughing.
"What does she have to do with my death?!" I was confused. I remembered the best day of my life—never thought a thick goth baddie would ever show interest in me. I never saw her again at any Arsenal game, though.
"Everything. To sabotage their plan, I had created a very special virus that would have saved millions of people, but someone decided to be horny at the wrong time."
No, no, no.
"An STD killed you, my boy."
"Nooo, no, no! I swear I told her we should get protection, but she told me about some pills... why! Oh my God! Why!" My breathing was uneven. Wait, am I breathing?
"It's your fault! You should have checked the script clearly! You messed up!" I said, pointing towards the man who laughed like he had heard the best joke ever told... but he stopped abruptly.
"Hmm, I don't like that tone... are you saying something, my child?" said God solemnly, changing his mood.
Shit, he's angry.
"No, my lord, please have mercy on this child who sinned. Please, I apologize," I said, begging before he cursed me or something.
"Whatever, just watch your tone. Now, because it was partly my mistake, I'm giving you a chance at life again—as in, with your experience... your memories will be altered. No remembering names of your family and all, just knowledge about the world. Are you okay with that?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
I hurriedly nodded.
"Hmm, let's see... you love football, huh? Let's make it entertaining," he said with a smile.
I don't like the sound of it.
"You loved the game 'spin that wheel,' so come here, spin this wheel. It has all the players' names. I'll give you three spins—you know the rest."
A giant wheel appeared on my right side. It had names—a lot of names.
(Antony, Zidane, Figo, Tristan Hale.....)
I was shaking with excitement and nervousness. That Antony name shook my confidence a little.
"Now, SPIN THAT WHEEL!" said God with childlike excitement.
On his command, I took the handle and spun it with all my might.
C'mon, Lord Jesus, give me something good!
Roy Keane
Roberto Baggio
Franco Baresi
Giuseppe Bergomi
Giampiero Boniperti
Gianluigi Buffon
Alessandro Del Piero
Giacinto Facchetti
Paolo Maldini
It stopped on Marco van Basten.
Marco van Basten! The Dutchman! Three-time Ballon d'Or winner. Holy shit, shit, shit. I knew I could count on my guy.
"Woah, it seems your luck is quite good, boy. Marco van Basten is a good spin. Do it again," he said, urging me to hurry.
I spun again!
...
It stopped on Mesut Özil.
"Yo, yo, this is getting out of hand! Mesut fucking Özil. I'm OP. Let's go!" I said, floating around.
"This is getting boring now, but boy, don't swear in the holy domain—it might lead to severe consequences. You are overdoing it. Now hurry and get out of here," said God, as his excitement vanished.
"Yes, sorry," I said. I spun the wheel again.
...
It stopped on Juninho Pernambucano.
"Shit, well, a little underwhelming. He was a Brazilian free-kick taker—did he play in Prem? I don't know," I shrugged. Guess I was expecting someone like Messi or Ronaldo.
God's face looked solemn. He was rubbing his chin with his right hand, looking at me with a frown.
"Let's get you sorted. You will be reborn and regain your memories at the age of two. Best of luck," he said before snapping his fingers, which made me disappear.
(First Person POV End)
(Third Person POV)
1992 London was chaotic, to say the least. The Provisional IRA had detonated a one-ton bomb outside the Baltic Exchange building in the City of London, Britain's financial center.
Riots in South London, high unemployment, ongoing recession—everything was in motion. People were looking at the leadership, and leadership was not looking good.
Soon everyone would forget about it and move on with their lives. In that turbulent 1992, a boy was born.
(Two-Year Time Skip)
A toddler was making his way towards the garden.
Taking each step carefully, he managed to reach the grass before sitting abruptly, which resulted in a groan.
The garden looked rich and vibrant, the grass freshly trimmed—a well-maintained property.
The boy looked small. With his dark brown hair, bluish eyes, and puffy cheeks, he looked cute.
"Why! 1992—the whole place is a shithole! This is what he meant when he told me about bloody consequences!" the baby grumbled under his breath.
'Calm down, it's not all bad. Think positively, think about Bitcoin, about Apple, about Google... I am going to be rich,' he thought, patting his head.
'Thank God, though, I'm lucky to be born in an upper-class family. It would have been a struggle otherwise. Those IRA bastards—I will score a lot of goals against Ireland! Mark my words! Heh heh heh.'
Suddenly, the baby was picked up by a giant—a beautiful giant who looked similar to the baby.
"What are you thinking, my potato?" said the giant woman and showered the baby with kisses all over his face.
"Mom! I'm not a potato! I'm Matthew Delevingne," said the boy with a pout.
She laughed and squished his cheeks. "Yes, yes. Now let's go—Uncle Charles and his family have arrived for your birthday party!" She began walking towards the house, carrying the boy in her arms.
"Down! I'm a big boy now," he raised his hands.
'Put me down, woman. It's so hard to act like a baby. Cara would be here too. It seems I was reincarnated as the cousin of a pretty famous actress.'
'She's annoying, though—cute but annoyingly loud. My parents in this life are wonderful, and honestly, I'm glad I don't remember my last life. It would have been unfair to them if I couldn't love them because of memories.'
"No! You will always be my little Matt," she whined as she rubbed her cheeks against his.
He couldn't help but smile at the affection. This woman, Eva Delevingne, is a surgeon—one of the country's best—also my mother.
They quickly reached a spacious hall, which was filled with people. His dad was sitting with grandpa, Uncle Charles and his friends. Cara was playing with his toys, while Aunt Pandora talked with mom's friends.
As they entered, everyone stopped and wished him, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MATT!" they said while clapping.
"Look, he is looking so cute!" gushed Grandma as she came towards them.
Matt was wearing a white shirt and navy blue pants. He looked like a mini version of his father, Daniel Delevingne, who was wearing the same combo.
Grandma Martha squished his cheeks and kissed him.
'What do I do? I mean, I don't hate it. The ladies instantly fall for me as I enter any room. It would definitely cause problems if a jade beauty with a young master ever saw me...' thought Matt to distract himself from the kisses, squishes, and hugs he was getting from the ladies.
After getting their fill, he sat with Cara, who had snatched him from all the women.
"Matt, play," she said, raising her blonde white doll towards him.
The little girl dressed in purple had dark blonde hair and striking pale blue eyes.
She was giving him puppy eyes, which instantly made him melt.
He sat down beside her and started playing with dolls.
'The things brothers do for their little cousin sisters,' he thought while playing with her.
Seeing the kids playing, his mother snapped photos discreetly. They were just too cute to ignore.
The party continued until it was time for the cake cutting. And the first slice was eaten by gluttonous Cara...
"Football!" he squealed, looking at the gift his grandmother had bought.
She chuckled at his excitement and patted his head affectionately.
"Hmm, your mom told me that you liked football."
"Yes! I will play football." He got up and was about to run towards the garden when his mother grabbed him.
"Not so quick, Matt. Have you thanked grandma for the gift?" She stared at him with a raised eyebrow.
Realizing his mistake, he dropped the ball and hugged grandma's legs.
"Thank you, grandma! You're the best. Now mom, can I go and play, please?" he said, giving her the best innocent child expression he could muster.
Grandma giggled and shook her head, looking at her adorable grandson.
"Fine, take Cara with you," she said before moving towards his aunt.
After an hour of playing with football, the party came to an end. Everyone had made him feel loved, and he was grateful for such a big, loving family.
He looked at everyone with a baby smile and said, "Thank you, everyone!" which earned him giggles from the ladies and smiles from the men.
(POV End)