Glitter Bomb

Trent yawned and stretched his arms as he stumbled downstairs. He wasn't usually awake this early, but today was a special day; it was his sixteenth birthday. And it wasn't just any old birthday, it was a Leap Year birthday. He was used to having his birthday on the wrong day, so whenever February 29th came around, it was cause for a proper celebration on his proper birth day, the day he could only celebrate every four years.

The smell of roasted coffee wafted in the air, his mom already awake and making his favorite breakfast. And in the living room, there was already a small pile of gifts and cards for him to open. Trent didn't want to open anything until the rest of his family were there, but cards were always a go-to. He tore through the pile of envelopes, smiling at the thoughtful messages his parents wrote, and frowning at the 4th birthday jabs from his friends. His brother even got him a card made for pre-schoolers with dancing, rectangular dogs that wished him a bonzer birthday, whatever that meant. After opening another card from a distant relative with a $10 bill inside, he came to the last card in the pile. It looked a little haphazard, and he could feel something other than the card on the inside. He didn't recognise the handwriting at all, but that wasn't much of a concern. It wasn't like he knew everyone who'd sent him a card by their script. But this one felt different. Out-of-place...

Trent opened the envelope, a small smirk slipping his lips. It was a picture of a prune wearing a birthday hat. Wildly different from the other cards he'd received. Then he opened the card itself, and was immediately blinded by a puff of smoke and glitter. He dropped the card on the table, coughing as he tried wiping the offensive dust away from his eyes. Who would do something so stupid?? He grabbed the card again to find out who to yell at.

Dear Trent

Happy "16th" Birthday! What a day to celebrate it on!

Love

X

He scratched his head, confused. There was no name to who sent it, just a cross. He sighed, trying to put the memory of the glitter bomb aside. At least they signed it with him celebrating his sixteenth, unlike his immature friends. He may have been born in a leap year, but he didn't find the whole "your real age is a quarter what it actually is" thing funny. Then again, he noticed the sendee put 16th in quotations. What was that about?

He dropped the card down again, and sighed as he looked at his hands. They were coated in that fine glitter from inside the card. Plus, a load of it clung to his night-shirt in a shimmering mess. He didn't even want to think of what his face looked like. He yanked his shirt off over his head, and chucked it in the laundry room. But before he left, he noticed something peculiar on his chest. A faint itch that spread across his skin. When he rubbed his chest, it felt almost gritty to the touch. Had the glitter managed to seep through his shirt? That didn't make sense. He ignored the feeling for now, heading back upstairs to have a good shower. He grunted as he climbed, his knees feeling peculiarly sore. He tried to recall doing any exercise recently, but his thoughts felt hazy.

He entered the bathroom, and jumped straight in the shower, trying to ignore the persistent, nagging feeling that something wasn't right. All he had to do was the glitter off, and it wasn't long before the water going down the drain was alight with the glittery substance. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, he could still feel that weird grit across his face and across his torso. Even worse, his skin felt leathery and dried out, even under the water. He could even make out the silvery substance on his chest. Somehow, it even seemed to have invaded his pubic hair, it sure was persistent.

After a good half hour of washing, the water started to turn cold, and Trent finally admitted defeat. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and stepped out into the steamy room, squinting. He could barely see anything around him through the mist, let alone the mirror. Even after giving it a wipe, his visage still looked blurry. So he opened up the bathroom door to get some airflow, waiting for the mirror to clear up. However, he still had to lean in close to get a better look at himself. Something he wish he hadn't done.

Trent stared wide-eyed at his reflection. Staring back at him was an old man, far older than he was. He moved his hand up to his face, and the reflected man did the same. He reached for his chin, jolting back as his fingers felt bristles along its surface. His reflection did the same. Terrified, he ran his hands over the leathery skin around his neck, the white hairs sprinkled across his chest, and even the slight potbelly he'd managed to attain, all the while, the old man in the mirror mimicked his movements. But there was no way that man with the rugged, creased skin and the snow-white hair that had almost overtaken its original black was actually him. He reached up to his scalp, tugging on his salt and pepper locks, trying to snap himself out of this weird hallucination. Nothing was happening. Could it be, was the old man really him?

 "You're really worried about your hair? Most guys have lost it by your age."

 "Wha-"

A shrill voice snapped Trent's attention away from the mirror. Behind him, in the doorway, was a tall, lanky teen with a big grin across his spotty cheeks. "Happy birthday, old man!"

Trent frowned. Couldn't this guy see he was having a crisis right now? Who was he anyway? For some reason, he was thinking of him as his brother, but that couldn't be right. He'd know what his own brother looked like. And the kid had to be a few decades younger than he was. Except, he wasn't an old man, not really. His head ached as he tried to recall who the brat could be. At least one thing was for sure. He grumbled, "I'm not old..."

"That's the spirit," the kid said with a slap on the back. "You're only as old as you feel. Or so I've been told."

"No, I'm not old!" Trent said more stubbornly. "I'm only sixteen, I should be sixteen!"

"16?" The boy scratched the back of his neck, and muttered under his breath. "Talk about a mid-life crisis..."

"Look kid, I don't have time for your antics!" Trent said with a prod of the boy's chest. "I opened my cards, and one of them dumped glitter on me, and did... Something... But I'm really sixteen!"

"Ooohh, I get it!" The kid said with a chuckle. "You're a leap day baby. So while you're old and pruny, it's really only your 16th. Funny stuff. I didn't know you had it in you, old-timer."

"That's no way to speak to your elders," Trent snapped. This brat should have more respect than that. But it triggered a memory, a prune with a birthday hat. What was that from...

"C'mon, chill Grunkle Trent. I'm only kidding, you know me."

"You need better material, kid. Like I said, I'm sixty-four, not sixteen." A strange feeling overcame Trent. Did he say that? Wasn't he so adamant he was a teenager? But that didn't make sense, he detested that whole "quarter your age" joke people so loved to throw out. Maybe he was losing it. 

"I got it, jeez! When you stop worrying about glitter in your hair, Mom's made coffee and pastries, and she'd love to see her favorite uncle on his 16th birthday." The kid put air-quotes around his age, something that sparked deja-vu in Trent. He'd seen that already today, right? But before he could grumble once again about that over-used joke, his great-nephew was already gone.

"That boy needs a good talking to," Trent grumbled as he turned back to the mirror. His mind was still a little foggy, but things were getting a little clearer now that the glitter was gone. He adjusted his silvery locks once more, and grabbed a button shirt he found behind him. It was nice of his niece to let him stay for a few days, even if her son was a disruptive brat. And as much as he hated to say it, it was nice to finally celebrate his 16th birthday once again, even if he wasn't as young and spry as he was back then. But he wouldn't give up his maturity for the world. He looked pretty good for a man in his sixties, after all. He even still had a full head of hair, he thought with a smug grin. Time to celebrate his proper birthday, the one that only came every four years.