He still knew in general what letters were, but he could not for the life of him remember what sounds they were supposed to represent. When he thought about it, he realized that he couldn’t spell either. The only words he had left were auditory memories of people speaking. “Secondly,” he thought in utter disgust, “I’m now an illiterate. I can’t read, write or type out a plea for help.”
Krystyn smiled at the baby who sat on the carpet at her feet apparently exploring the tips of his fat little fingers. Andrew was the best candidate for she had had for rejuvenation and adoption she had had in a long time. He seemed to be psychologically regressing to his physical age much faster than expected. If the stains on the back of his underwear was any clue, he should have no trouble adjusting to an incontinent lifestyle.