Point of View: Christopher Roosevelt
London was everything I imagined it to be: a truly magical city with stunning architecture. In fact, the whole world had become more beautiful since I started traveling. When you're not successful, things are far more depressing and complicated. As a freelance banker, the freedom to have clients anywhere in the world—and, of course, the excuse to travel—was a privilege of this profession. London, Paris, Tokyo, New York, Seoul... One of the perks of being Brazilian is having one of the best passports in the world.
I was at London St. Pancras station. My goal was to get to Cambridge, my next tourist destination. It was rush hour, and many people were moving through the station—some waiting for their departures, others disembarking. In the background, a violinist played a beautiful rendition of “I Want to Hold Your Hand.”
Suddenly, I heard a commotion to my left, followed by a few frantic screams. It wasn’t something that concerned me—my English was far from perfect, and getting involved in trouble in a foreign country was definitely not on my agenda. However, one phrase caught my attention: “Thief! Stop the thief!”
To my right, the sound of a train echoed. It was a mechanical noise, the screeching of metal against metal on the tracks, accompanied by the sound of brakes. The chaos seemed to grow around me.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Then, out of nowhere, someone bumped into me with force. I stumbled forward. And suddenly, everything changed. I saw a light—intense, blinding. But then, as if the world had been switched off, the light disappeared. Everything went dark...
“Young hero, your wish shall be granted: a magical world with swords and sorcery,” a voice echoed in the darkness. But that wish was from ten years ago, back when I was down and out in my late twenties. All I want now is a comfortable life with the wealth I’ve built.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t verbalize any of this. I was simply floating in absolute nothingness, unable to move. My head started pounding. Had it been crushed by the train? A childish thought crossed my mind: weren’t people usually hit by trucks and transported to other worlds, not trains?
Gradually, my back began to feel heavier. I felt something sharp yet soft against my fingers. A scent of fresh air filled my lungs, bringing the same sensation as walking near a forest or park. The moisture in the air brushed gently against my skin through the breeze. With my head still throbbing, I opened my eyes. A forest.
“Why the hell am I naked?” I gasped, feeling the pain in my lungs. “Living beings get transported to other worlds, but clothes don’t?” With effort, I propped up the upper half of my body, leaning on my elbows.
I was in a small clearing, about three square meters wide, surrounded by dense forest. The temperature was pleasant, creating a mild atmosphere. My stomach growled loudly—I was hungry.
As amusing as it was to think about playing Tarzan, shouldn’t I have been transported to a castle or something like that?