Crossing Borders: Navigating a Literary World

The rain fell in torrents, transforming the city into a sea of ​​shadows and reflections. The lights of the headlights and traffic lights faded into the darkness, creating a kaleidoscope of colors on the wet pavement. John moved through the deluge on his motorcycle, with a precision that belied the chaos around him. His calculating mind processed every detail: the speed of the vehicles, the angle of the curves, the slippery texture of the asphalt under his wheels.

He had worked late at the office, reviewing and re-checking financial reports. Nothing escaped his scrutiny, no error was left uncorrected. That was John: serious, meticulous and pragmatic, both in his professional and personal life. Precision was his ally, his emotion a hindrance.

John hadn't always been like this. He had learned to live without showing his emotions from a very young age, after the tragic death of his parents in an accident. He had grown up alone, facing a world that never showed him compassion. This harsh reality forged in him a reserved and analytical personality, always calculating his moves to survive and prosper.

The storm seemed to intensify with every kilometer he traveled. The rumble of thunder echoed above the roar of his engine. Despite the rain hitting his face and soaking his clothes, John kept his concentration. The world around him might be falling apart, but he would carry on, unfazed.

A blinding light filtered through the curtain of water: a car that had lost control was heading directly towards him. John turned the handlebars instinctively, but the treacherous asphalt offered no resistance. The motorcycle skidded, skidding uncontrollably. In the blink of an eye, he felt the brutal impact of metal against his body, a sharp pain that transformed into enveloping darkness.

The last image his mind registered was of the asphalt approaching quickly, and then, nothing. The sound of rain and traffic faded away, replaced by absolute silence.

He woke up suddenly, gasping for air, his eyes opening to a completely different world. He lay on a soft, grassy surface, the sound of rustling leaves replacing the din of the city. The air smelled of damp earth and vegetation, and a cool breeze caressed his skin.

John sat up slowly, his keen senses processing the new information. He was no longer in town. A dense, vibrant forest surrounded it, with towering trees rising towards a clear sky. There was no sign of the storm, nor of the road, nor of his motorcycle. What was urban chaos was now natural serenity.

Instinctively, he checked his body for injuries, but found nothing. No scratches, no pain. He stood up and began exploring, his analytical eyes examining every detail. The sounds of the forest were strange but strangely comforting: the singing of unknown birds, the crunching of branches under his feet.

"Where am I?" he asked himself quietly, his tone more curious than alarmed. He didn't know if he was dreaming or if he had passed on to another life. Although he had never believed in God, the idea crossed his mind. John had always been a man of science, of verifiable facts and tangible evidence. Religion, for him, had been a consolation for the weak, an easy answer to difficult questions. He had seen too much suffering and chaos in his life to believe in a benevolent being controlling it all.

Since his parents died, he had stopped seeking comfort in something intangible. The accident that had taken them from his life made no sense to a loving and just god. His faith in logic and science had solidified since then, and any thought of an afterlife was simply a fantasy to him. But now, in this unknown place, all of his beliefs were being challenged.

He stood up and looked around. The place was beautiful, without the constant noise of the streets. The trees swayed gently in the wind, and the stillness of the forest was surprisingly pleasant. Despite his logical nature, he had always found peace in places like this, away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

Looking at his hands, he noticed something strange. His clothes were different, a fine, elegant material that he had never worn before. He examined himself more closely and realized that he was dressed in luxurious clothes, befitting a noble. A velvet cloak, finely crafted leather boots, and a gem-encrusted sword hung from his belt.

Suddenly a storm of memories of the body he had transmigrated into suddenly flooded him, an intense pain that made him fall to his knees. Fragmented images of a life that was not his passed before his eyes like flashes in the darkness: moments of happiness and sadness. Each memory was like a distant echo of an existence that did not belong to him, but that somehow was now a part. of the. When the flood of emotions finally faded, John could only say one thing, in bitterness and frustration: Shit!