~Siamancas, San Blas, Madrid, Spain, March, 2022.
7 AM.
The city of San Bias was renowned for its golden mornings.
The landscape was a natural beauty, highlighting a single bungalow in a field with a rusty gate.
A few stray cats sat atop the wooden fence, taking in the sunlight and watching the vehicles that occasionally passed on the quiet road several metres away from the grass.
Inside this faded bungalow was a happy family of seven.
At 7 AM, the father of the house had already left for work, while the others were waking up from sleep, or were already doing house chores.
However, one child remained in bed, eyes shut.
Eventually, the sun rays stirred him awake, and Diego's eyes snapped open in shock.
~inhale!
The first thing Diego saw wasn't Mexico's sky, nor the face of the guard chasing him.
An aged wooden ceiling with cracks along its planks stared back at him.
For an eternity, he just lay there like a comatose patient, thoughtless and numb, staring at the dust particles dancing in the sunbeam.
'Where... am I?'
His first question struck, but he received no reply.
However, something appeared before his eyes.
Already transfixed, Diego didn't flinch at the rectangular shimmer.
It was a strange, translucent screen, hovering without weight or support.
[36-year transportation complete]
[Host: Diego Montoya]
[Health: Satisfactory]
[Projecting wireframe model of host...]
[Projection complete]
[NOTE: Host composition integrates random attributes from goats and legends]
In silence, Diego stared dumbly at the spinning hologram avatar of what looked like himself.
Marked with labels and graphs, it was supposed to be understood yet he couldn't understand it.
[Mentality: Cristiano Ronaldo]
[Physicality: Luka Modrić]
[Technicality: Andrés Iniesta]
[Head: Pele]
[Left leg: Diego Maradona]
[Right leg: Didier Drogba]
[Sense of humour: Ronaldinho]
[Height: Lionel Messi]
[NOTE: This represents host's potential not current capability. Growth will scale along these traits, and can be surpassed with training and experience]
Just as quickly as it appeared, the strange screen disappeared.
Diego was left more confused than before. But he sat up now, knowing this wasn't a dream, and most importantly, he wasn't dead.
'Something must've happened to me,' he thought as he looked around the room.
It was a single-window room with old, cracking paint.
The space was small, containing only the bed, a damaged wardrobe, a desk, a chair, and... garbage.
The room was a mess.
Crumpled clothes carpeted the floor, torn notebook pages, and candy wrappers.
The chair was missing a leg, propped in a special way for balance, the wardrobe doors were loose, and a half-deflated football leaned against the foot.
Repulsed by the filth, Diego wrinkled his nose.
Diego had to admit now that somehow he had survived his death. He still had the memory of the chase and the truck.
It felt like half an hour ago, yet here he was, breathing, thinking, and existing in a time that clearly wasn't his own.
From the half-deflated ball by the wardrobe and the football posters he could see on the wall, he realized he wasn't too far in the future. This didn't seem like an era of flying cars yet.
But the footballers on the posters were unfamiliar.
They looked more flashy and more good-looking. Even their jerseys had more elegance to them than what Diego could remember.
'This is crazy,' he thought.
A moment later, he pressed his palms together for a prayer.
As a devoted Christian from birth, Diego put two and two together, believing this was a miracle.
For him, he owed God his thanks for this second chance at life.
"Dear Father… it's me, Diego. I know, I know, I'm not exactly Your favorite, but You didn't have to throw a truck at me to make Your point."
"Still… thanks for the second chance. I swear, I'll behave this time. No more fences, no more running from guards—unless it's for football, of course."
BAM! BAM! BAM!
"DIEGO! If you don't get out of that bed right now, I swear I'll come in there and drag you out myself!"
Diego turned as a voice roared from behind his door after a thunderous knocking.
'Who could that be?' he thought, frightened.
Unfortunately for Diego, his system hadn't granted him the memories of the vessel, so he had no clue about the life this body had lived before he awoke in it.
The person behind the door was his mother, Mrs. Montoya.
This was the fourth time she'd knocked for him to get out of bed that morning, and from the tone of her voice, it was definitely going to be the last.
"You think I'm joking? Don't make me count to three, because you know what happens after two!"
Diego definitely didn't want to find out what happens after two, so he scrambled to the door and opened it in a hurry.
He expected to see a towering lady with a fearsome glare, but instead, he was met with a stout woman.
Diego didn't even have time to properly assess his own mother before she grabbed him by the ear and dragged him straight into the living room.
"Ow, ow, ow!" he winced, hopping along as she marched him forward like a captured fugitive.
As she dragged him out of the room, the rest of the house revealed itself.
From the dim lobby, they passed the bathroom and toilet, where the sounds of scrubbing echoed.
Diego saw the figure of someone busy.
The poor boy was pulled by the ear the entire marathon until his journey finally ended in the living room.
The living room was surprisingly larger than anyone would expect judging by the house's exterior.
The air smelled of disinfectant, wood, and the aroma of breakfast.
"This is early morning and you're still sleeping! It's already nine, your sisters are cleaning, and you're drooling in bed like a prince. What will you do on Sunday, eh? Sleep through the Rapture!?"
Mrs. Montoya kept muttering along the way until they reached the center of the living room.
"Look at your father's living room! You think he built it so you could turn it into that disaster you call a room? Eh? You better make this place tidy before I come back—or so help me, Diego Montoya, I'll make you have two left legs!"
With that final warning, Diego's mother stomped away with slippers that slapped with authority.
He was left at the coffee table, still rubbing his ear and questioning his new life choices.
On the rug was already a broom and a dustpan.
One of the couches had a rag draped over its armrest, meant for cleaning.
Diego did his best to orient himself. He felt nonexistent, and his situation was surreal.
His mind was still catching up to the fact that he was alive, and now about to sweep a stranger's house that apparently belonged to him.
As he picked up the cleaning tools, he heard a snicker from the doorway of the living room.
The boy looked over and saw a little head peeking in.
It was a little girl with dark hair, giggling at him without shame.
'So, I have a sister?' Diego thought with a frown.
Then another head peeked above the first.
This one was taller with dark brown hair in boxer braids, her eyes glimmering with mischief.
'Two sisters?!'
Diego was already not liking his new life.
He hoped there could be something later on to actually enjoy here, and look forward to.
He swept and cleaned lazily.
While cleaning the walls, his eyes caught the calendar hanging beside the old television.
That could give him the exact information he needed about the timeline he had been transported into.
Fortunately, Diego was literate.
He squinted at the paper.
|> 27th March 2022
The broom slipped from the boy's fingers as he froze in disbelief.
"Thirty… six… years," Diego whispered under his breath, his heart pounding.
What kind of miracle was this?
The last time Diego remembered checking the date, it still had 19 at the start!