MidReal Story
Radiant Redemption: Lost in 1950s San Francisco
Scenario: When Jackson was testing the time machine, he was teleported to San Francisco in the United States in the 1950s due to an experimental error, and the radiation from the machine caused him to change from a man into a young blonde beauty. He also found that the communicator, the only thing that could allow him to return to the future, was crushed by the car behind him, and he was naked at this time. Fortunately, the street was very deserted and there were not many people. Later, he met a woman who took in the homeless Jackson, and Jackson also began to work in the woman's cafe.
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My name is Jackson Smith, and I’m a time traveler.
At least, I was.
A few minutes ago, I was still a man.
Now, I’m not so sure.
I remember trying out an experimental time machine and waking up in the past.
Like, really in the past.
San Francisco in the 1950s, to be precise.
And I’m a woman now, a blonde beauty in her early twenties with all the right curves and soft skin to prove it.
It’s probably a side effect of the time travel thingy.
Or maybe I’m just dreaming.
But my military training tells me this is real.
And I’m stranded here, with no way back to the future.
The communicator that brought me here—it’s also the only thing that can get me back—it was destroyed by a car before I even had a chance to figure out how it worked.
To make things worse, I’m buck naked.
I look around wildly, trying to figure out what to do next.
The sun is up and the streets are already busy with morning traffic.
But there are no traffic lights or road signs as far as I can see.
And no car accidents either!
It’s like people can read each other’s minds when they’re driving.
No traffic lights?
How am I supposed to cross the road?
After standing around for a bit, I finally gather my courage and step onto the road awkwardly, trying not to expose too much of my body at once.
I need to do something about my nakedness before someone calls the cops on me.
Or worse, before I catch a cold or something!
The streets are full of cars, but not a single one stops for me until I wave frantically at a white convertible that looks like it’s from the 1950s.
The driver stops a good distance away from me and gestures for me to get in.
I blush so hard that my face must be as red as a ripe tomato by now.
But since he’s already seen me naked, there’s no point in being shy about it.
So I take a deep breath and walk over to him.
The driver is a man in his fifties who looks like he just got back from the office.
He hands me his coat without saying anything and then drives off.
I thank him again and again until he drops me off at the edge of town.
Behind me is a row of tall buildings.
In front of me is another row of tall buildings.
I can’t see anything else besides buildings.
Maybe this is still San Francisco?
No wonder people call it the Concrete Jungle!
I wrap the coat tightly around myself and start walking down the street, hoping to find something useful.
But before long, I realize that I’m lost.
Even if this is San Francisco, it doesn’t look like any place I know.
And there are no street signs or billboards either.
All I have on me is my smartphone.
Since my communicator was destroyed, I figured my smartphone would be my best bet for getting back to the future.
But it doesn’t even work here!
I fall to my knees and start sobbing, not caring who sees me now that I’m wrapped in a coat.
Why did this happen to me?
What did I ever do to deserve this?
“Hey, lady, are you okay?”
A kind voice startles me out of my grief.
I look up and see a pretty young woman with long, brown hair and big, curious eyes standing in front of me, holding out a cup of coffee and a paper bag.
She has a heartwarming smile on her face that makes me feel safe and comfortable, even though we’ve never met before.
“Here, take these,” she says, handing me the cup and the bag.
I thank her and take them from her hands without hesitation, even though I haven’t even seen what’s inside the bag yet.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills my nostrils as soon as I open the cup, making my stomach growl with hunger.
“Slow down,” she says kindly when she sees me wolfing down the food in the paper bag.
“There are more where that came from.”
But I don’t slow down until the coffee is gone and the bag is empty.
Only then do I realize that she’s talking about her café, which is right behind her.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling embarrassed that I’ve been eating food she gave me for free when she’s only trying to get me to come into her café as a paying customer.
“No worries,” she says, waving my words away with a smile.
It’s on the house.”
And just like that, I find myself working as a waitress at Emily’s café, and spending all my free time there as well.
One day, as I walk home from work, a car suddenly pulls up next to me and splashes me with water before speeding off into the distance.
My skin is covered in mud.
And I’m freezing cold.
The water from the car must have come from a rain puddle, but at least it washed away some of the mud from my body, leaving me less dirty than before.
But it also washed away some of my makeup, exposing my real face to the world.
Or at least to those men in that car.
I try to comfort myself by telling myself that they’re long gone and that they were probably too far away to get a good look at me.
But I can’t stop shivering for some reason, even though I’m not cold anymore.
My sixth sense tells me that something bad is about to happen.
So I hurry home, hoping to make it back before anything else happens to me.
But no sooner do I step onto the porch than a car skids to a halt right in front of me, blocking my way.
Four men jump out of it and start walking toward me, leering at me as if I’m their prey.
I’ve heard enough stories in my time to know that when men start looking at you like that, it’s not because they want to be your friends.
I don’t know what they want from me, but I don’t want to find out, either.
As I start backing away from them, one of them reaches out and grabs my arm.
I did what you said and got rid of all her stuff,” he says, turning to his friends with a smile.
“Now let’s do what we came here to do.”
This time, all four of them grab me and start dragging me toward their car, ignoring my screams and struggles.
What are you doing?”
“Let me go!”
But it’s no use.
The more I struggle, the tighter they hold me, until they finally manage to get me into their car and drive off into the distance.
I don’t know how long we drive for, because I’m too busy struggling and screaming to notice anything else.
But when they finally let me out of the car, I find myself in an alleyway so dark and dirty that it makes my skin crawl.
The men throw me onto the ground and start laughing as they take turns doing unspeakable things to me.
When they’re done, they get back into their car and drive off into the distance, leaving me behind in a pool of blood, sweat, and tears.
For what feels like an eternity, I just lie there crying my eyes out.
I feel so dirty, so disgusting, so ashamed of myself for letting them do this to me.
Even if there was nothing I could have done to stop them from taking me away, I still feel like it’s all my fault for letting myself get into this situation in the first place.
And it might very well have been my fault for getting into this situation in the first place.
But that doesn’t mean that they were right to do this to me.
I just wish it hadn’t happened to me.
But no matter how hard I wish it hadn’t happened to me, it still happened to me.
And there’s nothing I can do to change the past.
But there is something I can do to change the future.
So I wipe the tears from my eyes and stand up from the ground.
And then I start walking through the streets, looking for a way to get back on my feet again.
And as I walk through the streets that are still so unfamiliar to me, I start to wonder how much more of this kind of thing I can take.
How many times will people like them try to take advantage of people like me?
How many times will people like them try to hurt people like me?
I don’t know the answers to those questions.
But what I do know is that no one should ever have to go through something like that.
So even though I don’t know how much more of this kind of thing I can take, and even though part of me just wants to curl up in a ball and cry for the rest of my life, there’s another part of me that refuses to give up.
It’s only been a few hours since I left the alleyway, and already my feet are killing me.
I don’t know how much longer this will go on for before someone finally comes along and helps me get back on my feet again.
But even if it takes forever for that to happen, I still refuse to give up hope.
Because if there’s one thing that I’ve learned over these past five years, it’s that anything is possible if you just believe in yourself.
No matter how much you want something to happen, or how hard you try to make it happen, there are still some things that are completely outside your control.
Some things that you just can’t make happen no matter how badly you want them to happen.
And sometimes, no matter how hard you try to make something happen or how determined you are not to give up hope, the odds are still stacked against you.
That doesn’t mean that you should give up hope or stop trying altogether.
It just means that you might have to be willing to accept that things might not go exactly the way you want them to go.
And sometimes, that might just be good enough.
Because when things don’t go the way you want them to go, it doesn’t mean that they’ll never go the way you want them to go.
It just means that they’ll go the way you never expected them to go instead.
And maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all.
As I continue walking through the streets, I start feeling a little bit more at ease with my situation, despite the fact that my feet are killing me and there’s no end in sight.
Because even though I don’t know what will happen next or where I’ll end up, there’s one thing that I do know for sure: anything is possible if you just believe in yourself.
I’m not sure when exactly it happens, but at some point during my walk, it hits me that I need a name for myself other than Jackson Smith.
Going by the name of Jackson probably isn’t going to do me any favors in this new body of mine, and since I don’t know anyone else here who can give me a suggestion, it looks like I’m going to have to come up with one all by myself.
I wonder if there’s a feminine version of Jackson that I could use instead?
And then it hits me: Jackie!
I don’t think there are many people in this world who would be comfortable calling me by my full name, so if I introduce myself as “Jackie” instead, I think it will work out just fine!
And with that out of the way, I continue walking through the streets, looking for a way to get back on my feet again and make the best of this situation while I’m still stuck here in this time and place.
I don’t know when exactly it happened, but somewhere along the line, things started getting easier and easier for me in this new body of mine.
