I woke to the smell of damp earth and morning dew, a scent so crisp it felt like a shock to my lungs. At first, I thought I was dreaming about a countryside picnic or maybe one of those day trips I used to watch on nature documentaries. But as I tried to open my eyes, I felt something deeply off—my eyelids were heavy, and when I finally managed to pry them apart, I found myself staring up at a canopy of towering trees.

For a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Deep-green leaves swayed gently above me, blocking the early light of the sun. Rays of gold poked through the gaps, painting patches of warmth on the forest floor. I blinked several times, expecting the scene to vanish, replaced by the familiar sight of a cramped office or my cluttered bedroom. But it stayed.

I tried to sit up, and a jolt of pain shot through my back and shoulders. A groan escaped my lips—yet the voice that emerged didn’t sound like mine. It was lighter, higher pitched…like a child. Heart pounding, I glanced down at my hands. They were small and delicate, the nails caked with soil. My wrists, which I remembered as once thick from years of typing and hauling grocery bags, were now narrow and fragile.

My breath caught in my throat. This can’t be real. I kept telling myself that, over and over. Maybe I had finally snapped from overwork and was now trapped in some hyper-realistic fever dream. I started to stand, my legs unsteady beneath me, and nearly toppled over. Everything felt wrong—my sense of balance, my height, the rasp in my throat.

I tried to focus, urging my mind to recall the last moments I remembered in my old life. I pictured the drab glow of fluorescent lights in an office, the endless spreadsheets that needed finishing by deadlines. I’d been exhausted, leaning over my desk. I must’ve dozed off… But how did sleeping at my workstation turn into waking up in the middle of a forest, in a completely different body?

A swirl of panic rose inside me. My breath quickened. I pressed my fingertips to my temples and whispered, “Calm down. Just…try to stay calm.” But the more I repeated those words, the more my heart hammered in my chest.

First Steps in a Strange Forest

After what felt like ages of standing there in confusion, I realized I had to move. There was no sense in staying in one spot, panicking, when I had no idea where I was. I tried to gather my thoughts:

I was in a forest.

I was in a child’s body.

I had no supplies—no food, no water, not even shoes.

This all seemed far too real to be a dream.

Despite the terror gnawing at me, I forced my shaky legs to carry me forward. It was early morning, I could tell by the angle of the sunlight, which meant I had a whole day to find help—assuming there was help to be found. Branches snapped beneath my bare feet, and the damp earth clung to my toes. Every rustle in the bushes made my heart leap, imagining some wild beast ready to pounce.

As daylight stretched on, my stomach began to twist in hunger. My mouth felt parched; I hadn’t had a drink since… well, I couldn’t remember. Hours? Days? I wasn’t sure how much time passed from my old world to this one. Every step felt like I was drifting in a fog of disbelief.

By afternoon, the shock started to wear off, replaced by an urgent sense of survival. I had tried nibbling on a few leaves I found, but the bitter taste made me gag. Fear of poisoning myself kept me from trying again. I had no clue which plants were safe—heck, I couldn’t even guess the name of a single tree around me. The shadows grew longer, and a chill wind picked up, rustling the canopy of leaves. I need shelter, I told myself, but I had no idea how to build one.

Night descended like a predator. The forest turned from peaceful green to a realm of whispers and shifting shadows. I heard hoots and howls echo through the darkness. Every time I thought I could settle behind a tree trunk or a hollow log, something would rustle the undergrowth, sending me scrambling up again. My nerves were raw by the time dawn finally returned.

Days of Aimless Wandering

I pressed on the following day, mouth dry, stomach aching. When I spotted a small brook winding through the moss, I practically threw myself down to drink. The cold water tasted like the sweetest nectar, though the shock of it cramped my belly. Better than dying of thirst, I reasoned.

Time lost all meaning in that forest. The second night was just as terrifying as the first. My limbs were shaking from lack of food, my mind racing with every noise. I think I actually prayed for the first time in years, though I didn’t know to whom—anyone, anything, that would help me.

By the third day, I was barely functioning. My vision blurred, and I stumbled often, tripping over roots and rocks. Just when I thought I couldn’t go any farther, I caught the faint scent of smoke. Desperate, I followed it. Then I heard it: distant bleating—goats, maybe sheep? My heart hammered with renewed hope. Civilization! I struggled forward, fueled by the thought of people, of warmth, of the mere possibility that I wouldn’t die alone in a forest.

Finally, the forest began to thin. In the distance, I saw small structures, simple huts with thatched roofs. Thin curls of smoke rose from chimneys, and worn dirt paths connected the dwellings. I forced my rubbery legs to move faster, tears stinging my eyes. A village. I almost couldn’t believe it. Civilization, however humble, meant salvation—or so I hoped.

Rejection in the Village

My relief was short-lived. Upon reaching the first cluster of huts, I called out weakly to a passing man, my voice hoarse. “E-excuse me… please…help…” The words came out in a jumble—part of them in my old language, part of them an attempt at matching the local dialect I vaguely sensed in my head. He stared at me with narrowed eyes, then turned away as if I were a stray animal.

I tried a second villager, then a third—each time, I was met with the same wary or dismissive response. Some people didn’t even look at me. Others muttered angry-sounding words, perhaps telling me to leave. Confusion and hopelessness twisted in my gut. I had never felt so invisible.

After a while, it dawned on me that I looked like a ragged street urchin, barefoot, covered in scratches, wearing filthy, oversized clothes. My hair was probably matted with leaves and dirt. In a village as poor as this seemed to be, the villagers likely had nothing to spare for a random, starving child. Or worse, maybe they suspected I was dangerous. I’d read enough fantasy novels to know that strangers in small medieval towns were often unwelcome.

Undeterred, or maybe just delirious, I tried begging. I stood at the corner of a tiny market—if you could call a few rickety stalls a “market”—and held out my trembling hand. Some folks glanced my way, but nobody stopped. One older woman almost reached out, her face torn between pity and self-preservation, but she ultimately hurried off.

Days blurred together. I scavenged scraps from refuse piles behind huts, endured scolding or outright threats from villagers if I got too close. Nights were spent on the cold ground, my body aching for rest I couldn’t properly get. The hunger became a constant, dull roar inside me. Sometimes I managed to find a half-rotten turnip or wilted cabbage leaf. It kept me alive, but just barely.

Rock Bottom

One evening, while roaming aimlessly among the scattered huts, I collapsed. My foot caught on a loose stone, and I toppled face-first into the dirt. My knees scraped painfully against the ground, but the worst part was the realization that I didn’t even have the strength to pick myself up. I just lay there, chest heaving, dust in my nostrils.

Is this what my second life has amounted to? I couldn’t help thinking that. In my old world, I’d been miserable, drowning in a dead-end routine of work and sleep. But at least I’d had a roof over my head, a meager but steady paycheck, and enough money to buy a sandwich or a bowl of ramen. Now, I was stuck in a body that wasn’t mine, in a place where I couldn’t communicate, half-dead from hunger.

A wave of despair hit me so forcefully that tears gathered in my eyes. “Why?” I croaked into the dirt. “Why did I have to come here, of all places?” My mind wandered back to the fluorescent glare of my old office, to the hum of computers, to the hot coffee that once kept me awake through endless spreadsheets. It felt like a lifetime ago. And maybe it was. Maybe I died at that desk, I thought bleakly. Died from overwork, and now I’m here to suffer all over again.

My eyes fluttered, and I was certain I might just pass out in the middle of the street. Maybe that would be for the best, I told myself in a moment of hopelessness. After all, no one here seemed inclined to help me.