Living in this dump, doing your hardest scraping coins, Roy could not help but wonder about life amongst the richest of the rich. He’d see them in glances, in news detailing their glamorous lifestyles. Where one snap of the finger and a private jet would take you to the other side of the world. Another and you could have a private meeting with a senator to influence the laws they’d pass. He’d be lying if he thought money didn’t run the world. But it does. With the remote in his hands, Roy wondered. Could this dream finally be a reality?
Still in his uniform, contemplating on a decrepit lazy boy he found in the dump, his eyes pranced between the remote in his hand and the video before him. Ellard Rockbell, the 15-year-old blonde-haired kid stands proud with his tech mogul of a father. At that age, he already has a place in inheriting money most people could only dream of. Much of his life is hidden in secrecy, a conscious choice or not, it mattered little for people envied him all the same.
Steeling his wits, Roy readied himself for whatever changes this remote would incur. He pressed one button towards himself and pointed the other to Ellard on the screen. Roy assumed that this would work as well even if it was only a digital image of a person. As his finger pressed the button to its fullest, the world pulled him into a void of pure energy. A tunnel of blue, specks of flickering white whizzed him by. He is drawn at the end of this fantastical tunnel like a moth to a flame. As he reached the extremities of this place, the world returned as if he never left in the first place.
Sounds of engines roared then dissipated by. Roy looked around to see himself sitting in a comfortable private box seat over thousands of cheering people. Everything looked so big like everything had him under their watchful eyes. But in his mind’s eye, the opposite is true. Everything is so small, metaphorically speaking. One grab of his hand and he could have it all.
In the glass pane of this private booth, Roy saw his reflection. It’s him but different. He’s still himself but a bunch of years younger, around 12-13-year-old. But the difference goes way past that. He remembered having shaggy hair at this age but now, it’s neat and combed. Running his fingers through the fibers felt like water coursing between fingers. The wound running across the bridge of his nose is gone. Suddenly, a memory passed by his mind speaking of no such occurrence. He knows how to bike, yes. But he is clad in protective equipment barring him from getting such injury.
And somehow, Roy looked much taller and much more handsome than what he remembered when he was at this age.
The race ended with a win from Roy’s chosen driver. There’s a joyous celebration in his heart but at the same time, it felt alien to him. This happiness is unearned but he smiled all the same. The door to the booth opened where a butler twice older than him congratulated him for the win. They left the booth and Roy took the time to get used to this smaller body. His gait is not as large as before so it took him a few moments to adjust. Somehow, his butler got the gist of his problems and he helped Roy get his composure.
“Thanks,” Roy mentioned, irked at his now higher-pitched voice.
Asterius, his butler, looked him in the eye - confused. “It is my pleasure, Master Rockbell.”
The butler led him to the ground floor of the court, amidst shuffling mechanics and people of various jobs and whatnots. Then they stopped beside one brightly red F1 motorcar where a man of similar colored uniform met them. It’s Antonino Buccelarti, Roy’s supposed chosen race. Antonino, despite his much bigger stature, looked smaller when he fuzzed at the sight of me. He came over quickly and grabbed my hand for a shake.
“I just wanted to say thank you so much Mr. Rockbell for the high-end equipment you donated to my crew. They helped a lot in securing my win.”
Roy feels diminished in the presence of something much more famous than what he originally was. It’s an F1 racer for goodness sake, and the guy is holding his hand thanking him like a friend. And somehow, this feels nothing out of the ordinary. Another guy, another day, another win thanks to a sponsorship with his father’s company. He’s happy of course but somehow unearned. This conflict of feeling is confusing Roy, but he can’t have his crisis here. He bid his thanks and left.
Roy and his butler left on a private jet, traveling from Madrid to Berlin, where they decided to spend that latter of the week in his father’s pied-à-terre in the city. Roy had his fair share of flights and they are always a tiring one. But when your private jet is equipped with a bed twice your size, a bathroom with hot water, and food that can feed you for a month - jet lag is a thing of the past. And along the way, Roy noticed a lump in his pockets. He pulled it out to see the remote that got him to experience this lavish lifestyle. He kept the remote close, closer than his most private possession. In the wrong hands, this stolen world would crumble to dust.