Sorcerer from Another World

The light bulb flickered and flashed out. I looked up at the dead blub. Like me, the light had gone out. You’ve seen the title. Things were about to get a lot better (and worse) after the magical accident that transported me to a fantasy world.   

Let me explain. At the start of the year, I had a girlfriend, friends and a new decent-paying job. I had survived the year before and done my best to move past the grief from losing Sid, my dead best friend. Then the pandemic spread and lockdown was enforced. 

The job went first, and to her credit, my ex stuck around for a bit out of kindness. She’d dated me even when I was an angry asshole. But video calls with a sad sack could have only been tolerable a few times. Next, I was ghosted by my friends. Well, her friends as it turned out. I didn’t smile much after that.

I got a new job at a call centre: the long shifts of customers shouting down the phone over washing machines sapped whatever joy I had left. At the end of my shifts, I numbly watched whatever shows were new to streaming which turned out to be season two of Aisling the Witch.   

The week like the year had started alright enough. The week before I had been on leave, and I had managed to video call an old friend who knew Sid during the weekend.

Monday morning arrived. I opened up my laptop and put on the headset with the faintest sense of optimism. 

I spoke to a sweet, understanding woman who was polite but firm about the damage to her new white goods. It was a nice feeling, and I was reminded that there were ordinary, kind people out there. The first call went well.

Of course the next call went to shit. Literally, somehow the delivery guys slipped and fell dropping the machine into cow dung. I think? Worse, what was supposed to be a nine-hour shift turned to ten as my last customer would not shut up. I had been pressured all day by customers ringing to whine about goods arriving late. 

It didn’t matter that there was nothing I could do about road works or the driver shortages due to government-mandated self-isolation. I was glad to be done and happy that Tim - our grumpy, Australian manager - hadn't bothered our team.

Between the funny and violent new tv show and a long shower, I dissociated myself from the stressors of Monday. 

On Tuesday, I had three consecutive screamers. Only one of them was somewhat justified in their complaint. Even then they were exaggerating turning a dent in their new machine into a ruin that had wrecked their life.

How can the others stand it?

To have strangers scream the vilest insults at you, over and over again. My skin used to be hard, but I had never really gotten over Sid’s suicide. I asked Tim before I left if I could get a reduction in hours.

I was still struggling to cope even after having a week off from stress leave. He said he would talk to management. I clung to the hope that management would reduce my hours.

On Wednesday, I broke down in tears during a call. Another customer moaned at me, blaming me for their problems. I couldn’t take it.

They always knew how pathetic I was. I’m not sure at what point their voices match the ones streaming through my thoughts. If only I could scream back at them just once, but I let the anger simmer. 

If I wanted to work, I had to be polite and obey the rules. It was a habit now that I stuck to more than maintaining a balanced diet.

It didn’t help that when I walked into work for the day Tim had said “No.” I could not have my hours reduced. I don’t know why I asked, but I never expected him to be so blunt. What would happen if he did, how was I going to contribute to the rent if I didn’t work full time? It didn’t matter.

It took all I had not to sucker punch the miserable bastard. I left early instead and said to myself I wouldn’t come back. That’s what I said last time. The shame of being a scrounger on benefit, of feeling humiliated every time I talked to someone I knew. Well, this time, magical transportation would make sure I never returned (and a truck).

It was noon and I was walking home after having eaten a large order of fast food and ice cream. I returned home wondering what I was going to tell my roommate. I needn’t have worried. 

I opened the door to my rommie enthusiastically entangled with someone I didn’t know. I didn’t even feel angry, just repulsed that they got paid triple my wage yet had the time to fuck during their shift with zero consequences. 

They looked smug as they politely kicked me out so they could shag the latest conquest. I don’t know why any of them didn’t see they were being used for sex. I hoped it was perhaps mutual. 

It was the last I saw of him. I regret not having punched him as well. I would have over a year ago, happier as I was also angry, now I felt sad. What had I left to give? Alone, I didn’t even have pain to inflict on others. 

So yeah, being kicked out was lonely. I went to the park to sit and gaze at the flowers with the wind in my face. Who ends up in the park afternoon? Stressed parents, bored elderly, a four-year-old on a sugar rush and a random assortment of screaming kids who mutually despised one another.

Delightful company. I spent a good few hours enjoying the quiet burning through mobile data and watching videos on my phone. I watched the latest fantasy show on streaming involving the witch Aisling and her magical powers over metal, lightning, her body and plants. An odd combination for not a very good show. Still, watching the saturated colours, pretty characters and feel good plot, I felt calm until the weight of stares drove me away. 

I crumbled and my will to endure eroded. I walked away while some sad song blared through my earphones and I was filled with the feeling of being dead on the inside. 

I was an outsider here. I couldn’t go home. So, I took the train to my parents. I bit back a breakdown as they welcomed me home. They only asked maybe six good-intentioned, interrogating questions that killed me softly. I slept on a tear-soaked pillow. 

I emerged the next Thursday morning with more mental scars and an unhealthy loathing of humanity and myself. I quit my job over the phone. The lady was very polite. It didn’t feel directed towards me, the interaction felt as human as pushing buttons on an ATM.

I listened to my supportive parents panic because I was unemployed. I started applying for new jobs as I sat in my room with the blinds closed. I didn’t go down for dinner. Better I found something soon before the government’s benefit people criticised my lack of effort.

On Friday, a truck hit me. Yes, pay attention, I was hit by a truck. A walk with the rising sun had cheered me up and I don’t think my parents meant to destroy my self esteem. They were tired is all. I can’t recall what had made me wake up so early or if I had not slept. I wonder about that sometimes. Why was I walking outside at dawn?  

The next day, I screamed in pain. Brief, lucid instants until they drugged me numb. The doctors tried to keep me alive through complex surgery. 

My parents wept for me. I was awake at night with breaks in two legs, a foot, my right hand, and a shattered pelvis. It was my fault. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was alone; I had demanded it.

Swirling neon-like blue energy started to weep into reality. Another possibility bled through into our space and I was at one of twelve of these spilling points between different universal spaces. The other eleven (or was it eleven million?) happened out there in the vast expanse of space. 

I wasn’t thinking. Aware and centred on my pain, I drifted against an elongated moment full of suffering. The screeching whining of clashing spaces (universes passing by one another like galaxies) shook this empty vessel - me - into reflection. However, I was possessed at that time (dulled as I was by the pain) of a dumb mental faculty that spoke stupid and understood less.

“Hello, strange musical voice.”

The natural phenomenon did not answer back. It snatched me from home and dropped me elsewhere.