I spent my whole life dreaming of magical worlds and developing magical powers. I even read those books where a normal person from Earth was summoned to a magical world and became an overpowered hero. I even tried writing a few of those books. But this isn't that story, and I am not that character. One day, I was living in a small apartment in Hyde Park, Chicago, and the next, I woke up in the longest line filled with an endless amount of magical creatures of every race you can imagine and even more that you can't. In my hand was a plain white square piece of cardstock that said Applicant: U70Gi07fMip4adkL. I looked around me; I was standing in what appeared to be the universe's largest Department of Motor Vehicles. You can hear the dull tone of 'Applicant' and a long number being read off and the shuffling of countless beings all taking one step forward, the hum of office equipment, and the sound of stamps hitting paper. I was literally in bureaucratic hell.
Standing in this line made me reminisce over the years; I spent the majority of my life working in a consumer law legal aid clinic where most of the cases I worked on were defending people being evicted from their homes, filing for bankruptcy, being sent to court by creditors, or all of the above. Most of my clients didn't trust me simply because I worked for free and I was funded by the government, and because of that, I had to be 'in cahoots' with the bad guy, making me the enemy, or they figured that since I was a powerful lawyer in a suit, I must not be able to understand what it's like being poor due to my vast wealth. If only they could see me now. But I loved my work; I loved being able to truly make a difference in someone's life, being there for them, and doing everything I could to make their life better in any way that I could. It was hard work; some days, it almost defeated me, but I worked six days a week with little to no breaks for ten years because my clients needed me there.
I got lost in the shuffle of the line; pretty soon, there seemed to be an endless amount of people both before me and after me. I got lost in thought. My mind drifted to my university days at Hampton and all of my friends. Part of me wondered if I was just imagining all of this. But it felt so real, and even in the most sick and twisted recesses of my imagination, I would never ever imagine being in an endless line at the DMV. I don't even hate myself that much.
I lost track of time; I could have been in line for hours, days, weeks, months, or even years. All I know is I don't seem to be any older, I never got hungry or needed to use the bathroom or got thirsty, so maybe it wasn't as long as I thought. The dull monotone voice rang out throughout the room, 'Applicant: U70Gi07fMip4adkL.' I went and walked up to the booth, and this grey being that defies all expectations of grandeur and mystique, appearing astonishingly mundane, possesses an unremarkable, slightly slouched posture and is dressed in a plain, beige robe that blends seamlessly into any dull background. Its face is forgettably average, with soft, droopy features and a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of its nose, often sliding down due to the lack of distinctive facial contours. Its hair is a nondescript shade of brown, neatly combed but utterly devoid of style or flair.
In its hand, it holds a wand, if it can be called that—a simple, unadorned stick, indistinguishable from any twig you might find on a leisurely walk through the woods. The creature's magical aura is so subtle it's almost non-existent, manifesting only in the faintest shimmer that could easily be mistaken for a trick of the light. Despite its magical nature, it moves with a lethargic, almost apathetic grace, performing its enchantments and spells with the enthusiasm of someone completing a mundane chore. Its magic, while undeniably powerful, manifests in the most unassuming ways, often leaving those who witness it wondering if anything has happened at all. This being embodies the paradox of being both magical and utterly forgettable, a testament to the idea that not all that glitters is gold, and not all magic comes with spectacle and awe.
On the counter in front of him was a name plaque that read 'Mervin - Clerk of Occupational Conjurings,' and under the name, it read: the Bureau of Magical Employment."
A voice spoke to me that defied all odds as being as unremarkable as his appearance, embodying the essence of monotony in every syllable. It carries a soft, mid-range tone, neither too deep nor too high, perfectly balanced in the realm of the forgettable. His speech is characterized by a precise, measured cadence, speaking with the clear diction of someone who has repeated the same lines too many times. Each word is enunciated with the lackluster precision of a well-practiced script, devoid of any detectable enthusiasm or inflection. 'Name?' Mervin said. 'Julius Pavarimax,' I spoke clearly and confidently. Mervin took the piece of cardstock from my hand, stamped it, and said, 'Your new occupation is: Barrister - Civil Public Defender.' I blinked, hardly able to believe my eyes. Mervin handed me back what looked to be a driver's license; on it read my name: Julius Pavarimax, occupation: Barrister - Civil Public Defender, Address: unknown.
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It's just my luck that I get whisked away to what I imagine and hope to be a magical universe, and I get stuck in the exact same job I had on Earth. What spells does a barrister even have? Do I even get spells? Do I have magic? I can clearly see Mervin using magic. The world around me seemed small; my heart began to beat quickly, thudding loudly and rapidly, as if in a desperate race. My chest began to tighten, and I couldn't catch my breath, making each breath feel laboriously drawn, as though the air itself had thickened and every inhalation required a Herculean effort. Sweat suddenly burst throughout my body like water escaping from a dam. Even in the absence of heat, a chill runs down my spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. My hands start to tremble, betraying an inner turmoil, and a sense of dizziness clouds my mind, blurring the edges of reality.
As I am about to pass out, a pop fills my ears, and I am suddenly in what appears to be an office—Mervin's office, to be exact, situated in the heart of the Bureau of Magical Employment. His office mirrors his personality in its stark mundanity and utilitarian design. The room is a perfect square, its walls painted a shade of grey so light it's almost white, unadorned save for a single, framed certificate of service that hangs askew, its presence more an obligation than a decoration.
The furniture consists of a standard-issue wooden desk, worn from years of use, it's surface cluttered with the organized chaos of paperwork, ink pots that have seen better days, and alone, perpetually flickering candle that seems to struggle against the stale air. Beside the desk stands a filing cabinet, its drawers overstuffed with records and documents, each labeled in Mervin's neat, unremarkable handwriting.
A high-backed, slightly threadbare chair serves as Mervin's throne, positioned behind the desk, while two mismatched chairs face it, offering a less-than-comfortable seat. The floor is covered in a thin, faded carpet that might once have boasted a pattern, now worn down to a nondescript blur by countless feet.
Natural light is scarce, filtered through a small, grimy window that overlooks the bureau's courtyard, its view obstructed by a tangle of bureaucratic architecture. The room is illuminated mostly by the dull glow of magical orbs, suspended in the air, casting shadows that seem to deepen the monotony.
Despite its drabness, the office is imbued with a sense of order and purpose. Scrolls and ledgers are meticulously organized, each tool and utensil has its place, and there's an underlying system to the arrangement of objects on the desk, suggesting that Mervin, in his own unassuming way, takes pride in his work.
The atmosphere is thick with the scent of ink and parchment, mixed with a faint mustiness, the hallmark of a space long closed off from the vibrancy of the outside world. It's a place of quiet, relentless administration, where the magical and the mundane converge in the most unremarkable of settings, perfectly encapsulating Mervin's essence as the Clerk of Occupational Conjurings.
While I am having my panic attack, Mervin is efficiently writing on a large triplicate form and placing his stamp in certain sections. It is very clear that Mervin doesn't need me even in the slightest. My voice is weak and shaky; it sounds foreign in my ears as if my voice belongs to someone else, but I can feel it coming from my body. 'Where am I?' I ask. Mervin, in a dull tone that sounds as if he has said this a million times today, replies, 'We had to move you to a different room; you were causing a scene.' With more confidence, I ask, 'What's happening?' 'Mr. Pavarimax, you have been randomly selected and brought here to the Anopia system to join our community.' Confusion struck me. 'But why?' This made Mervin stop processing my paperwork for a moment. 'No idea, random selection. You will report tomorrow to the Bureau of Public Affairs. Your processing agent there will be Barrister Zeb Montauccini. The government has provided you with housing; it is entirely free. You may live there for as long as you want. You will be provided with three meals a day and seven sets of your uniform. Transportation is not provided. Zeb will give you the entire walkthrough of your new life tomorrow. When I am done speaking, there will be a guided path to your new residence. There will be no more questions.'
With a flick of Mervin's wand and a soft snap, the chair was nearly pulled from under me, and the door to the room opened. Mervin was no longer in front of me. A dull green arrow was on the ground, guiding me to where I needed to go.