Liam woke up to a sight that was more surreal than finding a kangaroo in a kayak. A screen, brighter than a neon sign was flashing in his face. The voice that accompanied it was sensual and male and seemed perpetually on the brink of bursting into laughter, as if it was narrating the world's funniest joke.
"Traveler from beyond the veil, you are initiated into the cosmic supreme. Your life results in the following choice of class."
Liam, still groggy and wondering if this was some bizarre dream listened as the voice listed off his career options:
Administrator / Mailman / Apologizer / Slave / Cleaner
As the voice rattled off these "prestigious" roles, Liam couldn't help but chuckle. He had always wanted a career change, but this…
"Choose wisely," the voice added, with a hint of mirth that suggested it was enjoying this far too much. Liam, still trying to process his new reality, thought, "Well, at least I won't have to sit through any more Zoom meetings."
Liam's mind raced back to his childhood, where he'd trail behind his father, the local mailman, on days off. Those were the golden days, filled with the simple joys of walking through neighborhoods and the thrill of riding in the mail truck. His dad would sometimes scoop him up mid-route while he was playing with friends. These memories brought a nostalgic smile to his face.
But as he pondered over the bizarre job list, he was baffled. "Apologizer? When did I ever..." His thoughts trailed off. The notion seemed as absurd as a penguin running a marathon. And "Slave"? His office job did bear a striking resemblance, but it wasn't quite the same as being in shackles. "Cleaner" was a laughable option—he could barely keep his own apartment tidy. "Administrator" was the logical choice, closely mirroring his earthly profession, but did he really want to continue in that vein?
As he mulled over his options, he noticed a kid sleeping on the bed. Hunger gnawed at him, and in an attempt to get some guidance, he gently poked the boy. The kid's reaction was less than friendly—a barrage of angry words in an indecipherable language. It was like trying to understand a conversation between dolphins.
Liam sat back, a wave of self-pity washing over him. Just then, the voice returned, now sounding like it was trying to hold back a fit of giggles. "Late chooser, must choose now or choice will be made for you."
Panicked, Liam blurted out, "Mailman!"
The boy, who seemed no older than twelve, shot up and delivered a slap across Liam's face. Meanwhile, the voice, now dripping with ennui, intoned, "Mailman selected. New skills: navigation, creating minor pocket space, swift feet. Level 1.
Liam, rubbing his cheek, thought, "Wuuut?" His world had turned utterly bizarre. "Navigation? Pocket space? Swift feet?" He mused. "Well, at least I won't need a GPS or a gym membership."
Liam couldn't help but wonder what his next delivery would be. A letter to a dragon? A parcel for a pixie? One thing was for sure: his life had just taken a turn for the extraordinary.
---
Liam found himself in quite the predicament he was just about to think things through when a stern-looking woman dressed like a non barged in and plucked Liam from his bunk.
With an iron grip on Liam's shoulder she marched him through the castle. The grey stone walls echoed with tapestries that were so old as to be almost unrecognisable.
They navigated to a grand dining room, where people were eating their meals. The woman pointed authoritatively at something in the room, but before Liam could even process what it was, they were on the move again.
Outside, the courtyard was an eclectic mix of a zoo and a botanical garden. Strange, mythical beasts roamed freely, each looking like they'd jumped out of a different fantasy novel. The garden was a riot of colors, with flowers and plants Liam was pretty sure didn't exist in the regular world.
Continuing their brisk tour, they passed a stable so large it could easily house a dragon or two. The woman, still in her no-nonsense mode, pointed at some equipment near the stable. One item, in particular, stood out to Liam - it looked suspiciously like a pitchfork.
With a final gesture that left no room for argument, the woman left Liam there, amidst the tools of unknown use. He looked around, half expecting a magical creature to pop out with a cleaning tutorial. "Uhm, guess I clean?" he mumbled to himself.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
Liam looked at the heavy double doors on the other side of the courtyard. They were closed, barring him from the expansive and undoubtedly perilous world beyond. He glanced out at the bizarre menagerie of creatures roaming the courtyard. "I'll be dead before sundown if I step out there without a crash course in 'How to Not Get Eaten 101'," Liam thought, a wry smile on his face.
Resigned to his fate, he grasped the pitchfork with the enthusiasm of a man holding a toothbrush to clean a dragon's teeth. As he stepped inside the stable, the stench hit him like a physical force. It was a potent cocktail of odors that could only be described as 'eau de mythical beast', with notes of damp fur, stale breath, and other, less identifiable smells.
The aroma was so overpowering that Liam staggered back outside, his stomach churning in protest. He doubled over, the world spinning as he tried desperately to rid himself of the nauseating stench.
With a deep breath that he immediately regretted, Liam steeled himself for the task ahead. Armed with nothing but a pitchfork and a rapidly dwindling sense of optimism, he prepared to face the stable's monstrous inhabitants.
As dusk approached, Liam, still in the stables, had a realization. "I need to learn this language before I venture out, or I'll end up accidentally volunteering to be a dragon's lunch instead of a stable boy!" He worked until the shadows grew long, when the stern, no-nonsense woman reappeared, marching towards him with a determination that would make a charging rhinoceros think twice. She grabbed Liam as if he were a sack of potatoes overdue for delivery and escorted him back to his bunk.
---
Liam's morning wake-up call was a kick in his stomach from that fucking kid. He blinked open his eyes to see him staring, expression as blank as a zombie. The kid then shuffled away.
Grumbling to himself, "What's with this place? Hogwarts meets Oliver Twist?" Liam sat up and surveyed his outfit. His jeans had seen better days, and his shirt, layered with a brown jacket, was completely dirtry. His white sneakers, now an unidentifiable shade of grime.
Hunger gnawing at him, Liam trudged to the dining room, which was buzzing with a motley crew of diners. He walked to the food and realised it was all leftovers from someone's dinner. Meat and fruits lay there in heaps. He was too hungry to care.
"Bon appétit," Liam muttered sarcastically, scooping up some of the discarded feast with his hands and slapping it onto a conveniently placed piece of wood. He sat down, took a bite, and was pleasantly surprised. "Not bad, if you ignore the fact that it's probably been chewed on more than once," he thought.
As the room cleared out, Liam found himself in solitary contemplation. Then, a girl entered, looking as if she'd just completed a marathon through the seven circles of hell. She slumped down across from him, dumped her own collection of rejects onto a makeshift plate, and began a monologue in a language as foreign to Liam as Martian.
Words spilled out between her sobs to which Liam could only nod sympathetically. When she finished, her smile was fleeting. She left, and Liam, feeling like he'd just witnessed a dramatic performance without subtitles, returned to the stables, pondering the oddities of this peculiar world.
Liam's days in this bizarre castle settled into a routine. He found himself drawn to the girl in the dining room, who had become his unintentional language tutor. As he worked in the stables, he would mutter words under his breath, sounding like a novice spellcaster practicing incantations.
He became adept at the game of charades, pointing at objects and getting her to name them. Their communication was a comedy of errors - a blend of gestures, broken words, and mutual bafflement. Sometimes, he accompanied her to her workplace, a spot by a heavy door were someone would occasionally shout something to her. She was like a medieval Alexa - someone yells a command, and off she goes to fetch food, drink, or messages.
As Liam's vocabulary expanded, so did his sense of adventure. He found himself standing near her workplace more often, trying to catch new words, when one day, the angry, definitely sexless nun stormed through the hall. "What are you doing here, you buncha?" she barked. Liam didn't know what 'puncha' meant, but it didn’t matter when she punched him straight in the eye.
He woke up in the stables, sporting a shiner. Rubbing his eye, he pondered, "Was I very lucky until now, or very unlucky?" In this topsy-turvy world, it was hard to tell.
The next morning in the dining hall, Liam noticed Mella trudging in, looking even more exhausted than usual. She sat across from him."They took my place at the chamber. I'm back in the kitchen. Nardal is horrible," she sighed, gingerly touching the top of her head. "He keeps hitting me with his spoon."
Liam felt guilt gnawing at him like a knife through the belly – a sensation he was all too familiar with from his adventures with leftover cuisine. "I'm sorry," he offered, but Mella just shook her head and started eating. As she left, Liam's mind started racing with escape plans. "Damn, time to make a break for it," he thought.
Heading to the stables, Liam's spirits lifted as he saw the Curdo, a creature that looked like a fox as big as a horse. Initially, Curdo had terrified Liam, but over time, they'd grown close. The creature had come in injured, and Liam had spent many hours feeding it directly, leading to a bond that only a man and a giant, horse-sized fox could share. "You feeling better there, Foxy?" Liam asked. The Curdo responded with a nuzzle of its wet nose, a gesture that Liam chose to interpret as a resounding 'yes'.
As he stroked Curdo's fur, Liam contemplated his escape plan. He had the run of the castle, knew its layout like the back of his hand, and had a giant fox-like creature for a companion. But what about Mella? She was depressed, timid, and had the air of someone who had long given up on expecting anything remotely good to happen in her life. "Maybe the best thing is to just pretend I've gotten an order," Liam mused.