I could never claim that my life was interesting. Some might consider it sad, or difficult, but I didn’t think of it as such. I just went about it trying to do the best that I could, even if at times it seemed like everything was against me. I didn’t call spite upon anyone, I shouted no blame, nor spat any insults. Even the man who was responsible for me being left all alone wasn’t the target of any of my wrath; maybe that was because he was dead.

I had a family once; mother, father, typical stuff. I was their first child, and their last, as they didn’t have an opportunity to try for another, not that I would ever know if they planned on giving me a sibling. I was all of two years old when it happened. A car crash, a perfectly mundane accident that could happen to anyone. The whole event wasn’t even worth more than a single day's news coverage from local sources. ‘Drunk driver crashes into family vehicle, three dead, child survives’ and other variations of the same headline.

Dad died immediately along with the driver of the other vehicle; Mom bled out before firefighters and paramedics could pull her out of the wreck. Hell, even I died for a few seconds before being revived on the way to the hospital. I’m told that I had several broken bones and a large laceration on the right side of my face that left a gnarly scar from my cheek to my ear; must have cried a lot during that time. Maybe that’s why I don’t cry about it now, got it all out of my system early on. I know some may think me callous for remembering the death of my parents with what could be described as apathy, but that’s the funny thing about being two, you don’t really remember a whole lot.

I get the sense that my parents loved me very much, they certainly looked very happy in the few photos that I still have of them. But the people I consider to be my family now are the caregivers and other children at the orphanage. Those three women who ran the place were saints in their own right. They rarely ever yelled, managed to control a gaggle of children when most can’t handle more than a few, and instilled in us all the life lessons we would need to survive in the world. They taught us respect, the drive to work, to better yourself, and always told us that we could do anything we wanted if we just put our minds to it.

The kids had different reactions to their support, but I latched onto those teachings and ingrained them. I decided in my teenage years that I wanted to be more than just some kid whom everyone looked at with pity and empty words of sympathy. I was going to thrive in this world that tried to end my life before it even began, then I was going to make it a better place.

There were a couple of kids, including myself, that didn’t manage to get adopted. Maybe the scar was off-putting. The unofficial cut-off for being adopted is becoming a teenager, as the odds of it happening decrease exponentially. The official cut-off for this particular orphanage was eighteen, after which you could only take what little you had in possessions and money and try to make your way in the world.

I got a part-time job when I was sixteen so I could save up some money. My plan was to go to college and study to become a teacher. With what I earned, the grants that were afforded to me, and the money that I inherited from my late parents, I managed to have a comfortable amount saved up for when I turned eighteen.

The farewell party they threw for me was a touching event. There were tears, laughter, and cake in abundance. It was actually hard for me to leave them all. My mothers, for that is who they were to me, looked at me with a mixture of sadness and pride. The kids who had come to the orphanage and grew up with me as their big brother were crying and begging me not to leave. The cake helped calm them down a little bit, as did my promise to come back and visit everyone. I kept that promise, returning to see them on holidays throughout the year.

I left after many goodbyes and tears were shed. I took a train to the next city over where the college I would be attending was located. I stepped off the train at my stop and took in the slightly polluted air. No one around paid any mind to the young, almost non-descript man standing about at the station. At the time I was lightly tanned, mildly muscled, and had short black hair cut that way to minimize maintenance. Aside from my scar, the only thing of any note about my appearance was my green eyes, a genetic oddity that apparently is from my biological mother. I was brimming with confidence and took the moment to fulfill a cliché, something I cringe at nowadays. “Look out world, James Anderson is here!”

Like I said, cringy, but now we’re all but caught up. I’ve been in college for two years now. Things are going well; I’ve gotten a B average grade in most of my classes with variations in the positive spectrum. I also have a part time job as a store clerk for rent and fun money, because everyone needs a little fun, else you’re liable to go insane. Lastly, I volunteer at a soup kitchen on Saturdays, met a lot of nice people because of that, on both sides of the serving counter.

I always try to be as sociable as I can, don’t want to become the strange loner guy. Small talk is kind of difficult, I can always see their eyes drift to my scar, and they get that face like they’re dying to ask about it but don’t. If it persists, I break the tension about it and throw them a bone that lets them ask without feeling awkward. My favorite way to do this is to ask them, “You wanna know how I got these scars?” in my best Joker impression. That usually gets a nervous laugh, but they almost always admit that they were curious. I could do without the sympathetic looks that I get most of the time. I want to be just a normal guy to everyone, not some cry case where everyone treats me with kid gloves.

I like the soup kitchen not just for the people that you can meet, but because, thus far, no one has asked me about my scar. You get all sorts that come through there. Some look like they are recovering from abusing controlled substances, others are veterans who could not find their way in civilian life, and then there’s your average Joe and Jane homeless individual who have their own problems. No one has the time or the interest to care about how I got my scar and a few of them have disfigurements of their own that are more prominent than mine. Missing leg here, burn victim there, everyone has a story they’d rather not tell, so no one asks.

It was Saturday again, so I was in back at the soup kitchen helping set up for dinner. They had huge pots of different, simple soups for people to choose from. You got the classics like chicken noodle and then you have a few like minestrone that volunteers who were better at cooking than me prepared. I’m pretty sure I would burn the water if they gave me control of the kitchen.

Luckily, I’m just the muscle, moving things where they need to be and serving them up when they get there. With the last of the pots moved out to the serving counter, I went to get my apron and hair net that I need to work the counter. The other servers were prepared as well, so the doors were opened, and the people started flooding in.

Everyone proceeded to the line orderly and respectfully. They were all aware that we volunteered to help them and treated us as such, giving pleases and thank yous whenever applicable. I made light small talk with the people who passed by who were regulars here. We exchanged hellos and inquired as to how the other was doing, but the exchanges were brief and to the point as they all shuffled along down the line.

Things were going smoothly, like always. I ran empty pots back to the kitchen and picked up a new one when needed. The food was enjoyed, if the smiles were anything to go by, and people made idle talk with others whom they grew to know coming here, filling the room with the lively sounds that would be common in a restaurant.

We were getting close to closing time, most of the soup was gone and we were on the last few pots. That was when another familiar face came in. A little old lady, Mrs. Ramirez, walked up to the back of the line. Her dark grey hair was cut short in a wavy fashion, her copper skin was more wrinkle than flesh, making her appear as if she had lived for more than a century. She was always the last one in for the day, it had been like that for the last six months. I have no idea how she manages to time it as such with the variations in the number of people who come in, but she does. It’s gotten to the point that when the volunteers see her, they start cleaning up surfaces in preparation for closing. I once asked her how she manages to pull it off without fail and she only gave a non-answer.

“Well, I just like talking to you, and I can’t very well do that if someone is pushing me along in a line,” she said.

I gave her a wide grin as she approached and stopped in front of me yet again. “And how are we doing today, Mrs. Ramirez?”

“Far better now that I have a chance to talk with you. What about you, James, everything going alright in your life?”

“Can’t complain. Doing well in school, job’s going steady, apartments still a rat hole, but I cleaned it up a little more recently, so it looks better now.”

She gave a sweet chuckle, the kind I imagine grandmothers use with their grandkids. “I love your optimism, James. I’ve asked after you for months now and you never give a negative answer or lament your situation.”

“Well, no use in complaining about things; either I can change it, or I can’t. Either way, I’ll just do what I can and the best that I can.”

“And I love that about you. There are too many who would simply curse the world for all their misfortunes and give up.”

“My apartment’s not that bad,” I said with a chuckle.

“Your parents would be proud to see the man you grew up to be.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. When did I...? No, I’m sure I never talked about my past with her. I wondered how she knew about that. The conclusion I drew in my mind was that she must have asked around about me and found someone who I told. I knew a few other students from my school volunteered here on occasion, some just for class credit, maybe she had heard from one of them.

“I actually have something for you, a gift for being such a good man and listening to an old woman's ramblings.” That piqued my interest as I watched her reach into her wool coat pocket. She pulled forth something that dangled on the end of a small chain necklace. After I took a moment to identify it, I saw the figure on the end of the chain was a snake, looped around to swallow its tail. It was the classic symbol of ouroboros, a sign for infinity, immortality, and a couple of other things depending on who you asked. It was silver and had an impressive amount of detail in the scales and eyes. It was sized approximately as big as what putting your fingers together in an ‘ok’ sign would be.

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“It’s beautiful, but you didn’t have to buy me anything, you need that money for yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I made this myself, specifically for you.”

“You made this?” I looked at the necklace with a new appreciation. It must have taken days to get the amount of detail in this piece right, and it was probably made with hand tools as I didn’t imagine she had the funds for machine work. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything dear. I choose to give this to you, and you can tell me what you think of it after you’ve had a chance to use it.”

‘Use it’? Odd phrasing. “Well, thank you. I don’t know if I deserve such a personal gift, but thank you.”

“You are worthy of it. You have a pure heart and a kind soul. I know that you will do great things.”

Reaching out, I presented the palm of my hand. She lowered the necklace into my open hand and when I closed it around the gift both her hands shot out faster than I thought she could move and clasped my hand in hers. I stood, slightly stunned by her action. Her grip was firm yet gentle, almost lovingly so.

“Don’t let them change you, please stay the kind soul you have always been. Please stay strong, for all the people who need you.”

I wanted to ask what she was talking about, but I didn’t get the chance. She released me and grabbed her bowl of soup before going over to sit down and eat, leaving me slightly bewildered and holding her gift. It really was a beautiful piece and I figured I might as well put it on now since she had gone through the trouble to make it for me. I didn’t have much of anything in the way of accessories, so this could spice up my look a little bit and maybe give me a good story to tell.

I wore it for the rest of the day. I caught Mrs. Ramirez smiling at me every time I looked over to where she was sitting. I gave a polite smile back and then continued with the cleanup for the day. I was scrubbing some of the pots in the back when I was addressed by another of the volunteers.

“Hey James, how was the serving line today?”

I turned to see Alissa standing behind me with that kind smile she normally has. Her dark brown hair hung loosely below her shoulders; her olive-toned skin looked soft, almost flawless if it weren’t for a few cute freckles around her cheeks, and her hazel eyes stared into mine with the same kindness reflected in her smile.

“Hi Alissa, everything went fine in the line. I think they liked your soup; it was the first to empty and I think we might just need more of it next time.”

She gave a little laugh before continuing. “Well, it’s nice to know my food is appreciated around here.”

“It is pretty good.” I admitted. “I had some leftovers before, and I have to say you work wonders with such simple ingredients.”

“Thank you, that means a lot.” Her eyes drifted down, and she noticed the necklace I had on. “Where did you get that? I didn’t see you wearing anything like that when you first came in today.”

I grabbed the necklace and held it up a little away from my chest so she could see it better. “Mrs. Ramirez gave it to me, apparently she made it herself. I’m still kind of surprised that she went through all that effort for me.”

“That was nice of her. It is very pretty, and it looks extremely well made.”

“I know, right? I wonder how long it took her to finish it.”

“I couldn’t say, not really my area of expertise.” There was a bit of a pause in the conversation as we both didn’t really know what to talk about next. Eventually she decided to simply excuse herself. “I think we should get back to cleaning up, don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

“Yeah, I guess we should. I’ll see you around?”

“Same time next week at the very least.” She said with a smile and a wink.

I chuckled a little and returned the smile as she pivoted and walked off with a slight spring to her step. Maybe I should ask her out to coffee next week. I had a smile on my face for the rest of the clean up as I thought about asking her out. It was a nervous kind of anticipation, but I was confident that I could at the very least get her to agree to the coffee. Anything after that, well, we would see.

With the last of the dishes cleaned and no other surfaces needing scrubbing, the volunteers all filed out and started to head back to their respective homes. I had a bike that was used to get from point A to point B as it was the cheapest option for travel, and I didn’t really have anywhere long distance to be. I like to think that it kept me healthy too, a little exercise never hurts after all.

I peddled home as the evening light slowly turned orange with the sun's descent. It was a twenty-minute bike ride back to my apartment and fifteen minutes from there to college. The apartment complex catered to students like me, looking for a very cheap place to live while attending college. I pushed the bike up to my room and fiddled with my keys until I could get the door unlocked.

Ahh, home sweet hole in the wall. It was an incredibly small apartment. The living room and kitchen were practically one in the same room and the bedroom was connected to it with only a doorway that held no door to mark the change of rooms. There was a small bathroom connected to the bedroom which was basically only a little bit bigger than I would be if I decided to lay down on the ground in there.

I pushed my bike inside and set it up against the wall where it would be mostly out of the way. I locked up for the night, ate a little bit of the leftover soup that I took home with me, and started to do some homework.

Kicking off my shoes, I hopped onto my bed and opened my textbook. I worked on my homework for a couple of hours, slowly adding to the pile of textbooks and papers around my bed as I went. A fair amount of it was done before I realized how late it had gotten. As if in recognition of the time of night, I let out a yawn and started tossing everything back into my backpack. Not even wanting to get undressed, I just flopped back onto the bed and settled in for the night; I could get changed tomorrow.

Removing the necklace, I looked at it a little bit in admiration for the quality of craftsmanship that went into it. She must have been a jeweler or something when she was younger. The kind of work that goes into making something like this by hand is a rare thing in a modern world where almost everything is done by machine. Knowing that this was a personal labor gave the serpent a kind of energy to it that made it feel special. I smiled and set the necklace down on my nightstand. Maybe I can show it off a little at school, her work certainly deserves to be in the spotlight, no matter how small it is. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me into its embrace.

I was disturbed in the middle of the night as I unconsciously tried to spread my legs and found that they were bound up and couldn’t move all that well. Damnit, did I get tangled up in my bedsheets again? I groaned as my eyes creaked open so I could unravel myself. That was when I realized I was staring directly into a large, slit eye.

I was still groggy as hell and my brain was doing its best to try to decipher what it was seeing. The eye pulled back which revealed the head of a giant snake, scales of light silver reflecting what little moonlight strewn into my bedroom from the window. It was so surreal, beautiful and mesmerizing that I could only come to a single conclusion. This is a dream; it must be a... That was when it felt like someone had dropped a bus onto my chest.

The pain flared through my body as my mouth opened in an attempt to scream, all that came out was a pained gargle. I tried to writhe and escape the pain, but I found that I couldn’t move more than an inch as I was pinned in place by the crushing force. I realized then that I wasn’t tangled up in my sheets, I was in the coils of the serpent who kept pressing down and constricting me further. I couldn’t breathe, my bones were grinding together and threatening to snap, and I couldn’t even voice my agony.

It was all I could do to even wiggle in the coils of the serpent and I was slowly getting weaker as I ran out of air. Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! WHY AM I NOT WAKING UP! This couldn’t be real, there was no way it could be real, so why did it hurt so much? Tears started to form in my eyes as the buildup of pain could find no other way to escape my body.

The serpent opened its mouth in a hiss, revealing rows of backwards curved silver teeth, glinting like daggers in the night. Then it struck, quicker than a lightning bolt as it sunk the rows of blades into the side of my neck. My back arched slightly as my mouth once again opened in a noiseless scream. Tears were running down my face as the pain was overwhelming and I felt a wet warmth on my neck.

Why is this happening? It hurts. Why does it hurt so much? My vision was slipping, the edges falling away to darkness as I could do nothing but twitch and cry. I could feel the warmth from my neck spread down my back. My heart was slowing, running out of the vital fuel that was oxygen that would keep it running. I could barely see anything anymore, it was getting dark, my body felt cold, the pain was fading, sensation turning to numbness. Am I really dying? Why? This doesn’t, even, make, sen...

I was gone, lost to the black void where thought and life meant nothing. I was adrift in this void of nothingness that I was only vaguely aware surrounded me. I don’t know how long I had been there, could have been thousands of years and I doubt I would have noticed. It was in the void of nothingness that I felt something, barely even a tickle on my back, but the sensation was akin to lightning striking after having been deprived of anything resembling feeling.

I focused on the sensation, and it became stronger, more encompassing. It spread across my back and then down to the heels of my feet. It was like a key was turned and a door unlocked as more feeling began to return to me. I felt one side of me was warm and the other cool, there was something wet along with the tickling sensation on my back. The dark was pierced by waves of color across my eyelids as afterimages of light danced across my vision. Then I could feel my body again, and with that came the panic.

I launched up with a scream while throwing my arms out, trying to strike at the snake that was no longer there. My heart was racing as I scanned the area for any signs of danger, particularly danger in the giant snake category. It was then that I noticed I wasn’t in my room anymore. I was sitting in a field of wild grass waving in the slight breeze. The ground was very wet and muddy, and my back was suffering the effects of that.

My momentary distraction at the change of environment was undone by remembering the snake, and the bite. Hands shot up to my neck and felt around for any injuries as I scanned once again for dangers. My neck was unmarred by damage, though I could still feel the phantom pain, and I was decidedly alone.

Standing up and looking around, it became clear I was in the middle of a valley, no signs of civilization whatsoever. There were hills surrounding me, so perhaps climbing one would give me a good view of the landscape. Before I could even take more than a few steps towards one a noise stopped me in my tracks. I listened closely as the rumbling sound grew more intense. After a moment I could feel vibrations in the ground to accompany the sound which caused me to panic. It sounded like a stampede was heading my way, and from two different directions. That was when I heard a roar, first of many voices that sounded like crazed humans and then of more that were inhuman.

Down the hill in front of me came a wave of humanoid figures clad in gleaming metal. They ran across the field in my direction screaming at the top of their lungs a bloodthirsty cry. My head whipped around in the other direction as I saw another wave of bodies, but this time there were few that even resembled a human. It was like someone opened a book of monsters and let loose the entire thing. There were lizardmen, minotaur, goblins, and orcs to name a few. There were many different types of monsters and creatures amongst them that I couldn’t readily identify, not that I had much chance to as I was still in the middle of what looked like two warring armies, and I had no idea what was going on. Where the hell am I!