Patrick's eyes widened in shock. “Really? You want to work with me?”

“Yeah,” I replied earnestly. “You seem like a good person, and you seem to be experimenting already. It makes more sense to work together.”

“Sure! Let’s do this!” He beamed at me and held out his hand for a high five. Me, being the awkward human being that I am, I decided to try and shake it.

After an uncomfortably long time fumbling around like fools, we gave up. I fidgeted. What are we supposed to talk about now? I’m not good at peopleing!

I was saved by Patrick’s phone ringing. He looked at the name and picked it up.

“Hello, mother,” he said. His mother’s words were just loud enough for me to know something was being said, but not loud enough to hear.

Patrick winced. His mother didn’t seem too happy.

“I am in an elevator. It broke down, and I am now stuck.” Why is he speaking like that?

He paused for her to reply. He nodded, not that she could see him.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” This conversation was practically screaming at a rocky relationship.

She replied.

“I will, mother. Goodbye.” He hung up. He looked at me and said in a cheery voice, “now then, where were we?”

Are we just going to ignore that? I guess I should change the topic then. “How long do you think it will take for us to get out?” By the look on his face, he knew what I was doing and was thankful for it.

“I don’t know, ten minutes? An hour? I haven’t exactly been in many broken elevators.” He had a slight grin, a great contrast to his conversation with his mother. “You could, in fact, say that this is my first.”

“Hoh,” I gave him a sly grin. “Does this mean that I am your first?” He groaned.

----------------------------------------

It took two hours for the door to finally open. In that time Patrick had to convince me not to blow it open, I had to convince Patrick not to experiment with magic before we got out, and we alternated convincing the other not to hit the alarm button as fast as possible.

It was to our great relief when the blasted thing finally started moving. I definitely didn’t fall. Don’t believe Patrick if he tells you otherwise. He’s a filthy liar.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

When the doors finally opened, a technician was standing in front of them. He started, “Hey, it to--” but we didn’t care enough to listen. We rushed out as fast as we could, and Patrick whooped and hollered. I was more restrained, but I was only better in that I was less vocal.

When I asked for his number, Patrick gave it to me. He called his mom, and we parted ways with a promise to meet up later.

I looked around with interest. So much had changed during my stay in the hospital. While there was still a lesser amount than usual, people were more willing to go out. More interestingly, the crowd was more colorful.

There was the old man from the hospital. He was jogging now, and he looked to have been at it for a while. His t-shirt was covered in sweat, and he looked to have settled into a rhythm.

Two entertainers practiced on a corner. One of them looked to have gone the path of magic; he used raw mana to make floating animals. They were a bit off; the elephant’s nose was too thick, the giraffe’s nose comically long, but it was interesting nonetheless. His partner seemed to have gone a more physical route; he was performing mind-boggling acrobatics. He would run and kick into a diagonal flip, then land in a roll, then somehow spin in such a manner that it propelled him upwards and onto his feet. Some people were watching, but it wasn’t a large crowd. I lived in the suburbs of Long Island, there wasn’t exactly a surplus of foot traffic.

Amusingly, a man was trying to learn to unicycle on the sidewalk. I don’t know what gave him the idea that it would be a good place to learn, but as a unicycle myself, I can confidently say that it is terrible. In the beginning, you need a flat place with something to hold onto. Getting onto a unicycle is a nightmare for the untrained.

The walk wasn’t short, but it wasn’t long either. I lived a scant mile from the hospital, and throughout my walk, I had noticed a trend. The system seemed to have inspired people to work on themselves. Along with the unicycler, I saw a woman trying to walk on stilts, a man try rollerblading, and an absolute unit, I’m talking a 500 pounder, jogging.

I guess the gamers were right. A numerical representation of your skill level does motivate people to improve.

Eventually, however, my walk had to come to an end. I reached my house and looked up at it. It wasn’t anything special; it had two stories, a basement, and an attic. It was my childhood home, and I had inherited it after The Accident. And just like after The Accident, almost dying in it had given it a new light in my eyes.

I unlocked the creaky front door, stepped into the sunroom, painted a god awful orange by my colorblind dad last year, and smiled. It was good to be home.

I wasn't going to do anything strenuous for the rest of the day. In fact, aside from finally getting my phone, I wasn’t going to do anything productive for the rest of the day! I would just ride my unicycle, flex on that loser over by the hospital, and enjoy the day. Breaks are vital, even if you like your job.