Day 7, Post 1.

Very likely, nobody remembers it. A few posts, uploaded to a fiction website where chapters should have been. Written in a style that could be anywhere between fantasy and creepypasta. But there were those who read it. And they were a bit disappointed that they never really got to see where the story was going. None of them believed it was real, and the internet is so full of lives and stories that none of them ever thought much of it. Surely it was fake, and dropped, and would never be seen again.

Or so I would like to believe. I'd hate to have let them down.

From my point of view, things went down a little differently. But then, they always do. And now, I'm back.

It turns out that when you show up in a damp cave in the tundra, and a military patrol stumbles upon your half-dead body next to a burnt-out campfire, there are certain things that happen. Getting the strange glowing box in your pocket confiscated is one of them. And I guess a t-shirt and jeans is not the normal attire in the kingdom of Lupa, because they were fairly convinced that I must have done something strange. Of course, military patrols being what they are, "strange" meant potentially dangerous and after the walk to civilization, I spent a while learning to navigate the court system here in pursuit of my lost belongings. (After all, how could I make use of my infinite blogging skills without my beloved cell phone?)

You likely do not care about the court system here any more than I do, but if you're reading this, there's a reasonable chance that you're interested in the magic here, so here's what I've managed to gather so far.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

There's some sort of system that offers some sort of--skills seems like a strong word--magical quality of life improvements corresponding to life events or duties accepted. My blog and my phone battery, for instance, seem to be "oh you came from Earth" freebies.

Nobody talks about these things openly, and I haven't really made any friends, so I don't really know how it works, but I saw two guys carrying a wagon with a broken wheel down a street earlier today, so there must be some way to become stronger.

I know how shops work, and I'm not above begging, so I've managed to keep myself fed thus far.

But I suppose if anything, you're here for my own stories. The ones I've lived so far. The ones that hurt.

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I was playing video games when my grandfather died.

I know this because I was playing video games when my mom called to tell me he was in the hospital.

There were zombies swarming my character even as I looked over at the video call, saw him with an air tube in his nose, and asked how he was doing. He said breathing was hard and that he didn't feel so good.

"Well, that doesn't sound very fun."

"It's not."

Then a nurse came in and my mom ended the call with a promise that she'd call back when they had a moment and I went back to kicking the shit out of some zombies. I didn't move from there for hours, refusing to miss her call back, playing my game as though nothing were wrong. Instead, my little brother called some hours later.

"At 2:50 pm, grandpa was admitted to the hospital."

"Well I know that."

"About fifteen minutes ago, he passed away."

"Oh."

And then I hung up.

And spent the next hours sobbing incoherently in the comfort of my apartment.

I'm not a monster.

I swear I'm not.