《Unusual adventures of a day dreamer》


 Is it.. the Transmigration trope??

    When we think of dreams, the most logical person could say, they are your repressed desires left roaming in your head. Something you think a lot about. Or someone, you want to be with. Dreams.. such a magical concept. And yet, my dreams seem to have taken an offense to be categorized in such a narrow genre. The moment I close my eyes, logic flies right out the window. Of the hundreds of strange stories my subconscious has woven, one tops all in its surreal experience and weirdness.


    I find myself on a high-backed chair made for giants. Shackled loosely, as if for formality. A stadium of far too many chairs surrounds me. A wall covers the periphery, going all the way up to the top in a dome. At its peak, exactly above me, a circle is engraved in what appears to be ancient runes of some sort. A replica of which I find on the floor below my stone chair.


    I see blurry faces conferring among themselves in hushed voices.


    ''Ehm...Is the culprit awake? It''s time then.'' the blurry face at the head of the high table opposite me says in a confident voice. With a snap of his fingers, gears jump to action in opening a hole in the ceiling, right where the runes converged to. A thick beam of moonlight descends onto me, unraveling the night sky above.


    My vague vision clears up a bit. And yet, the faces remain foggy.


    ''Prisoner A-912B, you are charged with attempted stealing of the restricted Royal tome "ultima magika," betraying the trust laid on you as the apprentice to Royal Magi. In addition to seducing the Royal Princess in helping you acquire the said ancient tome. What say you in your defense to such an abhorrent act?''


    "Ah..um..there might be a slight misunderstanding? I mean, I''m flattered that you''d rate him so highly, but with all due respect to the Magical court, does it sound logical that an apprentice enchanter should be capable of bypassing the wards as easily as that? Not to mention a commoner of no particular uniqueness, apparently seducing the most beautiful highborn girl of the Fey realm? My memories are a bit jumbled but that doesn''t sound right?" I hear an elderly voice on the far left of the high table questioning with a slight confusion blended in their voice.


    There is a murmur of assent to the reasoning among the spectators, I see a few heads even nodding, and yet the Judge remains stoically unmoved.


    ''We shall be the judge of that,'' says a booming authoritative voice above the whispers from the immediate right of the head judge on the high table. With a slight rise of his bony palms, the floor is lava. Literally. There is no dramatic fluorescent flash, no fancy flourish, from one moment to another, it just is.


    "Eayyyahhhheee¡ª"...


    Before I could shatter the eardrums of all present with a squeal of a live roasted pig, my voice cuts off midway.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    The engraved runes left ignored on the floor form a translucent circular barrier between me and the red hot flood of doom.


    "...H-huh" I exhale in tremendous disbelief.


    Well... if you have that, you needn''t worry about the loose shackles now, do you?


    I shiver despite the excessive heat radiating from the molten elements lapping at the edges of the runes. My giant iron chair remains unusually cold and uncomfortable still, despite it all. It centers on me as the rounds of interrogation begin. Five minutes in, and I know it for what it is. Meaningless, uphill battle. The odds were never in my favor. Neither were the judges quite as impartial as one would hope. With each round of questions, the glow of concentrically layered runes dies an inch, and the lava gains ground. In the moments before the heat is unbearable, as the lava threatens to consume me whole, mere handspan from my naked feet, a miracle happens.


    The door bangs open and in comes floating the most beautiful person I had ever seen in my life. With a literal glow in her emerald green eyes and a furious expression on her face.


    "What is the meaning of this??" Whispers the center of attention in a deceptively calm voice.


    ''We-well.. you see your highness.. uh...Princess.. this wretch here¡ª''


    "Quiet!! You will not address the chosen one so casually!" Snaps the apparently Princess in a voice that used to be obeyed immediately.


    ''Chosen¡ª'' stutters the head judge reeling back instantly.


    She ignores the stunned silence permeated in the hall and floats over to me, bypassing the wards as if they weren''t there, the lava unable to harm even her enchanted dress let alone herself.


    "There there.. my dear.. what have they done to you?" The Princess coos in a soothing voice. "You cannot be hurt like this, you are hoping against the evil. Heroes are supposed to die on a battlefield, in a dual to death with the Demon King himself. Taking him with them and making way for the new hope to take root." She whispers.


    At that moment, my fuzzy mind finally sobers up. Three things I notice immediately; the Princess is the only person I see, all the judges even spectators have much more comfortable chairs than me, and the Lava is gone, leaving no trace behind of its presence.


    "Th-thank you... ehm..um... Miss Princess? Just.. one question. What do you mean by like, heroes are supposed to die, it''s not like it''s... a fixed match or something right? Haha..." I ask hesitantly clearing up my throat a bit.


    "Well.. after the deal with the tyranny of the first transmigrated otherworldly Hero, it kind of is... But hey! You get to die for a noble cause!" She beams with gleaming eyes of unwavering finality.


    "Listen.. thanks for the rescue and all that.. but, I''d rather not die at all, thank you," I say, trying to get up from the chair.


    Suddenly the loose shackles start restraining me before I could make my attempt. The Princess draws near my ear, and speaks in her ethereal tone,


    "You speak as if it was an option for you to choose, my love"


    The cruel curl of lips is the last thing I see before I pass out, only to wake up terrified and sweating profusely on my bed in a one-bedroom bachelor''s apartment in a small town in India. For once, immensely grateful for my boring 9 to 5 life.


    Dreams can be weird. There is rarely ever any logic to my dreams, yet sometimes, they can be strangely grounding. They can teach you the value of what you already have. Sometimes your desires and dreams are better left to remain a fantasy. After all, not all dreams are good. Some can be nightmares.

 You & I

    Daydreams are strange. Even stranger than the dreams at night. They refuse to be contained in the category of good dreams or nightmares. Daydreams are a genre of their own. And I m a professional daydreamer.


    Recently, somebody has been visiting my thoughts quite frequently. It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t usually think about girls, oh man of course I do.


    My daydreams range from thinking of the perfect response of an argument I might have lost in the past, to the cheesy k-drama scenario of dazzling everybody with my newfound talent in music or some other uniqueness. Random scenes generate in my mind of doing a cool intro bit in an ongoing birthday party of somebody after being gone for about six months and shocking everyone who ever made a negative comment on my physique, appearing with an extremely appealing appearance. Razor cut jawline, shiny new boots, freshly pressed suit, while showing my abs for some reason (god I miss my abs).


    Like I said, daydreams are strange.


    Wait what was I talking about?


    Oh yeah the recent frequent visitor of my daydreams.


    It¡¯s a known fact that the more you spend time with somebody the more will they be in your thoughts. However, the curious fact about this situation is I¡¯ve never ever met the person of my thoughts as of yet. It¡¯s been only a short while since I¡¯ve known her. It¡¯s been only a short while since we started talking. And yet she frequents my daydreams still.


    How curious. To think, that I¡¯d get so close so soon to someone. Who would¡¯ve thought that tinder can actually let you meet with the right people. She¡¯s become my only reason to open tinder. I don¡¯t even want to swipe anymore. Why bother? When I¡¯ve already found the one I was looking for?


    You see, I¡¯m a pro dreamer. I don¡¯t just jump from random flashes of memory, scenes to scenes. I watch the whole fucking episodes. A series even. From one dream to the next. My dreams have reliability, rationality, and even quite a bit of reality. Sometimes though.. sometimes it¡¯s strange like the one I¡¯ve been having.


    I try but I can never see her face clearly in these daydreams. It¡¯s clouded, foggy, blurry, or sometimes hidden behind a veil. All I see of her face is a faint outline of her tempting lips. But in these daydreams, I hear her voice. And that alone makes them worth it.


    .


    .


    .


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong. What worries you?¡± she asks in her dreamy voice.


    ¡®Nothing. Really. It¡¯s just.. wait.. how do you always know?¡¯ I enquire playing with her hair, mildly bewildered, but mostly just enjoying her attention.


    ¡°Your eyes. Their glow dims when you go to that far away place to distress¡± she responds, looking at me with concern.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡®You never know, I might just be thinking about naughty things. I¡¯m a man too you know?¡± I reply cheekily.


    ''hahah¡ªow, owowowowo¡ª¡¯ my laughter is cut off midway as she starts twisting my ears out of the blue with a self satisfied smirk on her faint lips.


    ¡°Well, Mr., I do know you. So, stop evading the subject and share your worries with me. Your thoughts are safe with me here,¡± she declares while putting her arms around my shoulders and pulling my head back to rest on her bosom. Comforting me with soft pats on the head like a puppy, she gestures me to continue.


    ¡®...I don¡¯t know who I am anymore..¡¯ I respond after a minute of hesitation.


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡®..Back in my residential school, I was always the odd one out. I was a kid from a village, 2 years younger than all others, selected through scholarship exam, and no idea of fashion or urban etiquette. I tried to fit in. I really did. I tried to make friends. I tried sports to be a part of a team, any team, and failed spectacularly. I tried music and art, but I was far beyond the average. And then once I tried poetry. I wrote it on the back of the 10<sup>th</sup> board quarterly exams question paper. Presented it on evening assembly in front of the whole school, got applauded and then asked where I stole it from. An icy sensation crept all over my body, snaking its way down to my bones. I should have been frustrated, I should have been furious. Yet, disappointment, and then numbness, utter apathy was all I felt. Then I was an outcast again. I hid in libraries. When my peers were cheering in the cricket field, I was delving deeper in the dungeons of fantastical foreign worlds. I became known as the that weird kid in Aravali. I tried to blend in. I really did. I tried to make friends, I learnt to laugh at stupid jokes, I learnt to smile to seem approachable, I did all that I could. And in the process to find validation from the replica of society around me, I lost myself. It¡¯s been more than a decade. And yet, I am still that quiet awkward kid. Trying to find someone, just one. Just one to be myself with, without being judged for my thoughts, my habits, my appearance. Still, looking for myself. I glance at the mirror and find a stranger glancing back. I don¡¯t know.. who I am.¡¯


    ¡°¡­¡­¡±


    There is a moments of silence between us. Then I start getting worried about perhaps having over shared. And before I could wiggle my way out of her embrace I feel the warm wet sensation of a single tear dropping on my cheek.


    ¡®huh?¡¯ my fingers find their way to my cheek to investigate the anomaly. But my eyes are dry. I don¡¯t remember having been able to cry since that evening assembly. I trace my way up the source to see the veil lifting with a breeze for a brief instant, in which I fail to see her face, utterly entranced in her brown eyes, full of understanding and anger on my behalf.


    In a sudden motion that leaves me unable to react she pulls me in tightly to embrace.


    ¡®Hey wha¡ª..¡¯


    ¡±Shh¡­. I¡¯m here¡± she whispers soothingly with her warm breath in my ears. I feel my face heating up. My cheeks painted red.


    ¡®Come on, what if someone¡ª¡¯


    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡± She declares in her casually confident voice still strangling the hell out of me in her embrace.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare think you¡¯re alone, alright? Your past might be haunted. But I won¡¯t let your present be the same.¡± She mutters in resolution, ¡°No one knows the future, but in this moment, as long as you¡¯ll let me. I¡¯m here.¡±


    I lean back a bit to look at her again. But my eyes still fail to pierce the veil. But I remember her eyes. And as the canvas of my dreamscape fades to dark starting from the peripheral with her soft voice starts fading out, I hug her back one last time watching past the cascade of her dark hair, the encroaching end of the world begin eating away at the aspects of my being, I whisper smiling as darkness takes us..


    ¡®I¡¯m here too.. For as long as you¡¯d let me. You and I against the world. Together.¡¯