Lost to the Orcs (Oyeon Orcs)

Chapter One I Want

CHAPTER ONE: I WANT

“If there is such a thing that could transport you to the world of a book, you certainly will never be seeing me again.”

The meme has popped up in my feed several times this month and it’s practically embedded in my brain. I mean if I could, I would. But I can’t. No magic or anything of the kind; science, voodoo, you name it! Can bring me into a book no matter how hard I look. I mean, technically, I haven’t actually looked. But if you consider the facts; I am a couch locked potato slash recluse who surfs the web, you’d think I would find it if it exists. Even if it were just by random chance, I’m pretty sure it’d have fallen in my lap by now.

Either which way, I’m still sitting around reading. I finished my commissions for the month. I got paid, so my bills are all taken care of. Now, I can be free for the rest of the day. That is, until I accept more commissions for next month. I add another sticky note to the sticky note board next to my desk. It reads the date and a little reminder, “5 commissions minimum. 15 max.” Alongside other sticky notes. “call the plumber.” “need to buy milk” “Laura wants to go to dinner on Saturday” But the worst part about each one? Is that they’re all old. Forgotten. I never called Laura. So, we didn’t go to dinner. I didn’t buy milk any of the times I went to the store. And my toilet is constantly draining/filling by itself.

If auto pay and direct deposit hadn’t been a thing, I wouldn’t have a home and I wouldn’t have a job. If I didn’t go straight burnout and complete all my commission in one go, or the minute I remembered them, they’d never get done. I often don’t remember what I’m doing in the middle of whatever I’m doing! It’s shitty, but it’s my life.

“What to do? What to do?” I groan, scrolling. Scrolling. Scrolling.

My stomach growls and I recall that I should eat. If I don’t, I’ll probably get some horrible heartburn. For some reason, not eating means bile in the back of my throat and burning the pipe. Which is ridiculously annoying; but I digress.

I pick up some paper cups I’d strewn on the floor earlier to get to my desk this morning and toss them in the trash. When I arrive in the kitchen, I’m staring at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and on the counters from yesterday’s fiasco in trying to create macaron cookies. They were all pretty bad. Well, not just pretty bad. They came out absolutely terrible and I don’t know when I’ll try to make them again because just NO. Apparently, I’m just not meant to bake, as last month’s banana bread debacle; nearly burnt my place to ash.

Well, if I want to eat, I’m gonna have to clear this sink.

A few hours later, I sit back on my desk with a bowl of rice, cheese, cut up hot dogs and hot sauce. Mmm-mm food of champions. I check my social media posts from this morning and take a sip of my fruity hydration drink because I honestly don’t remember to drink enough water to save my life.

Ah. One of my favorite authors is sharing a new book cover. A flush envelopes my cheeks. The male on the cover is quite… uh… oh boy. I’ll just preorder that and move on. I’ll find it in my reading app later this year hopefully.

Now this! This is a world I could fall into and never want to get out of. I grin and tweet just that. Because I know the author will appreciate it and I know that any of my followers would also find this funny.

I feel a tingle slither down my spine, causing me to shake like a wet dog. Ick. A ringing fills my ears and I blink several times, my hand feeling numb on my mouse and eyes burning like I haven’t blinked in hours.

The room is noticeably darker and I squint at my screen to look at the time. It’s eight at night.

Wait. What? How?

I have 20 missed notifications on each of my social media posts and six messages for potential commissions. Where—? Where did the time go?

Maybe I just fell asleep. At least my arm did. I groan as I bend and then straighten the damned thing. Tingles dance up and down my flesh. I feel so sluggish. Making my way to my bed is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. But I’m stopped midway.

The doorbell rings. The hell?? Who could that be?

I stumble to the door. “Who is it?”

“Please! Open the door! I need help!” It sounds like a teenager.

Surprise widens my eyes and shakes me awake a little bit with the tiny spike of adrenaline. I swing open the door to find a frantic looking teen. “What’s wrong??”

“Please! Can I use your phone? I’m being followed and I need to call my parents!” Their panic is infectious and their fear bleeds into me. There have been several robberies in the neighborhood recently. I hope they weren’t resorting to assault/kidnapping.

“Yes! Come in. Come in.” I pull them inside and walk to the phone. “Should we call the cops first?”

“No need.”

Lifting the receiver, I look at them over my shoulder in query. “What?” The loud bang of the gun reverberates and rings within my ears. I feel a sharp pain bloom in my chest and the next thing I know, I’m gasping on the floor.

The teenager pulls out their cell phone and starts looking around the room. I taste metal on my tongue. Bubbling in my throat. I clutch my chest; unable to move through the pain.

I hear more footsteps and suddenly my place is filled with teens and adults alike. Only, they’re taking my stuff and ignoring me. Oh god. I’m going to die here. These assholes shot me and are taking my stuff !

I’m shoved out of the way so they can grab my TV. “Prick.” I cough. Spilling blood out the corners of my mouth. This is some absolute bull.

The one who shoved me laughs and shoves me again. The pain sloshes like waves slapping the sides of a ship. My world is tunneling. The edges going black. I’m glad no one will be worried when I go. But damn do I wish I didn’t have to die this way. I want to live.

Before the black engulfs me, I remember my tweet to that author. And I try to think about what her next book will be like. The thought makes me smile a little.

I want to live.