Another Chance in Another World

Prologue

((Thank you, dear reader for taking the time to read this. I shall do my best to not disappoint. However I am a long form novelist by trade, and so I have a few (three) chapters of exposition and introducing some early characters and the setting. If you hold on that long, we can get to the good stuff (which starts on the fourth chapter). The story itself is centered around a guy who has some issues, and the chance in the new world helps him grow, and meet wonderful, and buxom friends, allies, and enemies. Hopefully you enjoy his growth and adventures. Cheers!))

It was one of those winter days when your breath cascades up in front of you and your throat hurts after, as you suck in air. I exhaled twice, standing there, before hefting the papers that were tucked neatly under my arm. I worked to get my car keys back in my pocket. My gloves made it difficult.

Eventually I was able to squeeze them into my jeans. Then I looked up to the university in front of me. Kids younger than I walked slowly through the cold; some laughing, others holding coffee, and while most headed into the school, some dallied, arms under arm.

I was so out of place, and out of time; having just turned thirty in the fall. Sighing, I walked on quickly, my old dark green backpack that had seen better days was slung over the shoulder with the papers, and on I walked across the parking lot to the large university that loomed above me, perhaps as a threat. “You will not succeed!” I imagined the building saying.

Right inside the entrance, a young and pretty blonde girl with curly hair was talking to a security guard that looked about my age. She had a slick red bag under her arm that was probably expensive. The guard told her that she wasn’t allowed in the school without a see-through backpack.

Shit.

Hefting my dark backpack to my other shoulder I moved on past. It had been so long since I was in school I had forgotten that since school shootings were almost commonplace now there were far more security measures in place, such as bags that had to be clear.

“Hey, what about him?!” The girl called. I pretended not to hear.

“Hey, guy!” The guard called. I turned around and frowned. He motioned me over, “You can’t come in here without a clear backpack.” I played dumb, but polite. My age came in handy then, because I was confident in what I needed to say to move along.

“Shit, It’s been so long since I was in school, man. I had no idea.”

“How old are you?” The guard asked, motioning for me to hand my stuff over.

“Thirty. Feel like fifty.” He glanced through my stuff and grunted. He handed back my backpack saying,

“Just bring something that’s plastic, or made of netting or something next time. Today you're alright.”

“Thanks man. I didn’t know.” Taking my bag I shook his hand and moved on towards the direction of my first class.

“What the fuck?!” The young girl yelled, “That’s sexism!”

The security guard sighed,

“It’s not. Can I see what’s in your bag?”

“No! It’s personal. It has personal health things inside.”

“Then I can’t let you…”

As I walked around the corner and down the hall I noted that at least every other student had a coffee in their hands, or a phone.

Seeing it made me feel old. Older than I was, at least. I didn't get my first cell phone until I was graduating high-school, and even then people were only on them when others weren't around.

I checked my own phone for the classroom number. Intro to Rhetoric, 388. I admit it took me longer than I had hoped to find it, but I did come early.

The classroom itself had windows to the east, looking over the front of the school and its large parking lot. I could spot my sedan farther away from the rest of the cars. I parked it there as to not get dents, but it only solidified that I didn’t belong. All of the other cars were parked as close as possible to the building, bunched up and likely to get dented.

“Hey teach.” Someone said. Turning I saw two boys sitting next to each other at a small lab table. Both had the exact same haircut: Shaved sides and on the top a curly and oiled mop of hair hung about. This is the part where I recall how when I was younger and old people made fun of my hair I would call them stupid and old. Well, It wasn't the dumbest hairstyle I had ever seen, but it was in. All the boys had it.

I chuckled,

“I’m not the teacher, just coming back to school after a break.”

“Shiiiit, you like eighty tho’.”

“Yo, tha’s fire tho’. Fer real tho’, goin’ to school at your age. Fire bro.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Choosing a seat somewhere to the side of the room near the windows, I pulled out my backpack and set it on the table before pulling off my gloves and taking off my hat. Others started to file into the room while I unzipped my bag, looking for a notebook. To my surprise I realized that I forgot to empty out the pocket that I was looking in. It was filled with old stuff from high school. Papers, folders, pens and tiny loose bits of garbage.

I grunted,

“Thought I cleaned this out.”

Pulling out a folder I recognized it right away. Smiling, I opened it and looked at old maps that I drew as a hobby so long ago. One of the reasons I was back in college was because in high-school I would rather draw and create maps then do my schoolwork. I had missed my hobby of cartography over the past few years, working at my dead-end job.

“Ugh.”

Looking up I noted the young girl from the door was standing there with her bag. She was looking at me.

Wonderful.

“Ey yo, old man?” One of the boys called, his shoulders turned to me.

“Yeah, what's up?”

“What’s your job? Like, what do you do?”

I hated that question. I had lots of jobs over the years. My depression and restlessness got in the way of anything permanent. Furthermore I made lots of bad choices when I was in school, which is why I was back in school now. I understood my own failings, which is why I was starting anew, but that didn't mean I liked to talk about them at all.

“Oh, I’m a full-time student now. What’s your name, young man?”

“Evan.” The kid nodded up to his friend, “and this is Mikey.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Evan, Mike." I smiled my absolute friendliest smile. I could make friends of them, even if they did have a silly hair style. They were polite, and that mattered far more. "Everyone calls me by my last name, Stockton.”

Evan nodded,

“Nice, it’s an old-man name too.”

In the minutes before the class started the teacher still hadn’t appeared, but the class had filled up with a little over forty or so kids, all probably eleven or twelve years younger than I. I say kids, but they were all in college and had graduated high-school. It was hard to see them as adults, especially when I recalled how immature I was at that age.

Was I ready for college, though? Could I do it this time around?

And as I sat waiting the windows suddenly turned white, as if the building had been teleported next to the sun. I covered my eyes and then everything went quickly and silently black.