So here's the set up: The evil, extremely sadistic god of Cloud-Cuckoo-Land exploded into my life a few months ago and decreed that I would be transported into fictional worlds at random, in a C.S. Lewis style time-warp/wormhole scenario. He and his mates would then watch me flounder about trying to learn how to survive and generally cocking things up royally. When I'm there, I am forcibly crippled with a convenient episode of amnesia as to where I am and who the people are if I knew of them beforehand, as well as a profound absence of clothes.
In return for such a humiliating start in my new life, I am compensated in being given the ability to speak whatever language I hear (very convenient) and I am also impossible to permanently kill (amazingly inconvenient when you consider it logically). However, I don't know what would happen if I got a really shitty deal where I'm torn to shreds or dismembered-surprisingly, I didn't want to find out either. Apparently, the 'never permanently dead' thing stemmed from my being somehow anchored to my own universe and reality. This also means I don't age at all. Try explaining that one to your fellow humans.
The reason this unique suffering is visited upon me (of all people) is because I'm one of those incredibly rare people with a mind shaped like the universe (it turns out the universe is shaped like a brain) which means that it wouldn't explode when transported between the overlapping universes.
Oh bittersweet irony…
~oOo~
The surreal conversation ran thus:
"So… my meta-physical mind is one of the rare few in all of creation in the shape of a brain, which just happens to be the physical shape of the universe; and this somehow qualifies me as being capable of moving between the universes, space and time?"
"Correct."
"Well that's… convenient I suppose. Especially since I happen to have a account and assignments to escape from…"
"This was prophesied long ago – as foretold by the Elders."
Is that why are you're doing this?"
"Nope. We just want to see what will happen,"
"Since I clearly don't have a choice in the matter I'd just like to warn you that if you screw this up, I swear I will track you down and torture you to death before ending my own hellish existence via a black hole."
The god gulped audibly.
However, we were both very lucky on that occasion and next thing I knew I was cavorting around Narnia with a sword too heavy to swing, a knife too blunt to stab someone with, and four prissy monarchs who said things like "Jolly good show!" to each other and were impossibly uptight. I avoided them like the plague and the fact I ended up rather fancying the dark-haired one had nothing to do with it.
~oOo~
This second time, I was hunched over my laptop as usual, reading a journal article for my essay when the tell-tale thunderclap announced the arrival of the God of Cloud-Cukcooland. He was a squat fellow with green skin and big, round amber eyes. Otherwise he resembled an incredibly fat and short Jack Nicholson in a purple robe.
"Hear me, mortal!" he boomed nasally in the voice of Andy Hamilton, as he appeared on my bed. I didn't really react; considering how the muses regularly sabotage my working habits – this wasn't anything to write home about. I finished the sentence I was copying and then turned in my chair to look at him.
"Hi," I said frostily. "What do you want, a review of my little trip?"
"No, no – we were watching. Good performance," he said, bouncing up and down on the bed – I heard the springs groan alarmingly in protest. This horrible little creature had been responsible for sending me to Narnia (of all places!) last year and I hadn't enjoyed it very much at all. One of the drawbacks of this deal was that I would essentially remain an unchanging constant until this douchebag god had decided I could go back to my own world.
Later, when we were sharing a case of beer and a pizza, I tried to tell him that his look was a terrible cliché, but he didn't really seem to care. I suppose when you're a god you can just hurt people who annoy you with impunity. I then tried to plead with him to let me know where I was headed. I tried to at least be allowed to take underwear. The bastard was having none of it. All I would know was where I was from and the generalities of the deal I had with the god.
I stripped (because last time I never got my favourite jeans returned to me after they were lost in transit) and reverentially laid my watch on the bedside table before turning to face the leering god.
"Ready," I said. And next thing I knew, it was dark and all I could hear was the sound of rushing water and air around me.