Dear reader,
Let me ask you a question. How did you get your hands on this book? I'm not a person to let others judge my work so easily. I wouldn't give this to my most trusted friends. I wouldn't even share this with my parents. The thing is, you reading this book could mean anything. If you've found this by coincidence, I'd like you to keep quiet about this, or at least throw it away, because I want nothing to do with it. This book will live on in my heart.
But maybe not. Probably not. Really, anyone can get their hands on this notebook, after all. Are you a thief? Good for you. I hope you get caught. Perhaps you've also taken the liberty of killing me. If that's the case, know that I probably don't have anything against you, but also know that I will be haunting your memories and driving you to the very edge of sanity.
Honestly, whatever. Most likely I'll end up losing this book some way. They're a pretty valuable commodity here, so I might end up selling this for bread.
- T.G.
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The name's Terry. Legally, it's Terezsia, but I don't like it. I can't say with confidence I like Terry either, but I think it's still a step above.
"In an urban town there was the insignificant existence known as Terry(ezia). He was born to a decent middle class family-- desiring nothing and lacking nothing. He had decent parents whom he neither loved overtly nor hated overtly. In school, Terry rarely interacted with other children of his age, with average grades to pass. He also never had a girlfriend. It wasn't that he was ugly or antisocial, but rather because he felt it was unnecessary. He could never get along with them because he was simply more mature. One day--
Oh, no. I jest. No worries, the paragraph above is comprised of completely lies, except for one or two parts. As a protagonist, I'm proud to announce that I'm neither an edgelord (I don't think existence is pain) nor a Mary Sue (I don't have a harem), nor a self-insert, as I am recording these events in the live with no exaggerations to my line of thought, the perception of others, or my own abilities.
I will also refrain from referring to myself as a "normal" high school student, like countless writers in our time have done. This, of course, continues under the assumption that I am somehow a protagonist. A figure which the world revolves around, which is a childish misconception at best, and outright marcisstic at worst.
But as astronomers have noted, any point in space is technically the centre of the universe, given its nature to expand forever. Therefore, knowing that everything that I perceive is ultimately insignificant and could be the work of an illusion,, and that everything is both true and false, I declare myself my own protagonist.
Are you?
I must detract from this pretentious faux-essay which has run for far too long. You see, in contemporary fiction, authors make a point of beginning their books (if you can even call it that) with a few poorly formed ideas on the nature of society and humans, like "Oh, so and so are not fair, there are two types of people in the world, justice is this and evil is that" and oh my god the list goes on and on and on and I would love to give you some examples but unfortunately I don't have any material with me to quote and the circumstances behind that are very specific and potentially interesting so I'll get around to explaining that and woah look this istrippyI'vebeendraggingthis sentenceonforeverandlookIcancontinuedraggingthissinglesentencealongforaslongasIwantandit
willnevereverendhahahahaha
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Listen (read) very closely, because I have something to tell you. It is of utmost importance, at least to me.
I think I'm in another world.
While this may first appear to be a panicked assumption made by a delusional teen, you can be assured that I have followed a trail of empirical evidence and logical reasoning to arrive at such a ridiculous thought. Surely this effort will grant me a major in science and philosophy. I'm truly a man beyond my years.
Before that, let me tell you more about myself. I'm nearly 15. I'm male. I'm insecure about my developing facial hair. But wait! It says here that information about the main character can be withheld and revealed slowly to introduce mystery to a story and avoid long-winding explanations.
Sounds good to me.
But really, if you believe that I'm taking this whole "other world" business calmly, you would be seriously overestimating my rational capabilities as a human being. As one of my good friends have said, I am actually "freaking the fuck out" right now.
However, you are not here to listen to my emotional pleas, are you? You're here for the "plot", you ungrateful fucks who don't give two shits about character, you filthy degenerates who complain about balance between story and character when you have none of it yourself—
Excuse me.
I apologize. Let us forgive the past and allow ourselves to gather once again with harmonious intent.
…
Ok, now that I've vented myself sufficiently, I can tell you about the set of evidence I used to come to the conclusion that I, Terry Guls, am in another world, world being defined by the collective consciousness of humanity as "our home, the root of civilization", and "other world" subsequently referring to "a planet, or world", located at an unknown point in space time with capabilities of sustaining our definition of life via complex ecosystems.
Empirical Evidence:
I look around myself, and observe:
•Short grass up to ~my ankles
•Sparse low plants and shrubbery
•Some patches of grass are red, like splatters of blood
•Rocks and boulders scattered around me
•The sky, blue (it's now more grey, as some time has passed since I've landed here)
•Fresh air, feels different comp w/ home
•Big grey mountains in front (North?)
•Ooh is that a berry
•Yes that is a berry it looks big and good
Ok, don't eat the red berries. Oh god, they taste bad. Fuck.
I regret snapping that cord.
Excuse me.
At this point, I'd be surprised if I wasn't in another world. We don't need protagonists who "rationally" analyze the ridiculousness of their situation unless it's centre to his character. It's like rejecting reality. Heroes who are stuck on "The refusal of the journey" are stubborn bitches (summarizes me pretty well, I'd say).
Look, all I'm saying is that if you've woken up in the middle of nowhere with no idea how you got there, it's good to prepare yourself for the adventure of a lifetime.
Back to reality. I now realize that eating the berry was probably a bad decision, but come on, I only have a day's worth of food left. Considering my location, I should probably get around to locating civilization. I'm not going to speculate as to the type of civilization I'll encounter (supposing there is one), but I do hope it'll be some place I can fit into without trouble.
As much as I would like to see a high fantasy world, I sincerely understand that typical feudal societies in fantasy and the like are vastly inferior to our civilizations in just about every way. Say, have you ever been enslaved in your life? Have you ever been forced to eat the exact same bread or pie or bun, every single meal of the day, for an entire week? Have you ever not eaten, against your will, for an entire week? Have ever been so cold that the skin and flesh around your knuckles fall off, revealing bone?
Exactly.
That's why it's better for me to encounter some kind of modern or near-future era nation with decent childcare programs, so they can at least send me to an orphanage. And if it's not too much to ask for, perhaps some urban fantasy elements in this world as well. Not the post-apocalyptic type where humanity is walled up in a single city to defend itself from hordes of demons, but the type where magic and reality are one, and there's an academy where talented children are sent to train their special abilities to serve as mercenaries or protect the state…
Seriously, what is it with our society's fascination with high schools? Must you have a story of a school for every fantasy element? School for magic users, school for monsters, school for mech pilots…
Currently, I'm walking and writing. At the same time, which is a unique skill of mine. I've had a habit of writing film and book reviews on my way to school ever since I picked up a notebook, hence why I'm able to keep a good pace. I actually didn't know this was irregular until my friend commented on it during my first year of high school. I'll tell you more about him later, as I think my survival is more important, no?
First things first, I chose to walk towards the mountains I mentioned earlier, seeing that I was stuck on what was definitely a plain. A very wild and northern plain, devoid of serious vegetation but nonetheless humid and vast in size. The green of moss and grass is light and the grey mountains might have some snow at the peak. However, these mountains feel warm for some reason. I face directly towards the valley drawn in-between two of the rocky hills.
It draws me forward, like a reassuring embrace, yet it is cold and unmoving and impossibly tall.
I gulp.
I can tell this particular mountain range is to the North, although I have no idea what that means geographically. Perhaps a city lies beyond here, protected by the range. Perhaps a motherfucking dragon is there and I'm walking towards my death. Either way, since there's no water source near me to follow, I'll at least get a vantage point from there.
I'm writing about this while walking because it somehow calms me instead of making me nauseous. Here, I can ignore the fact that I can't remember most of my survival skills and also the existential dread that I may not encounter civilization at all within the foreseeable future. It's the worst walk of my life.
By the way, I don't have an eraser. I only keep some pens and a sharpener in my bag, which is a one-shoulder that I take with me. Inside are some basic supplies, including a day's worth of snacks and emergency rations, a bottle of water (thankfully reusable) and some other necessities. These necessities may or may not be of immense value, determined by the world I'm in. I imagine the petty nobles of old will enjoy sunscreen, as it is superior to products like silver dust for treating the skin.
But if there's a true negative to this, my phone (I prefer calling it a PD, but my friend made fun of me for that) is dead.
Reaction:
FUCK FUCK FUCK
FUCK FUCK FUCK
FUCK FUCK FUCK
-End of Reaction-
Hear me out. Just imagine never using your phone for the rest of your pitiful life. Come on, this thing is a part of you. It's a part of our identity as a human being. Whenever you read a web novel, don't you feel the character talking to you through this device as a medium? All it takes is a breath and the phone will have a soul.
I suppose I'll sell it, then. If this place is a fantasy world and it manages to jumpstart a technological revolution, I'll feel pretty good about myself.
Guls here, logging the fuck off. I propose we meet before the 'morrow, and hopefully by then I'll have acquired a harem and a cheat skill.
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Authors Note: (AKA bypassing the broken author's note wordlimit system)
This is my first webnovel. The plot progression may unfortunately be slow at the beginning due to my abilities as a writer, but the pacing will be set to my liking as I explore what makes a good character and how to breathe life into a fantasy world. I also promise a decent dose of action and death, and the MC will not be useless. Updates have no gurantee of occuring regularly, but I will attempt to do write as much as possible, as I've put down many other project ideas for this.
Finally, I'd like to thank the artist Mindsiphon on DeviantArt, who I did not contact, for creating the cover art. If you're wondering about the title in the cover, I simply stuck a few words on it in PS.