The Monarch

Chapter 1

My name is Brandon Brown. I am 21 years old and work as a medical terminology and biology teacher at a local high school called Braxton High, deep in the cascades of Oregon. The town I live in is rather small but large enough for two highschools and a system of city buses. I live a quiet life, mainly living alone (besides my dog Reggie), in the solitude of a two-room apartment on the northern side of town. I don't have a girlfriend or a wife, don't really want one anyway, and the short amount of friends I do have, I can find online.

I've been this way for almost five years now, ever since I graduated early from college. I don't have many complaints about the way I live. I consider myself comfortable, even if I'm not wealthy. However, i'll admit, I don't like my job. Back when I was younger, I took this fancy schedule when I was beginning sophomore year that would allow me to graduate early. The schedule was entirely online, something that I didn't mind, but the disassociation from an actual teacher made the classes hard. However, they were CE classes, meaning I would get college credit, should I pass them by the end of the year.

And guess what? 

I absolutely regret it.

While it may have been the best choice to avoid student loans, because they were much cheaper than college, the whole experience was harder than I had prepared myself for, and I was left with a low paying job as a teacher anyways.

My advice: don't sign up for CE classes during high school unless you're ready for them, or unless you want to inflict pain on your anxiety levels. Not to say they aren't useful, however. I feel like my past teachers would be mad at me for saying that.

Another thing you need to know. I am a very systematic and cold person. Right around when I turned 18, I was diagnosed with mild to moderate ASPD. This means I generally couldn't give a s**t for others unless it affected me. I trusted my mind and my abilities, and that often led me into trouble as a teen. The only thing that has ever given me fear is a substantial change in routine or schedule that I've developed.

There will be some things in this story that will make my condition seem obvious, please ignore them.

But anyway, that's as much backstory as you need to know about me. At least, that's as much as I'll say, (for now).

Around August, when my sixth year of teaching began, a strange email arrived in my inbox. It wasn't anything special, just a small paragraph with no mail title, and the email even marked itself as potential spam, but not spam enough to put in the spam box.

The paragraph read: "Interested in experiencing the unexperienced? Tired of your dead end job? Does your boss give you trouble at work? The dog keeps on eating your shoes? Then welcome to paradise! A full, perfectly made world just for you! Experience the joys of a fantasy world through your own eyes! Follow us, and we'll treat you like a monarch!"

At first, assuming it was a crappy business email, I ignored it and went on the rest of the day through four periods of rigorous repetition on the structure of the digestive system to four different classes. After I had deleted the email, my mind ignored the subject for the rest of the day.

Once my school hours were complete, around four pm, I went home.

And again, the email appeared in my inbox. I knew this almost immediately after I got home. I had developed quite a nice habit of checking my email every chance I could, mainly from when I was job-hopping in my teens.

The new email, by the same sender, read: "Monarch, we were expecting you! Earlier this week, we sent you a previous message introducing ourselves! We're just contacting you again to check if you're still interested! Remember, you can leave this world if you just contact us! Join us, and live as the Monarch of your dreams!"

And again, the Email was marked as potential spam. Why the system didn't just shove it into the spam box so I never had to see it again was confusing. I deleted the email without a moment of hesitation.

The next day, I continued the digestive system to a whole other three class periods. Of course, this was only the third day of the unit, and I would have to prepare the next day's set of assignments, where students would put the different organs together using images printed on cardstock paper, like a puzzle. Usually, I would use last year's papers, but the other biology teacher seemed to have stolen them. I stayed at school several hours after I was scheduled to leave, stuck in the library as I waited for several hundred copies of the paper to finish printing.

I was stuck at school until 9 pm, a strange occurrence for a teacher completely uninvolved with after school sports and clubs. Staying at the school this late wasn't especially rare, especially for some of my coworkers, but it wasn't common for me.

To make things worse, I didn't own a car, so I would have to wait at the bus stop for the next bus to come. Unfortunately, the number of buses always seemed to diminish after 8.

After what seemed like an eternity, bus number 2513, finally arrived. I checked my smartwatch, noting the time.

It was 10:03 when I stepped into the warm vehicle. As I sat down, I made note of how many passengers had already boarded. I was please with the low amount. Hopefully, there wouldn't be many other stops. It was 11:51 when I got home. My body was exhausted enough to ignore all of my nightly routines and head straight for my small twin-sized bed. As I relaxed in my bed, insomnia ticking the time away, I got bored and picked up my phone. Another email arrived, by the same sender. This time, it was titled: Look for 113.

"We won't let you get away, Monarch. We'll be sending you an envoy soon. Please do no resist your assistance."

A bit creeped out, sleep suddenly overcame me.

When I woke up the next morning, I did so with groggy eyes and a sluggish body. I took the bus ride to the school, even though it was a little later than usual. I didn't focus on the environment around me as I rested my head against the cold glass. The rain seemed to drum on the window's exterior like an 80s band.

When the bus stopped, I yawned myself awake and stretched a little. Then, I stood up and walked to the front of the bus.

"Destination 113. This your stop?" He asked with a wicked grin across his face.

"Wait, what? No, my stop is number 68, Braxton High School. Where am I?" I asked, panicked. I quickly looked out the window, but the bus seemed to be stopped in a giant tunnel with no light on either side. Now that I was looking around, it occurred to me there was no other passengers on the bus. Even the bus driver seemed to not even be there unless I was looking directly at him.

"Destination 113. This your stop?" He repeated in a monotone voice.

"No!" I yelled, checking my watch.

Shit! School started 10 minutes ago! I yelled in my mind. Then, turning back to the bus driver, I yelled aloud,

"I need to get to number 68, Braxton high school!"

"Get out, sir, we've arrived at your stop."

"What?" I said, "No! I'm trying to tell you this isn-"

Suddenly, a giant wind pushed me back against the bus door. It exploded open and I fell back into the tunnel. But I didn't hit the floor as I would expect. Instead, I kept on going backward, pushed by the wind. My back slammed against another set of doors, which opened immediately. Even then, I didn't hit the ground. Instead, I seemed to fly backward at incredible speed.

I could hear the bus driver talking as if I were still there,

"Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop? Destination 113. This your stop?"

"Destination 113. This your stop?"

I kept on screaming as I flew through the tunnel. Eventually, the dark tunnel with stone walls grew brighter and bigger, as if I was flying through space. I could see purple stars zooming past me and a bright light appeared at the end of the tunnel. Then I could see smoke and fire burn away at my clothes, and then at my body. Although the fire seemed more real and threatening than fire ever did, I didn't feel any pain. Maybe the reason was that I was too panicked to think about that.

The light at the end of the tunnel grew closer as the fire molded away at my body. I could see the skin gruesomely fall off my bones, but the fire seemed to replace it with different skin, skin with muscles that I didn't recognize. I seemed to grow smaller as the fire picked away at me.

Eventually, my screams turned unfamiliar and my vision changed, consumed by the flames.

When I could see and scream again, my voice was lighter and my vision was clearer and brighter.

"What's happening?" I yelled out as I got closer to the end of the space tunnel. Just moments before I reached the end of the tunnel, the fire took shape and replaced my old clothes with different ones.

Then, the end of the tunnel finally hit me.

I woke up, standing in a large granite room. As I woke up, my body shuddered, dropping the tray of glass cups I was carrying. The people around me, feasting on a meal, looked at me with annoyed faces. They all wore strange clothing, unlike mine, that varied in a large range of colors and looked like the 1700s clothing you would expect from the nobility of the time. The women all wore large dresses made of linen, varying in color. Each of the dresses seemed to be made in a specific way that tricked my eyes into thinking the fabric waved, like the ocean. All of the women seemed to wear expensive necklaces and earrings that shined in the candlelight. The men wore military uniforms- large coats buttoned in the middle. In the back, the coat ended in a double tail and all of the men carried sheathed sabers at their side. Each of the men also had a white powdered wig, similar to the stereotypical wig that gave the impression that it had toilet rolls in it.  They all looked in their forties.

"Now, now!" A lady yelled, furious, "if a simple servant can't complete his goal, he is basically trash. Clean this up now, boy! Then leave us!"

"Wait, what?" I asked, confused. My legs were still shaking from my experience after the bus ride if I could even call that an experience.

"Get a rag, or use your clothes, and clean this up! you've soiled my dress!" she yelled. I looked down, then realized that those glass cups that were shattered against the ground carried wine. And that wine seemed to have spilled everywhere. The woman who spoke, who still held a furious expression, was wearing an expensive pink dress with purple lace along the bottom. Along those same laces seemed to be little puddles of wine that had soaked into the dress.

"Oh," I said, looking down. I had many questions. First, what was even happening? Second, Why was this lady suddenly treating me like garbage? and Finally, how do I get back? As I looked down, I saw that my 26 year old body was gone. It was replaced by a much younger body, maybe fourteen years of age. My new body wore a white uniform with a small waist apron tied behind my back. My clothing was dirty, as if I was in the kitchen for a time.

While the second question was answered with the difference in clothing between myself and the lady before me, the other two questions still rang in my brain. I nodded, still thinking about them, and bent low to the ground. First, I took the dress and carefully shook off any small pieces of glass on it, then I gripped my sleeve in my fist and wiped the splotches of wine nearby.

Based on my own clothing and this lady's own clothing, it was safe to say I was a servant of some kind, and she was nobility, especially because of the way she was talking to me. Until I was able to find a way out of this, I would just have to play my part. It was like a play. Except for any plays I've ever been in didn't start with a trip through space into an unknown room with a completely different body.

And this didn't feel anything like a dream. I have no problem remembering my dreams, and my dreams never felt this real. Thus, it was safe to say I wasn't dreaming either. Probably. Either way, doing any rash actions to get out of said dream might end up biting me in the back if this wasn't a dream.

Take it nice and slow. Gather your data, I thought, then shook my head in disappointment, God, I sound like my boss.

"Hurry up, boy! Then get out of my sight!" the lady screamed while keeping a hand fan near her mouth to hide the bottom half of her face.

"Yes, Ma'am," I nodded, being sure to wipe up the wine and glass away. I wiped as much glass as I could onto the tray, then stood up. Just for safe measure, I also bowed my head before turning around.

Now, my time to inspect the situation came. My time for panic would come later.

Before me was a large room, mainly lit up with candles and chandeliers. Its flooring was made of granite and it's walls were decorated with various portraits of what looked like other nobility and maybe even royalty. There were maybe thirty round tables throughout the room. Each table had a set of nicely dressed individuals that were gathered around them. In the center of the room was a large table with a row of various foods, all circling a large roasted pig in the middle. Walking in between the tables were other people, all wearing similar clothing to my own. They all held some sort of tray. Some trays had food while others had drinks.

As I watched closely, specifically at the servants, I noticed they all of them seemed to walk into a backroom when their tray was empty. I followed them, making sure to not knock into any tables as I walked across the ballroom.

"William!" somebody yelled as I walked in, "how many times do I have to tell you! DON'T BREAK WINE GLASSES I COULD SEE YOU FROM HERE!"

"Sorry, sir!" I said, almost on instinct. God, where was I?