A Wizard's Dilemma

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 29, 2018

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Submitted: September 29, 2018

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One had to make a living somehow or go starve. That was the first moment that I realized my mistake. As I strolled along the streets of downtown London, picking up the scents of charred delicacies, I realized it even more so. My stomach rumbled.

 

Blasted Merlin stick a rod up his arse, I cursed fervently, my stomach still rumbling like one of those griffins the Academy used to keep in its menagerie. Why did I even go to study there in the first place is a whole other matter.

My name is Alan. Alan Bernzwarg. Honorary high rank wizard as officially approved by the Arcane Ministry. 97’ graduate from the so called ‘prestigious’ Academy of Magical Arts.

Prestigious my ass. Titles doesn’t mean a fickle if it couldn’t land me a job. I mused grumpily as I moved down the cobbled streets. It was upon the single realization that one needs to work for cash, and cash turns into food, that I had made a mistake. A grievous mistake, by the looks of it. Since I hadn’t been able to find a single stable job since graduating three years ago.

Wait, is it four? Four years had passed? I jerked up at the startling realization and attempted to count the days and months off my numb fingers.

It’s really four years! I couldn’t believe it. I could still remember those good old days when I had fun with my friends at the Academy. All those fun time joking, laughing, and pranking one another.

I wonder where did they go after that? What are they doing right now?

As to where am I? That’s simple. My parents had thrown me out of their house a couple of days ago, so I’m bound to tread along the streets searching for scraps of food.

So, I guess I’m pretty much homeless now. Call me Homeless Wizard. Or hobo wizard. Whatever.

A small kid broke from the clutch of her mother’s arm and approached me. She gave off a brilliant smile as she handed me a handful of pennies.

“For your food, mister.”

In my ragged clothing and disheveled state I must have looked like a homeless, no doubt. I was about to refused the money when I remembered that I gotta eat. (A sharp reminder which came from my growling stomach) I reached out to accept the coins gratefully and almost automatically replied the usual God bless you, child. At that moment I remembered that I am not a hobo, albeit rather with some delay, and bit back my tongue.

Instead I rasped a soft thank you and watched as the child ran back to her mother. The mother seemed rather hysterical that her child went so close to a ragged homeless and chided her not to do it again, although I couldn’t hear much from where I was standing.

I glanced down at the miniature mountain of pennies in my hand and wondered,

How could I have fallen this lowly? Where did this start? Let’s see….

My parents were pretty supportive of me, on all accounts. Follow your passions, son, and you will never have to work a day in your life. My father had said and sat down laughing one of his maniacal laughter that reminded me of one of those cartoon villains. My mother had done the same, except that at the end she had herded my younger siblings away and told them to study in fields that are relevant.

Crap. Maybe they had known from since then that things would turn out this way. Come to think of it, my mom had prophetic gifts, did she not?

I was strolling along the pavement when I saw a large billboard advertising courses at some random university.

“A wide variety of degrees at your selection. Study anything. Become anything you desire!”

Well, you can graduate to become anything you want. I mused sullenly, Unemployed, for one. A homeless hobo, for another.

I had done pretty well at the academy. Alright, averagely well if you exclude that time I accidentally flooded the entire female dormitory with sewage water. Don’t ask me what happened on that one. At least no one found out that I was the cause, so all’s well ends well, isn’t it?

I had graduated amidst the flourish and excitement of finally being able to step into the real world. Eye-bulging excitement, actually, as I discovered the limited options of occupations my degree could offer. It’s the kind of excitement that made you go, “What in the actual f#ck?” Although being a nice guy I don’t normally reside to using vulgarity. Normally.

I mean, who would ever signed up to be a slayer of dark witches, anyway? Anyone sane, for that matter. Being crisp-fried while alive is not particularly on the top of my bucket list.

Seeing a fire breather pulled up a sizable crowd by the side of the street reminded me of the first profession I had done after graduating. I was a magician.

“Behold, ladies and gentlemen, the enigmatic, grandeur, almighty, Alandecra Bernzwacchon!” Why do they have to give magicians such unnecessarily long and silly stage names I had no idea. My name sounded like some Korean dish, but that impressed the crowd so that’s what counts.

It went on pretty decently, both the show and the income, until I had accidentally set a child’s head on fire. Well, several child’s head, actually. Since it was purely an accident, I apologize to the manager and expected things to blow over. The next day my trunk was thrown out and I was searching for a job again.

Damnable man. At least I had put in a whole week’s worth of laxatives into his food before leaving, so we’re even.

As I strolled along, I saw a homeless man begging passersby to drop him some change into a cup before him. He begged and pleaded with every person that passed before me. Once it’s my turn however, the homeless abruptly turned away and was suddenly busy with some other target across the street. Ignoring me completely.

So you think that I was too poor and pathetic to cough up some cash, huh? I thought while gritting my teeth, a vein bulging forth from my forehead. Let’s see here.

I brought out a small, snotty lump of tissue from my torn coat, dusty and grimy from all the time that it had sat in my pocket. With some whisper of Omnomnomnomnom, the wad slowly unfurled and transformed, changing into a five pound note.

Stooping forward, I dropped the bill into the beggar’s cup. I was responded with a loud and hearty, “May the Lord blessed you, kind sir!” Seemingly uncaring, I strolled away without another glance at the ragged man.

Behind his back, I chuckled evilly. The bill would turn back to its original form in a few minutes, and the beggar would end up with a wad of snotty and dirt-stained tissue. He would be bewildered and frustrated, but would never be able to fathom out what had happened. Suits

Suits him right. I thought while chuckling some more.

I weaved my way through the crowded thoroughfare toward a hotdog stand. With the pennies I had received from that little girl, I bought a small hotdog with ketchup. Just as I was about to wolf the thing down, a bloody kid came out from nowhere in particular and rammed into me.

The ketchup went all over the only suit I’ve got left, and the little bugger ran off before even apologizing.

“That f#cking prick!” I swore under my breath. I looked up over my shoulder at the kid’s retreating form and snapped a finger. A puddle suddenly appeared before the little piece of shit, and he fell down loud enough to startle the nearby pigeons into flapping away. The bastard wailed and bawled his eyes out over his scraped knees while his mother rushed toward his side. I laughed heartily.

The incidence had actually reminded me of one of my previous occupations, working in retail. The store sold a variety of products, ranging from shampoos and dry snacks to a fully integrated bi-sexual sex robot with a fully-functional build-in vibrator system and a dispensable cum tray. Pretty much like your normal 7-eleven, actually.

During one his night shifts, he came across an elderly man in his late 60s, looking as anxious as a teenager as he glanced left and right before entering the store.

“Ahem, young man, here’s the thing.” The old man, who clearly is a foreigner, cleared his throat and glanced furtively about. “I am looking forward to having some sexy time with my uh… uh wife tonight. Do you have that thing they use to cover up the penis? That uh.. uh…”

“Condom, sir?” I asked through gritted teeth. What the hell am I doing here?

“Ah yes, condom!” the man slapped his palm with satisfaction, “Do you have some condom”

“We ran out, sir. You could try checking the convenient store further down the street.”

The man’s frown deepened. Somehow, I sensed trouble coming.

“No, no, you don’t understand! It is very important! Tonight is the only time my wife will go out of town and her sister will be with me. I need condom! Give me condom!” The man was practically shouting now.

“Sir, we have run out of condoms.” I tried to enunciate each word as slowly as possible to get the meaning into this old bastard’s thick skull. “Perhaps you can come back at another time?” I breathe in and out in rapid succession, trying to keep my temper under control with mantras of Calm, calm, calm.

The man seemed to realize that he is being rude and lowered his voice. “I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” He reached out and cupped my hand, his eyes downcast and filled with sorrow. He continued apologizing even after I had told him to stop.

I started to pity him. He is an old dude after all. Probably just starving for sex or something.

I gently unclasped his hand from mine. “Sir…”

Before I could finish, the old man cut in. “I am sorry.” He looked up with a cheesy grin, all trace of sorrow wiped clear from his face, “May I have condom now? Please?”

“WE F#CKING RAN OUT! YOU F#KING CUNT!”

At that moment, the dildos started flying. The vibrators, the canned pussies, the anal beads all went hovering over the man’s head in a miniature tornado. The old dude gasped once and fell down unconscious. I didn’t wait for the manager to kick me out this time.

After that, I had experimented with many other professions, to no more success. I once worked as a bartender. One of my customers turned into a frog from the martini I made. I worked as a house keeper. The house got swallowed up by the earth and never resurfaced. To be frank I hadn’t a clue on how that happened. Sure do hope it won’t come to pass again, though.

I also worked as a nanny. Joseph was his name, if I recalled correctly. I accidentally taught the kid a couple of dark magic spells. The witch slayers are after him now.

Joseph, I wish you god speed and the best of luck. For the few spells I had taught him would allow the brat to run for only so long. In the end however, we are all masters of our own destiny, so the brat should try to survive his own fate. Since it was him that the slayers are after, and not me, I continued down the streets humming a merry tune.

 

 

At the end of the route, I came across an antique bookstore. It looked like one of those real deal antique shops from back in the 19th century, and not one of those modern ones we see every day.

I stepped inside, and a scent of old books wafted up to meet me. I recalled those days when my friends and I would spend hours poring over the ancient tomes in the Academy’s grand library. The scents and the ancient store brought me back there, to days when things were simpler.

Then suddenly I knew the specific occupation I wanted to do…

 

A few months later—

The front door of the shop opened up with the clear tinkling of bells. It was a young boy this time, not much older than five, from the looks of him.

“Sir, do you have some fantasy books?” He inquired nervously.

“Which type? You could be more specific”

“The magical ones, with knights, dragons, and wizards, and other things.” He replied meekly, not looking up to meet my eyes.

“I think I knew the right one for you.” I picked up the tome nearest to me and approached the boy. Once before him, I parted the pages of the book.

Knights and dragons sprang forth, engaged in vicious battles. A wizard aided them from the side, while a dark lord loomed over them all, ready to strike any who had fallen.

“Wow!” The boy cried out joyfully, and I left the book in his hands. “How did you do this, Mister?”

“This, child, is what you called Magic.”

 

Each book in the store was handcrafted by magical ink imbued by my spell. Well, not my spell, actually, but those of my juniors at the Academy whom I've convinced to help me out. Convinced with the prospect of cash that I haven't paid them yet. Infact, I've been trying my best not to run into them for several months now...

It will be a valuable working experience, though. I told myself reassuringly. I'm sure those guys will understand... It all amounts to the same thing in the end, either way. 

Every time anyone opened up the books, their stories will be played out in illusions of light and sound more wonderful than even the most imaginative minds could come up with.

I chuckled and left the boy to his book. My next plan is to open up an amusement park with the same theme, but that would probably take a while of saving up.

Maybe I should have gone and rob a bank or something. It’s that much simpler… 

Yup. I'm most definitely gonna go rob a bank... 


© Copyright 2018 S. K. Inkslinger. All rights reserved.

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