Trucks Are the Most Troublesome Things, You Know.

Chapter 10

8/31/18

"Whenever I have dreams, I always dream of trucks nowadays," Toby said, out of the blue, while watching T.V. at 6:30 PM.

"You should really get that checked out," Miss Forticia responded. "That might be a sign of trauma."

"What do you mean trauma? Are you indicating that I'm being traumatized every single night?" Toby snapped back. "Although it's true that I do get run over by a truck every night..."

"Can't you do something else besides getting run over by trucks? I'm running out of materials to revive you."

He laughed nervously, a sign of his lack of sleep.

"Well, certainly, it would be optimal, but I'm rather sure that if I moved out, they'd come chasing after me after, let's say- maybe a day or two. It's definitely a wonderful thing that both neighbors are heavy sleepers, and haven't noticed the magical shenanigans going on next door, that's for sure. It'd be a disaster if they noticed."

"And I'm tired of having to jump into a pocket dimension whenever I want to get some sleep without being crushed under the wheels of a truck," she retorted. "I haven't been able to get an apartment anywhere. Is this a sign of the housing crisis?"

"It happens that you do not happen to fall into the requirements for affordable housing. Seriously, what do my parents even do to earn so much money?"

"Well.." she said, thoughtfully considering the question, "They risk their lives everyday, but have too much time for vacation."

"You make them sound like tour guides," he said, lying down on the sofa. He picked up a book from the table in front of him, and started to read. Just as sudden as how he'd began, he stopped, tilted his head back, and asked, "In this book, it says that in utmost times of dire need, I can make a magical contract with the world and the beings that have transcended to the point of godhood. You think I can do that to power my revivation?"

"What would you sacrifice?" she asked, asking for clarification rather than discouraging him. After all, then, he would want to know more- a dangerous thing.

He pointed to his glasses, or rather, his eyes.

"After all, I can always alter the strength if I mess around with heat and molecules, right?"

He'd been reading the old, dusty magic theory textbooks as well as the new ones in Miss Forticia's collection, even though it was more absorbing them than anything.

"Go for it. I can't stop you, but do you really want your eyesight to get worse?"

***

That night, he focused deeply on making a contract.

[I'd like to contact a representative to make a magical contract,] he thought, inside his head.

"Hello! What do you want to do?" a cheerful voice greeted him as he realized he'd been magically transported to a cubicle. "I'm Wilma, and I'm willing to help you."

"Ok..." he said as he thought about what he wanted to do.

"Here's the contract!" she joyfully pulled out of thin air. "Sign and leave a mark on it."

[It feels like I'm signing away my soul,] he couldn't help but think as he signed it.

"Sorry, Mister Toby, but that's the department downstairs. I can direct you down if you want."

"No thanks!"

He bit his thumb and pressed it onto the box marked "Thumbprint (in blood, please)".

"That was quick."

"Thank you for your service! We'll gladly take care of your payment! After all, all miracles have to have a basis for them to happen!"

[Wait, what!?] he realized just as he was sent back to Earth.

***

A lone dragon, flying over the neighborhood, noticed a truck crash into a house, and great beams shooting out shortly afterwards.

[The wreckage's gone!] he thought, impressed.

He would shortly meet the person responsible for such a miracle, or rather, the lack of a miracle.