"-And at eleven, we have the continuing story of Maria Franks. A twenty-five year old college student who was displaced into the world of Dead Sp-" I had to flip the channel away from the news. My mind just couldn't handle more horror stories like that.

Literal horror stories, even. Displacement was an occurrence that happened all the time to people around the world, but the most at-risk were teenagers and young adults in their twenties. It was just how the world worked. One moment, someone was right next to you talking about the latest video game or how the sports-ball team was doing. Then, poof! They're off in some other world with the only connection anyone has to them being a blog, a website, or, if they're popular enough, they show up on the news. Most of them eventually come back, but it was kind of a crapshoot whether they did or not. And, while everyone else can stay up to date on what they are doing, they almost never have a way to hear from their friends and family. I used to watch and keep up on their stories all the time, but as I got into my own late-teenage years, I got more and more worried for myself.

But! I was almost out of the proverbial minefield, as it were. My thirtieth birthday was six days away. Granted, I could get displaced at any point in my life, but the chances of it happening after were incredibly low. It was pretty widely agreed that if you made it to thirty, you were in the clear.

It was with all that in mind that I had been a complete hermit for the past month. I had taken all of my remaining vacation time at work, and my boss was pretty cool about it. His own displacement probably worked in my favor. He always said that his had its ups and downs, but that it was also a uniquely life altering event that he wouldn't have traded for the world.

Ridiculous.

Before I took my vacation time, he told me not to worry about where I might get sent. That we all go where we need to be. Whether that was to help a world in trouble be a little brighter, or to get help from that world for ourselves.

Well, I wasn't as religious as he was. It sounded nice, but then you hear of someone who got sent to Lovecraft-central. Really? What good could come from that?

As for my personal life: Also hermit-i-fied. I had my maybe-future girlfriend over for a movie a week and a half ago, and it went… well? There was the movie, and we talked, and I made her dinner. I thought it had been a nice second-date that only went to one person's living room.

On the way to my kitchen, my apartment's doorbell rang. That must've been the package I ordered, since I hadn't left my home for anything in three weeks. In the doorway was, indeed, a mailman carrying a moderately-sized cardboard box. I signed and took it, relocking the door afterwards.

The living room/kitchen area of my apartment was plenty big enough for me. I had a loveseat in front of the wall-mounted television, a small desk and computer, a bookshelf of plushies, a couple of windows, some empty space, and the kitchen had enough of the important kitchen-things. It was all covered in a beige carpet and some stock light-blue wallpaper.

I made my way to the desk and opened the box up to reveal a large brown and white quadruped plushie. A smile made its way to my face as I inspected the eevee doll. Nearly twenty other Pokémon plushies were already on my bookshelf, and I was glad that the latest was of high enough quality to join the OG.

Which would be Original Generation for anyone without enough nerd-cred to already know.

I had considered buying all the pokémon dolls, but my job didn't provide quite that well. At least, not in the amount of time since I had started collecting. Maybe one day.

My eyes narrowed. Next to the official copyright and date manufactured tag was another. One that added nothing, and sat jarringly against the small, official tag. All it read was: Do Not Remove Under Penalty of Law.

My mouth joined the scrunch that my eyes were already doing.

One precision scissoring later, I had the lone eevee for my bookshelf looking presentable.

It was also around that time that I noticed the windows to what should've been a normal city outside were showing technicolor vomit.

"No!" I whipped my head back to the eevee doll still on my desk. Was it smirking at me? "You little jerk, you were a trap!"

Plenty of the displaced have described their displacement. It was always some form of the world falling apart around them… I knew I didn't have much time.

With some fast clicking and typing in front of my computer, I left a message for my friends and family. They'd drop by in a few days at most. I may have walled myself off, but I still talked to them online every day.

What could have been my last will and testament read:

Mom, Dad, Deborah, I love you guys but it looks like it's my time. I wish I could remember more of from stories of your own displacement you both told me and Debbie as we were growing up. I've been worrying about this day for years and I hope I see you soon.

The seizure inducing tornado of pastel outside my window was taking its sweet time. Not that I was complaining, though. My impending displacement didn't exactly make me feel better, but I was able to think a bit clearer after a moment. Still, I tapped my finger rapidly on the desk, trying to think of any other issues I needed to tend to.

Tell my friends that I'll be thinking of them.

There wasn't a whole lot going on for me at the time, what with my self-imposed exile.

And, Elizabeth too.

May as well backspace that, we had gone on two dates. I was pretty sure we both enjoyed them, but she wasn't likely to wait around who-knows-how-long for me to get back.

I hummed and looked at the window proper. It was taking much longer than I expected. The anticipation had kind of wore off, and I leaned back in my chair. Outside was the same spray of colors, like a unicorn had gotten a really bad stomach virus.

Oh, and to Debbie. If you borrow my new laptop while I'm gone, I will know.

I scratched behind my ear, when I realized something. How did the displaced even get their story back to our world? "So, is there suppo-"

-Author's Note

Thankfully for our protagonist, magical word genies such as myself exist to ensure these stories aren't lost to the void.