One lazy, Saturday morning two awkward, geeky teenage boys sat in a dusty, upstairs attic and complained about their awful, boring lives.
“I hate our awful, boring lives!” said Tim, the scrawnier of the pair.
“Oh, it's not that bad, Timmy,” replied Paul, a heavy-set slob, deeply engrossed in a dusty, old book.
“I told you, don't call me Timmy!” protested Tim. “It makes it sound like I'm in first grade. We'll be high school sophomores this fall. You really think I'll avoid getting beat up daily, much less ever get a girlfriend, if you keep calling me 'Timmy' all the time?”
“Sorry Timmy,” replied Paul absentmindedly, still pouring over his book.
“See, this is why everyone thinks we're nerds,” continued Tim. “On a beautiful Saturday morning, we're sitting in your attic reading books! Heck, we might as well be watching a Dr. Who marathon for all the good this does our reputations.”
“I like Dr. Who,” Paul answered flatly.
“So do I,” sighed Tim. “And that's exactly my point. We're nerds because we hide in your attic 'man-cave' every weekend reading comic books, playing video games, and... and... arguing about whether or not liking Star Trek or Battlestar Galactica makes you a nerd!”
“It was Dr. Who,” Paul said without glancing up.
“That's not the point,” sighed Tim.
“Sorry, Timmy,” said Paul.
“And don't call me...”
“Hey wait!” interrupted Paul, a sudden new-found excitement in his voice.
“What? What is it?” asked Tim, annoyed at being interrupted.
“I actually understand this one!” shouted Paul. “I finally cracked the code. I understand one of the spells in my uncle's magic books! See, Timmy – I told you these were real. I just knew if I worked long and hard enough at it, I could figure them out. And I did! Why... I think I could actually read this one out loud even. Want me to cast it on you?”
“No, Paul,” sighed Tim with heavy irritation. “See, this is exactly my point. I'm trying to convince the world that we're not a bunch of geeky, weird dorks – and here you are playing some Harry Potter make-believe game. There's no such thing as magic, Paul. Your Uncle Edmund was just a crackpot.”
“Nuh-uh, Timmy,” replied Paul. “This stuff is real. I just know it! And I finally deciphered enough of the weird code language he used to write this up. I'm gonna cast this spell. You want me to do it on you?”
“Knock yourself out,” said Tim, rolling his eyes with sarcasm. “What's this goofy thing supposed to do?”
“Well...” said Paul, suddenly strangely hesitant. “This is the only spell I've deciphered so far... so it's the only one I'm capable of casting. If I could figure out any of the other ones in this book, I'd do one of them... but since this is the only one I...”
“Paul, what does it supposedly do?” snapped Tim.
“It switches your identity with somebody... randomly,” sighed Paul. “Not particularly useful, I know. In fact, it's kind of downright weird if you think about it, Timmy. You and me would still see everything like normal... but I guess to the whole rest of the world, you would become the person you switched identities with.”
“It sounds retarded,” sighed Tim.
“I know... but please, lemme cast it on you anyways!” pleaded Paul. “It's the only spell I know, Timmy, and I've worked so long and hard figuring out Uncle Edmund's code language and...”
“Fine!” huffed Tim angrily. “On one condition though – stop calling me 'Timmy,' okay?”
“Sure thing!” agreed Paul. “Now stand still there, while I work this thing.”
Paul circled around his skeptical friend and started chanting strange, weird-sounding words that made no sense. Tim thought it sounded somewhat like a real language and not simple gibberish... but try as he could, he discovered he was unable to remember any of the words or even syllables that came from his friend's mouth. It was as though the magic language instantly faded from his memory as quickly as the words came from Paul's lips.
Then suddenly Tim felt the floor fall out from under him.
Everything went pitch black and utterly silent.
And Tim found himself... elsewhere.