Miss Magic Part VIII

Olivia lets the security guards check her purse. Of course, they find the cards she had forgotten about. Her eyes widened with horror.

“It’s not what it looks like!” She exclaims.

“Sure. It seems to me it is exactly how I appears. Both you girls come out back in our questioning room immediately.”

Olivia looks towards Jackie. “I am sorry. I had forgotten…”

“Just be quiet Olivia. We knew this might happen.” She replied.

They bring the girls to a room with white walls, sort of like something the FBI would bring you to. Jackie starts getting more nervous, which is making Olivia more nervous.

“Can I just explain something to you really quick?”

“Go ahead.” The security officer says.

“This is going to sound a bit crazy, but I think I am a bit different.” Olivia tries to explain.

“Listen, kid, I do not have time for games. Tell the truth or there will be issues.”

“I think I have special abilities, sir. I can change those cards. I was practicing with those ones in my purse in the bathroom. Ask Jackie.”

“Listen, I don’t want to be locked up in a looney bin with her, but yes…I have seen her do this. It’s unbelievable.”

“If you’re so special then do it for me right now. I have college kids play games with my head all the time about this stuff. So sick of it you two. You have no idea.” He says, sounding somewhat exhausted.

He gives her a card, in which she shows it to him again, just so he knows what it is.

“I see it.”

She does her magic, thinks of a rhymed chant, and hopes it actually worked. If it doesn’t, they both end up looking crazy and possibly sent to some kind of crisis center then jail. Sweat collects on the tips of her fingertips, her eyes are tearing up, but somehow she keeps a somewhat firm expression of confidence. She turns it over.

“What the!!!”

He steps back.

“Listen kid, if you’re some kind of experiment gone wrong I don’t want anything to do with this. I don’t think I am crazy but hold on. This room is under survelliance. Maybe I didn’t get enough sleep.”

Jackie chuckles slightly. “Go ahead. We can wait.”

Olivia looks even more scared though.

“What if they send some people to stab me with needles and stuff Jackie? This is no joke. I just found this out and we already exposed me. Geez, what the heck…” Olivia says.

“Just chill out. You can tell them you won’t sign anything to be their experimental monkey. For now, let’s just see what is going to happen. Do you know anyone else on this planet in this situation right now?” Jackie explains.

“True. We shouldn’t be talking either. They are definitely listening to everything we say too.”

He eventually enters the room again. This time, whiter than a sheet like he has seen a ghost.

“Listen. I have no clue how you did that. I don’t know how to even handle this kind of a situation but I believe you. We probably should be alerting someone of your capabilities but then again, they are yours. I am going to do something that could cost me my job in the future. Maybe even some of us who have watched the footage back there. You could do good in this world with what you have, or you could do bad. I don’t know what you intended to spend the money on, but most would use it for their own benefit. I suggest you do otherwise. I am giving you the benefit of the doubt, because you were trying to be honest with me from the beginning. I don’t think you are like a lot of people out there. In fact, I don’t think your friend here, Jackie? is either? I am going to let you leave with your earnings today. I am going to hope you take some of it that you need, then use some of it to do something good. I have turned off all recording just to say this to you girls. If I didn’t, I would only be shooting myself in the foot like I explained. Now, that I have put my faith in you two, and possibly my job in the future, please leave and do not show your faces in here again. I only want to see you on the news for doing something brave and beautiful.”

By the end of this, both Olivia’s and Jackie’s eyes were full of tears. They were able to hold them back, but he knew they were affected by his words. They hurried with their belongings, while repeatedly and graciously saying “thank you.”

As they made their way back to the car, Olivia says:

“If angels exist. We met one just now in human form. Just when I thought people wouldn’t risk anything to do good in this world they exceed my expectations.”

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Miss Magic Part V

Olivia wakes up to a thunderstorm. The rain hits her air conditioner and makes a steadily annoying noise. She has gotten used to it over the years, but sometimes it is unbearable. She imagines it is some kind of beat and sits there at times writing words to it. It makes the noise less annoying and actually beneficial. She chuckles internally at how she has managed to do a lot with so little in her life. With all the annoyances in general. Big or small. How her ability to adapt to situations, seems to just be an almost ingrained genetic trait.

Her eyes look young, but brain is always alert, learning, and imaginative beyond her years. At times, she finds herself observing people more than engaging. She blames psychology. Now has ventured off into neuroscience as well, always trying to seemingly connect the dots people may not find. Most People can no longer critically think though she finds. Olivia feels lost in conversations, oftentimes afraid to share a controversial opinion.. Once in a while, she’ll encounter someone else who has read similar things though, has passion, and can engage in a conversation. But it is honestly rare. She finds herself creating characters out of all these engagements, changing the names of course, but always trying to find some kind of benefit; even if the engagement was negative.

She spent most of her day writing an outline for a story, then discovering it was pointless. So had grown used to the academic setting. It had started to condition her to treat her won writing in more of a structured way though, which went against certain natural creative abilities she possessed. This finally led to the realization she could no longer plan anything out to a T in general. Like a savage, she had to let her mind wander, be free, and just focus on maintaining passion. A difficult task when it seems the world is always trying to peel the walls back. Difficult to find a positive energy out of her life story she tries so hard to forget half of the plot to. Not out of her own regrets mostly, but other people regretting their inability eventually to actually show empathy towards the right people. Oftentimes, people are misled Olivia observes, like a herd of sheep led by the most outgoing dog. The loudest seem to prevail, but not always the loudest should be given the encouragement she feels. Sometimes the person hiding in the corner, only talking to one person, needs it the most but usually goes unnoticed.

She starts to feel edgy. This urge to call Jackie right at that moment and meet up again. It was so much fun. There is honestly, nothing she would rather be doing at that moment but trying to learn everything about her, but Olivia refrains.  She pets the cat for a moment of comfort, then retreats out alone in her typical fashion. Figuratively and literally.

She never leaves the house without matching from head to toe. Sort of this OCD thing she always had as a child as well. I guess no one called it out enough to change the behavior, but then again how is it a bad thing? She thinks. Ha ha. People take notice once in a while, then she feels the nice energy coming her way absorbs it like a chameleon.  Then back to Hermitville; her apartment again. Especially if it is winter.

She donates to literacy at the store, even though she has hardly anything herself. Sort of not caring anymore about materialistic things in certain situations. Always trying to find a way to take nothing from anything and give nothing to anything that is misleading. To her, that is the ultimate goal in life. To be able to reach the point where you desire nothing from anyone, take nothing from anyone, and be grounded entirely in as strange as it sounds; the self. If you cannot live with yourself, you cannot truly live. She thinks of this saying quite often. Has no idea where it came from, whether it be out of her own mind or something she read. Either way, it doesn’t bother her to have “credit” like some do. Everything is sort of an inspiration derived from another inspiration. Except in cases of straight imitation and depending on the context, it could be argued that person has a lack of creativity. Which can happen. Olivia was always mesmerized by Hollywood imitation, repetition, and fads in general. Not mesmerized as in buying into it, but rather amazed by how many people buy into the destructive: live fast and die young lifestyle. How some have become so ego fueled, they live in completely self perpetuated destructive cycle, and chip at everyone who actually cares with the blinders on. Such a shame, all the talent wasted on trying to stay “ahead,” no matter what the cost. Even if it seems to cost them their existence.

She often dreams of being as wealthy as those in Beverly Hills but her smile quickly fades. Imagining starving children in Venezuela seems to strike a chord. Too much suffering in the world, and not enough hope. She thinks. She can’t imagine the guilt that would come with immense wealth. Most people would jump at the chance to spoil themselves, but she would rather have animals and people around she could help. She would find a way to help others and still maintain some kind of profit margin in order to sustain it. Unfortunately, it seems most stash their money away, invest it in stocks, die without spending it, or spend it selfishly at all times. It just doesn’t make sense, she thinks. Why create a storm when you could create a rainbow?

She thought of her hometown. A man who owned a shoe factory that her Great Grandmother once worked for was quite kind to his workers. Olivia’s Great Grandmother had a mundane duty of inserting insoles into shoes. It didn’t pay much obviously, but the owner offered financing to his workers for homes. He basically built up an entire neighborhood around the plant for cheap and offered houses for an affordable price. The community had each others backs and was beautiful. The archway dedicated to him still stands. Olivia finds herself walking under it often, then looking up in awe. Still looks like it is made out of the best quality, and carved by some of the most talented of workers. She thinks Most have no idea what it really means, or probably even take notice though. Sometimes the best things are hidden in plain sight.

Her eyes are drawn to the magic kit again and away from deep thoughts. It was just sitting under the coffee table, collecting some dust. She still hadn’t fathomed the possibility she might be different. Convinced a lack of sleep at that time, caused some kind of psychosis. Blamed it directly on what she researched.

She pours a glass of wine. Finishes it rather quickly. It has been a while. She grabs the magic kit eventually.

“Geez. Just a piece of plastic from China probably. Just some toy. Some childhood token, messing with my insomniac, psychosis, infected, mind. Thanks.” She chuckles.

She puts the cards out on the table. Each one, one by one this time. Eventually they have to be placed upon the chairs as well. All fifty two of them.  We’re going to see if I am crazy. She says under her breath as if some unknown presence is there with her. Perhaps hoping there is some force therewith her. Partially tired of not having any excitement in life. She says with an exhausted sigh:

“If I am not crazy turn this Ace into an eight, please just show me if I have to be locked up behind a gate.” Then let’s out a chuckle as usual. But the chuckle didn’t last too long. She turned it over and it was now an eight. She was surrounded by a deck missing an Ace and having an extra eight. She frantically took pictures with her phone, in hopes of showing Jackie tomorrow and confirming perhaps; maybe she is losing her mind from a lack of sleep.  She drinks another glass of wine to take the edge off and dozes off, hoping to not have a nightmare about magic.

 

 

 

The Dimensions/Part 2

She wakes up to him tugging upon her sleeve.

“Mommy! Mommy! I have to go to school soon. Where’s my lunch?”

“I…I…” She panics…”I think I it’s in the fridge, hold on.”

Sure enough it is. She doesn’t remember ever packing it though. She doesn’t even know his name yet. She thinks, what’s my name?

So many thoughts racing, their almost uncontrollable. He’s staring at her, as if he knows something is different about her. Children always know when things are off. It is as if intuition is at its peak at those ages.

He runs out the door, barely making the bus.

Now, time for some investigation. She runs upstairs, trying to find anything with a name on it. She has to know who she is, who they are, where she is, in order to answer questions later. Nothing makes sense and she is overwhelmed with only an afternoon to figure this out it seems.

She finds something. A filing cabinet of some fancy kind. After some ravaging she was able to find birth certificates. Apparently her name is Margaret, her son is Alvin, and her husband is Edward.

Really, Alvin? She thinks. Poor kid.

She is 32 years old, Edward is 34, and Alvin is 9. None of this makes sense to her. She feels she was older, but she can’t remember how old. Everything seems to be getting more difficult to remember from her previous life. Tears roll down her face. Jack, her real son, is no longer visible in her mind. She pretends to hug the floor as if it’s him but this only results in a prolonged anxiety spell. She knows this will solve nothing. She must figure out how to get back home and not forget everyone.

She reads on, finding out more and more about the family. Looking at photographs, drawings, mailings, anything she can use to gain information. It becomes less and less painful as she continues.

The door slams.

“Hunny!” Edward says.

“Yes, dear, I am in here.” Says Margaret.

“Did you make supper?”

She panics. “I’m so sorry. I failed to get anything done today.”

“Are you okay?” Edward asks.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just maybe a little bit of a flu coming on.”

“Okay, well, I guess me and the boy will go out to dinner. I’ll bring you something back my love. Please get some rest and be yourself again. I sure do miss your cooking.”

“I will. Thank you dear.”She says.

Finally, she’s alone again. Now, time to learn some recipes. The cookbook is extensive. Covered in flour and definitely used every day. She cannot imagine a woman cooking every single day but she gives it a chance. She picks something easy for tomorrow evening and hopes for the best.

Edward awakens her. “You fell asleep with the recipe book. How adorable.”

“Well, I wanted to make sure I was prepared for tomorrow.”

She sits with him, eats her dinner quietly, letting him talk about his day at work, who he had seen in town, and what new shoes he desires. She gathers more information and finds herself becoming intrigued the more he speaks. She starts to think hey this may not be that bad after all. His handsome, chiseled face radiates authenticity. Then she starts thinking of her own family again. Guilt rolls in. He kisses her. She feels his lips tug softly on hers then pull away even more gently. It was like nothing she felt before. So innocent. Her heart becomes weak as she looks in his eyes and she starts to feel as if she belongs here.

He holds her all night. Carefully caressing her body, memorizing every inch of her skin, so he can remember it forever. She does the same, barely sleeping all night.

The Dimensions

The curtains are stained with orange juice from the year before. The kids decided to have it in the bed one night, and well you know what happened. A fight broke out and she spent an hour cleaning it up as usual.

She wakes up and finds it strange  no one seems to be around. No yelling. She sighs with relief.

They always hang around the yard, talking about the latest football game.  She pretends she cares but she’d rather be left to do her own things. She barely even has free time to have it spent in such a boring manner, yet no one seems to ask her what she would rather be doing. But one day, she decided it was all about her from now on. Has since left the family circle, and formed her own filled with dreams.

A voice yells out to her. She runs thinking something has happened. It’s her son, wanting her to play basketball.

“Oh, John just grab one of the neighbor boys! I’m in my heels, I can’t do that right now!”

“Okay, mom.” He sighs and carries on alone.

Sure enough, five minutes pass and she hears a shriek of a child. She runs hysterically, finding John lying in front of a car. The ball across the street as if it perfectly landed there right in front of a long sidewalk. But her focus was not on the house across the street, but rather John. His limp body once full of the grace of an angel has the devils steal his light she thinks. All because I couldn’t just watch him. Tears roll down her cheeks, but as she looks up to ask God why he took her baby boy, her heart begins to race.

A house, not any normal house lies across the street. One she has never seen before. The ironwork magnificent, protective, yet graceful. A lion’s head creates the steeple and his tail wraps around the cone shaped roof as if it is protecting the house.

She realizes something is watching her threw the window. Large iron doors that look as if they cannot be opened await. She wonders if she pulls on them, if they will even open. She looks down, and John is no longer there. She thinks maybe someone poisoned her, or perhaps her medication is making her hallucinate. Panic overtakes her body.The sweat pouring out of her anxious body causes her to feel sick. Her home is no longer there either now. The only house left is the iron house.

Desperation is kicking in. No car has been in sight. She starts to believe maybe she is in some kind of simulation but the thought exits her mind quickly. Too many tv shows she thinks. After a few hours, she takes the chance.

The ball is still lying there. And as she tries to pick it up, it just keeps rolling down the sidewalk. As if it is some trick to lure her or maybe it is a joke. She has no idea what to think or who would think of this sick game. She grabs the door and it opens with barely a pull.

“Someone there?”She asks gently.

There is no answer. She walks further, slowly, calmly, but ready to defend. She hears something. Some kind of motor, a quieter one, maybe a toy?

A little boy sits in the living room, smiling at her.

“Hey!”

He doesn’t say anything. It is as if she is the first woman he has ever seen. He begins to cry. She hears feet running. It’s a man.

“Hey hunny! Why don’t you comfort him!”

“I, I, didn’t know it was my job.”she says.

“Well, that’s how it works. I pay the bills, you deal with this!”

“Okay, I get it.” She mumbles along.

He leaves. She sits down, realizing there some cigarettes. It’s weird though, they have a rather old looking package. She smells them, and they are fresh. Strange, she thinks. Lights one up. Stares at the smoke, as if she is waiting to wake up from a nightmare.

This isn’t real she thinks. But then she coughs. The taste is definitely there. She hates it.

She touches the child, and he cries. ”

He’s real. He is all real.”

Her husband walks in, “Hunny, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I think I’m just hormonal.”

“Huh? Hunny you know we do not speak of these things. I just know.”

“Okay, sorry.”

She looks at the living room again, realizing it now has a strange looking television. A box like structure of wood around it. She doesn’t get it. The furniture looks like it is art deco. She thinks maybe 50’s or 60’s era.

“Am I going backwards?”she says.

“What was that hunny!?”

“Oh nothing.”

“I’m off to work sweetheart. I’ll see you in a bit. Try to make something good for dinner.”

“Sure.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She panics as the door shuts. She is in neither heaven nor hell. She is in something but she doesn’t even know what. She thinks, okay I’ll make the most of it.

She has to make a dinner in a kitchen where she doesn’t even know. She has to act as if everything is okay or she thinks these people will definitely think I am crazy. Just hold out she thinks, maybe I am in a coma. Hmmm.

He comes home, kisses her on the cheek when she tries for the mouth.

“Geez baby!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Let’s not be that way in front of the child.”

“Okay.”

He enjoys her meal but wonders about the inspiration. It is all the sudden inventive for such a woman like her. He praises her but senses some kind of change. He doesn’t know if he will like it or not in the years to come, but he believes in fixing things forever.

She lays her head down to rest and thinks of the life she once had. Her own child. Her own husband. Tears roll down her cheeks quietly and no one knows they are even shed but herself. This pains her. She falls asleep trying to accept the reality. Trying to leave the pain behind.

 

 

The Woman Who Lost it All (A Fictional Short Story)

She sits on her leather sofa they just bought a year ago, thinking “oh how I once worried about what color this is. Now I just want to get rid of it for free.” Caressing the leather, she imagines she isn’t even there but rather in another state, in a new house, with a new man, and her beautiful children treating him as if he is their blood. Over and over she tells herself it isn’t too late to fight for what she has always wanted; peace.

Their pictures are everywhere. Old memories once kept her sane, but now make her think she is headed inside a straight jacket. His scent is everywhere. All over her clothes especially. She has spent the entire day re-washing everything. Almost symbolic in a way, cleansing the filth of his wrongdoings off of her. So much blame, she says to herself. So much blame I have taken on to get to this point. All the introspection, day and night, beating myself up for what? To be forgotten. What happened to not giving up on someone? These days she perceives everyone as on the go, on to the next, and rather than fixing what is wrong, finding the new thing that might feel right for an evening or two.

Where do I get my faith? Do I ask god why this happened to me?Or rather just face the fact he would rather kiss the lips of another than mine. Why? She asks. In my head, he is still like a god. I still love the part  of him I first locked onto. How could he make it all go away? So quickly? Why can’t i?

She is convinced her heart is a fool or it is derived from gold. She chooses the gold because it makes it easier to hope. Hope for herself and hope for her children to grow up with a male figure who teaches them how to play ball, treat women, and straighten their tie. She wishes it could have been him but some play roles rather than living them.

The kids will be home shortly. So should he, but maybe he won’t be. He will probably call and say he is late at the office but she knows where he will be now. Thanks to a good friend at the restaurant, the reservation isn’t unnoticed. All bad deeds come to a bad end. Sometimes they just need a push into the end part so the dignity and esteem of the innocent remains intact.

She knew something was wrong when she tried to use the credit card last week but the credit line was used up. An expensive purchase, a ring, she waited for it last week but it never came for her. She thought it could be hidden around the house but after two days of searching there was minimal hope. She ponders: Why are my dreams always sold away to the desperate girl who would love a towel? That is not love. To be so desperate for someone to take care of you, is never love. I spent my life bearing his children, cleaning his underwear, cooking his food, and paying for a house I cannot even stand in without wanting to cry. I deserve that ring or no one will have it.

It is five thirty. The reservation is for 6. She kisses her children, tells the babysitter it will be a while, then leaves. The sound of the rain upon her windshield reminds her there are some things out of her control; like the weather. Like in life but she would have it no other way. Forget the umbrella she mutters. I want to feel the rain. For so long he kept it out, hid it inside, and now there is a storm.

She is on a mission. Briefcase in hand. Her soon to be ex husband, is desperately trying to woo a young lady after his wallet. Risking his children minds, money, his wife, and the rest of his life for what? An empty mind which needs to be developed. The girl knows better, she wants an easy way out. They both are in the wrong.

She sits down. Rests the briefcase upon the table. Everyone is suddenly still. They think there is a bomb, but no it is a lie detector. She tells him to put his finger in it like it has been in other places it shouldn’t have. Question by question she writes down the results in front of the other woman. For some reason it doesn’t bother her this man is a complete liar. Disgusting, the wife thinks. The crowd in the background is roaring with excitement. They think this is some kind of reality tv show like cheaters. She ensures them it is, knowing people will fall for anything their own mind creates.

At the end, she asks the other woman, knowing he is a liar for years, do you still want this man? The woman says, he won’t lie to me. Noticing the ring on the table, the wife quickly snatches it up and says well then if you are so greedy, why don’t you just eat this ring? If you can swallow it, you can keep it. Their faces are lined up, and the wife aggressively pops the ring into her mouth, makes her swallow it and says well that will be a memorable proposal. And by the way, hunny, could you sign these divorce papers? He quickly does and she is on her way.

The home is still riddled full of his memories and an occasional scent, but she laughs thinking of the last time she saw him. The woman, the ring, the detector, the crowd, and the papers. Her children are playing in the pool, as if nothing has happened. She thinks, I did it soon enough. She watches her new husbands muscle definition as he scrapes the pool, smiling at her children, then running to fetch a band aid after one of them falls to the ground. She thinks again, there is hope in people if they have it in themselves. Glad I never lost myself completely.