I tried to walk past the folks outside without them hassling me, but I knew that was a losing battle.

“Sir, do you want to help us in searching for a missing boy?” one of the organizers asked.

I thought for a split second, but ultimately said, “I’m sorry. I just got off work and I am exhausted.”

And it was the truth. I was tired. After the night at the base, then working, then magic training and that weird shit with the currency as I bought my snacks. I was pooped. Shitted. Ready for a nap.

“I get that, but I see, there, that you have some chips. Ready for snacking but not ready for a lost or kidnapped little boy that is alone and scared and—” and then I cut them off.

Uncharacteristically, I yelled, “piss off, guilt-tripping assfucks. I just got off of work and am tired. I hope that little boy is found but you assholes can go fuck yourselves off a whore’s ass for all I care. Goddamn losers!” and then I spit on their shoes in a display of aggression that truly made me feel like I was in a movie.

Walking past them— all in first person— I easily slid to my apartment and locked the door.

You are shaking, Felix asked.

I was shaking. Yeah.

“I just . . . never act like that. I don’t know what came over me. Wow!” I replied to Felix.

Are you losing the plot? Your mind?

“Stop being so dramatic. I am just done. I’ve had it with these self-righteous pricks trying to bully people into their good causes. Like, I have a fucking life and I am barely keeping it all together. And seeing as how I have just been introduced to the fucking super-natural bullshit, I think I am doing well, everything considered.”

I would agree. Best to take a nap, now. Rest. You have work tomorrow, after all.

Ugh. I had forgotten. Work. I do work tomorrow. Fucking hell.

~ ~ ~

I woke up a few hours before my shift.

Why was I constantly sleeping now but still tired?

If you want my opinion— opined Felix from somewhere in my apartment— it is because you are having difficulty adjusting to the under-reality.

Yeah. Obviously, Felix. That AND the fact that I now live in this weird-ass two-dimensional world. Have I told you how much I miss that third-dimension?

I don’t think you have, actually. I didn’t know you missed it.

How could you not know? I have been complaining non-stop!

Figured you were just a complainer. Or talking about the general changes. Taken together, like. Not specifically the stuff about the dimensional space.

Well. I do miss it. My life feels like some weird pop-up storybook or some side-scrolling video game.

For a moment, Felix did not respond. I think he was musing. But he eventually said, You will get used to it, eventually. Find that this way is more concise. Efficient. Give it more time.

Give it time. Give it time. That was what everyone kept saying. I wasn’t amused. But what could I do? Short of saying ‘fuck it’ or packing my shit and starting a new life, there really wasn’t anything I could do. Not at the moment, anyway. And besides, I had a funny feeling in my gut that even if I did start a new life, that somehow wouldn’t free me from Full Time and my contractual obligations. I had a sensation somewhere that they would follow me . . .

I sat down at the table and sipped my customary iced coffee. Wait, was there a frequency trigger? I think so; truthfully, everything was blending together and the feelings which proceeded a frequency trigger felt very alien yet adjusted at the same time, as if the triggers were a flavor in a dish I did not care for but had developed some affinity for just to impress the in-laws or something. The end result was a constant feeling of mild dread in me that I didn’t know what to do with.

But trigger or no trigger, I sat down and sipped my coffee. I went over my bills for the month— everything had been paid— and then prepaid on some bills for the following month; which was the only good thing about working full hours and keeping my own costs down, that I had money to spare and so I could cover my bills ahead of time. At least one thing in my life was going well.

Finishing my iced coffee, I wondered when I would see Kush again. I wanted to talk to him about that strange feeling when I bought my snacks. But, in the end, I guess there wasn’t a point in wondering: he would find me when he found me and that was when my training would continue. No bother in wasting effort thinking about possibilities.

Possibilities. What did that word even mean anymore? I found my way to actually existing magic and initiation into a underground society of spellcasters and yet, what . . . I was more powerless than ever. I knew nothing and my arms and actions were tied by my new understanding of reality. Not the least of which was how I lived and worked and navigated the world. Magic hadn’t made my life any easier. If anything, it had made things more complicated. It seemed as though all of my possibilities simply led to more stress.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

I downed my last sips of coffee like it was a shot of whiskey and headed off to work. Hard to believe those few hours sped by so fast.

As usual, I walked to work, but the travel seemed all so routine. By the time I was at work, it was as if I had never even left my job site. Like my whole life at my apartment was a sideshow to a grander drama of work and essence. But, no matter which way I wanted to depict it, I was back at work yet again.

And it to, seemed to sail by as though but a stranger in side-view mirrors. An hour turned to two, which somehow bled to five, and impossibly, seven. Then nine. And viola, I was done.

I clocked out. And I felt nothing. Just tired. Just another day at work.

Or it seemed that way until I saw Kush waiting for me on my way out of the break room.

~ ~ ~

"Fancy meeting you here,” I said. “More training?”

“I guess you can say that. But it is really more like homework,” Kush replied.

“Homework? I’m a little old for school.”

“Funny. Follow me.”

I did follow him and we went to the same aisle as before— the candy aisle; a place ever deserted despite the sugary love.

Searching the aisle as if for a specific product, Kush picked out a bag of fruity hard candies that dissolved in your mouth if you let them rot your teeth enough. They were yummy but not exactly magically inclined training aides.

“You will do the same as yesterday except with one difference. You will use this app to monitor your magical use,” Kush said while pointing to his head.

As always, I was confused. And Kush’s explanation didn’t exactly clear the air:

“What are you talking about?” I asked, wondering why he was pointing to his head.

“Your mind. Your mind is the app.”

Crickets. Seeing as how I was no lizard, I was firmly unimpressed.

“Okay, I will lay it out for you. Close your eyes— yes, do as you are told.” I closed my eyes. “Now, picture for me a graph; it can be any kind of graph as long as it shows a rate of usage over time— I prefer one of those stock market graphs, but you do you.”

By a long margin, this was one of the more strange set of directions I had received in my life. It was also notable for the fact that I do not think I had ever received such a strange set of instructions which were, at once, both clear and unclear. A graph that showed a change of quality over time? Okay . . .

I mused for several moments, feeling the temporal tug with each passing second, knowing that Kush was judging me fiercely. I knew nothing of graph types and what they measured, so I ended up settling on some kind of simple graph that had probably been strung together from several different half-remembered graphs. What I pictured in my mind was something like a heart rate monitor. But, since I did not know what I was monitoring, right now, in my mind’s eye, it was just a simple flat line.

“I got it . . . I guess,” I replied. Now what?

“Now, you will keep this graph in your mind’s eye at all times. And I do mean all.”

“Uh, how? Like, even when I am using the bathroom or working?”

“Oh, yes, very much during those times, indeed! But how? Swipe toward the graph in your head now and again as though you were taking a serendipitous glance at the sky on a beautiful day. Simply think of it. Set remainders on your phone if you have trouble.”

“Sounds tedious. Like, for real.”

“It is only tedious at first. Before long— and I truly mean that— you will always have the graph in your total vision. It will be like it was a limb you didn’t know you had. It will make you feel big. Like a real man.”

“Large words for someone talking about graphs.”

Kush smiled: “Now, graphs. Tomorrow, more.”

Vague. As usual.

“But for now,” Kush addressed me, “make this pouch of candy move and keep your eye toward the graph.”

Work then training. Lovely.

But no use in complaining. If magic and labor were somehow for some reason connected, then I best get used to training after work. I had gotten myself into this situation and somehow I needed to own up to it.

I tried to do the same as I did yesterday but something was different. With keeping the graph in my mind’s eye, I was more distracted than I had been the day before. Holding the graph in my mind meant trying to focus on a stream of details— the pure consciousness of magic, the sensational element of casting— while also keeping this boring, weird graph thing placed center stage. What was I even looking for with this graph? Why was it so important that I keep it in my mind at all times? It was a gauge, clearly, but for what? Efficiency of magic use? Why? Was there a limited supply of magic and we in the under-reality had to recycle?

But what was a little bag of chewy candy? What was a graph? Really, what were they?

I took a deep breath and tried to think and make connections: a bag of candy was small and cumbersome if opened incorrectly; it was filled with chewy pieces dipped in sugar. And a graph was the same way— except bitter and boring; yet, like candy, a graph indicated growth of things, or decay. Candy was just another commodity but a commodity that had swings in growth depending on the time of year— holidays obviously saw a huge uptick in candy sales which would be shown on a graph. And if candy was something connected to labor and that labor connected to generating money— profits— and therefore capital, then there must be another connection to the labor process, especially during the holiday season where sales of all things sugar increased; labor during this time was stretched and store management offered hired more labor, yes, but only temporarily in order to keep overall costs down. Therefore, capital increased and the whole cycle increased. Men and women of executive action would therefore pour over such graphs as they made decisions which negatively affected the every day worker’s life and—

Boop!

In one smooth motion, the candy jumped at me as a tick in the graph booped; and without missing a beat, the moment the bump in the graph showed, there appeared just behind it another bump, this one in gray. Instinctually, I knew the secondary gray bump must have been my spell from the other day.

“You saw?” Kush asked.

“Yes. Or, I think.”

“The two bumps in the graph. The gray one represents your first attempt. From now on, whenever you perform or interact with magic, it will appear on this graph; this is why, Marcus, it is important to always keep this graph in your mind’s eye.”

I saw the benefit of doing so, but man— always?

“Okay. Will do. I will do my best anyway. So I guess that means our training for the day is done?”

“Yes. You are still inefficient in your magical usage. Which is why you will not see me for a bit. In the meanwhile, everyday after work, I want you to try and do the same levitation technique we have been doing here with candy. Keep the graph on and simply try and levitate. Got it? Once you become practiced, we will continue.”

“Okay, but I wanted to ask you a question before you leave—” but I didn’t get a chance to ask Kush about the money transaction thing before he vanished into thin air.

Rude.