My only warning was the tapping on the glass outside my window. My pen’s scratches never stopped their motion as I sketched idly at Erin’s face. She just wouldn’t quit changing her cheeks in my mind and I was determined to have her out on paper at that moment. That moment was almost two hours ago and my ice cream melted to a puddle untouched but for a single bite.
The rock that shattered the window chose that bowl—my favorite bowl by the way—as its new home. It moved in rather loudly and violently.
“My ice cream!”
In hindsight, I’m not sure I even yelled that. I think I sort of just started and stared at the cream sea with large islands of clay. An inside-out bowl of ice cream. The splatters of white were splashed all over my living room table and rug. What? A desk was way too formal for the production of creative juices. Desks are for editing. Couches. Now those are for creating. Words, worlds, babies—really whatever you put your mind to.
I believe all creative tasks are best done with plenty of blankets and pillows. Those who tell you otherwise are happy, drunk, or married.
When the second rock sent more glass all over the ground I realized the bastard sent broken crystal shards all over the carpet! And I just finally vacuumed it two weeks ago! At the window, I only had enough time to flinch before another rock smashed into my forehead. Next thing I knew I was here. Writing from a hospital bed and all because my crazy next-door neighbor forgot the code to our building. When EMT arrived, the door wasn’t even locked. But they did compliment her arm.
The living room table got the last laugh though. It managed to strike my head as I fell backward. The first doc thought I shattered a C3 or C4 spine something or other. Check my charts if you care. But none of that matters, see. The important detail? Those rocks that Jennette Dunbar threw through my windows? They were some of those healing crystals she sold to her clients (I did tell you she was crazy).
That last crystal got me dead middle of my oversized forehead. And maybe she isn’t as crazy as I once thought. Because now I see things. Fascinating things.
For instance, I know when the world will end.
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I guess the hippies and the Mary Kay moms had it right. Crystals truly do have extraordinary properties. I can’t speak for essential oils yet but I assume that the puddle of ice cream I landed in could have some oil in it. Who knows what those brand companies put in products these days? The other day I opened my tub of Greek yogurt to see a mouse staring back at me. Like what? They didn’t even kill it first just threw it in there without even trying to blend it up. Gods the smell! Inhumane, really.
The annoying white one continued standing directly in my line of sight. There were perfectly good stars out that bay window and there were more than enough to share. How did that phrase go?
“You make a better dork than a window.” Close enough.
The unfortunate bastard didn’t seem to recognize the saying. He just stood there and continued to stare at me. Did he think this was a staring contest? No, I could see his brain trying to figure out the metaphor. I had mercy on the man. How did doctors ever get through all those years of schooling without talking to normal people and learning these phrases? Surely this is the strongest argument for taking general education courses!
“It means you are in the way, Doctor. By which I mean to say that you’re a terrible window and very much a whale of a dick for pretending to be one."
The frown on Doctor Dork turned into a parody of a fish’s mouth. It snapped shut with the nurse’s giggle. How unprofessional! What kind of man giggles? Especially when he is wearing scrubs?
Doctor Dork asked stupidly (in my opinion, of course), “Did you mean door?”
I rolled my eyes. I would have gestured with a flourish of my hand as if to say, “this buffoon tries to speak in front of me, a man?” but of course, I am paralyzed so I make do with an extra eye roll. “No, Doctor,” you dork, “I doubt you’d make a good door either. Or do you want any dick walking into you? Ah! That’s how you swing?”
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“Mister Ginsnap!”
“It is 'Master,' actually. I never married,” I remind them. That was the eighth time I’ve told them. This was partially why I continued to tax Doctor Dork’s presence.
“Master Ginsnap!” the white, lab-coated man needed sunlight more than any plant I’d ever seen. He was becoming quite an obvious red. Maybe he should see one of his fellow doctors about it. Surely that was the sign of a skin condition. Speaking of, do doctors see each other for free? That would save so much time as well! Perhaps that’s why they spend all that time in school. To save on medical bills later on in life?
“We need to remove that rock. I need your permission to do the surgery. As I’ve explained, it is pressing into your frontal lobe. This could be the reason for the inexplicable paralysis affecting you. All I need is your permission.”
Doctor Dork sure thought he knew everything. Even as he stood there like a plump tomato, he arrogantly told me what to do. Who would listen to a tomato though? Potatoes are much more reliable. He was so certain that he could “fix” me.
I could see inside him though. I could see the way his heart only pumped blood and not the life of the world through his veins. Mana, I mean. It twisted and pulled at the man’s organs. Starved, rotting. At least, that’s the impression my new viewpoint gave me. And the male nurse—murse? Or was it a mursa?—wasn’t much better. A trickle of mana still flowed through his center and I could feel his life when he touched my skin.
“Master Ginsnap? Are you paying attention?” So impatient. I snapped my eyes back to Doctor Dork from the nurse’s tight-fitting scrubs. Ah, well I guess he was dying, I should forgive a bit of his dickishness.
“Apologies, Doctor, my mind has not changed though. I shall heal on my own. I am certain and set on this course of action.”
“Because of this… magic?” The Doctor’s voice was incredulous. “Sir, you are sick. I know you think you’re seeing things but it is a delusion. Let us help you before the damage becomes permanent.”
The nurse spoke his mind as well—totally out of line in my opinion, “Flin, you may want to reconsider. You could be struck paralyzed forever if you’re wrong about this… mana you’re seeing. Doctor Mars here is one of the best surgeons and if he says removing that crystal from your forehead will have you up and walking in days, why not do it?” The nurse paused. What was his name? He’s been here for days and I never caught his name and his ID card was hooked to his trousers where I couldn’t make it out.
The nurse glanced at the doctor before leaning in and whispering, “You may want to consider this as well. You see, there is no guarantee that removing that crystal will remove your... new ability? And even if it does, surely you can just find another way to see it again?”
He actually seemed to care. Cute. Naive, sure. But cute. But he’s still going to die within the year. I smiled at him, “Kid, I know you mean well, but you have no idea what you’re talking about.” I reached out and patted his arm with a wink. The nurse stared at my hand in shock. I turned to the doctor, “I will be fine in a couple of days. I just need some rest. Please give me the discharge paperwork. If not, please have someone call the police for illegally detaining me.”
The rest of the night went smoothly. I shit myself at some point during the following shouting match between Doctor Dork and his boss. That moved other things along much faster. Soon, Mr. Murse was wheeling me out of the hospital silent until we got to the curb.
“You moved your hand, Master Ginsnap,” he said.
“Sure did.” A taxi pulled up and I glanced up at the profile of my unusually caring nurse.
“How?”
“Easily enough, I just sent some of my mana into the broken bones and nerve endings. I was the one, after all, who broke them in the first place. It did hurt quite a bit to be poked and prodded. It was a bit of a trick to maneuvering the strands the first time so I may have gone a little overboard when I ripped my spine open instead of shutting down the pain receptors,” I said.
The nurse absently opened the taxi door and helped lift me into the cab. He looked like he wanted to ask more but didn’t know what to say.
“You want to know if magic is real.” It was a statement. The nurse nodded mutely, staring off at the city’s skyline. I rolled my tongue around my mouth, considering. Eh. He’d learn eventually. I held out a hand and he reached for it. Before our hands touched I spoke a single word.
“Spark.”
A blue light formed inside my wrist and shot out to the nurse's hand. He swore and jerked his hand back. As he shook it, I shut the door and rolled down the window.
“It’s real, murse man. And you need to learn that lesson fast. Magic isn’t just the fantastic. It’s going to give the poor hope and the rich tools to oppress. It’s going to be a revolution that will hit the world harder than any nuclear war ever could and the body count will be untold.
“Listen here: You’re going to die if you don’t find your inner magic. You’re going to die and nobody will know your legacy.
“Leave the city and avoid the rich, the poor, the happy, and the drunks. Find a creator who can open your mana gates. Someone who can teach you to cultivate. The new world order is coming and you aren’t ready for it.”
The nurse stared at me. I know I sound crazy. It could be a shitpost on a fan-fiction site. I also know the nurse will remember me and my warning. It’s the only one he’s going to get.
“Taxi, 15th and Herold Ave, thanks.”
Right, you readers probably want to know a bit more about the man writing this memoir. I doubt any of you will read this; it's not likely you'll survive. If I don't, maybe you'll pick up where I left off. Doubtful you'd ever be so lucky as to experience the circumstances I lucked into... but I was always a bit of a romantic.
I am a failing writer, artist, video game streamer, and human. I like frozen pizza, yogurt, and ice cream. I’m 5’11” or one inch short as the guys used to call me in college. I wonder if that’s the reason nobody wanted to date me then? My name is Flin Ginsnap and I am now a cultivator thanks to the quartz still implanted in my forehead.
Hell, at least it takes attention away from the receding hairline.
And I am the man going to take over the world or end it painlessly. Starting with this fucking city.