*****

It started off innocently enough, like most things. Especially things in Minus’ life. He often felt like the opposite of King Mitus, since everything he touched turned to shit, instead of gold.

“But it’s different this time,” he thought to himself. He always thought this to himself. He seemed to really like writing an internal monologue.

So, there he was: very happy, very stupid, and very drunk. What was different from every other day? Nothing. Nothing at all. Or so he thought.

It was near midnight, and after several pitchers, when he found himself alone, talking to a girl in her early twenties. The volume was turned down on the rest of the bar. The people moved in slow motion and sound traveled as if through water. Minus loved these moments, when he felt so very at home. These moments seldom lasted, and took much drink to accomplish.

The girl was cute, but young. Minus had already forgotten her name. But this time was different. She had that silken aura glow, like the girl that haunted his dreams. He’d seen her play a dozen roles in his dreams, but she was always obviously the same person. He could always tell by that bright white glow. She was a mother one night, a sister another, a lover more often than anything. In his dreams, Minus never looked the same. He knew who he was, even when dreams happened from odd perspectives, as they often do. And he always knew who she was, even when she was nothing like the night before, or any of the thousands of nights in his life.

This was a long dream. It haunted and beckoned. It tore at his heart strings and played death metal in his rotten soul. Minus was not a bad person, but a person consistently forced into bad situations. He couldn’t really grasp how at least half of his life had actually happened. But it had. Dreams through a Seconal haze. Hadn’t there been another dream-girl a few years(or a lifetime) ago? The Thorazine year that followed that instance had taught him that, no, there had never been a girl in his life with this aura. Even though his pineal gland would ram itself around to try and break free from the anti-psychotic’s numbing embrace.

But the pineal gland survived for moments like this. Brief glimpses at reality on the other side of the vale. And it shouted as he talked to this girl.

Minus fought a little when he felt the vertigo pulling him in. He was never very good at fighting this falling feeling, even though it almost always lead to pain directly. So he funneled down in to the synchronicity that surrounded this girl.

Her name, it later turned out, was Jane. Jane was 22, not really old enough to know better. Minus knew better, he just didn’t care. If Jane had known better, she would not have cared either.

——–

Jack.
I Listen.

The Cost of Magic
Section #1