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“Embody the Code that is Uniquely Yours & Inject IT Into the Fabric of the Universe” ~ Mai Sol

Am I crazy? Or an Oracle? Or some sort of Story Savant?

Is Mac a Faerie? Or a Vampire? Or some creepy older dude?

Is Ben a CIA operative? A narcissist? Or a scorned ex?

Is the world broken? Or beautiful?

Or is it something else altogether?

2002

He broke my heart. I broke into his locker. Stole his shirt. Cut myself a halter top from the fabric. Burned the rest in an open fire under the Moon. Picked the lock again to put the ashes back inside.

Then I wore my new top to school the next day.

I didn't realize back then that I was already working Magik.

2008

The shadow sat at a chair in the corner. Toddler era Peter Pan obsessions had prepared me for such events. That a shadow utilizing furniture may be absurd never crossed my mind.

No one else remarked on the inky man shape lounging among us. They were all quite busy enjoying conversations about sparkling things. My tongue gone paralytic, I'd lost the ability to forge words.

It must have been the second sugar cube that stole my voice away.

Or maybe the LSD that was on it.

Either way, the shadow seemed quite at home. I think it followed me there. Probably from the void within the bathroom, that eternity just beyond, but somehow also woven into, the shower curtain. Where I could hear my true name echoing, in a voice I have decided not to recognize.

I should have turned on the light before going pee.

But I didn't.

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“Embody the Code that is Uniquely Yours & Inject IT Into the Fabric of the Universe” ~ Mai Sol

Am I crazy? Or an Oracle? Or some sort of Story Savant?

Is Mac a Faerie? Or a Vampire? Or some creepy older dude?

Is Ben a CIA operative? A narcissist? Or a scorned ex?

Is the world broken? Or beautiful?

Or is it something else altogether?

2002

Then I wore my new top to school the next day.

I didn’t realize back then that I was already working Magik.

2008

The shadow sat at a chair in the corner. Toddler era Peter Pan obsessions had prepared me for such events. That a shadow utilizing furniture may be absurd never crossed my mind.

No one else remarked on the inky man shape lounging among us. They were all quite busy enjoying conversations about sparkling things. My tongue gone paralytic, I’d lost the ability to forge words.

It must have been the second sugar cube that stole my voice away.

Or maybe the LSD that was on it.

And so the Shadow was in the living room, across from where I puddled on the vibrating neon couch that periodically shot bolts of lightening through me. And then the Shadow started to talk.

“Not everyone is accepting the updates.” said the Shadow. From inside my head.

I wondered if it worked both ways, the talking inside my head. So I ventured a query. “Why?” Another staple toddler era standby.

Turns out I’m telepathic. Cool.

“Memory reprogramming adjustment anomalies.” Responded the Shadow. Ah, but of course. That makes sense. “You have remembered through multiple layers of fabricated memory implantation. You are seeing through the veil. This is concerning. I encourage you to hold on to your memories.”

Well, shit. Consider my curiosity piqued. “What’s the veil?”

“Think of it as the User Interface. Front end hyper dimensional control matrix.” If the Shadow had a face, it turned toward me at this point. But Shadows don’t have faces. So I looked off to the side, not to be rude. My peripheral vision was less cluttered by the acid patterns anyways.

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