The Odd Soul pt. 4: Magnus and Her Brave New World

When I got home I threw my computer bag onto the kitchen counter and ran to the bathroom to pee like nobody’s business, which I guess I shouldn’t have shared. Anyway, after that unmentionable act I grabbed my computer and sat on the couch to enjoy some mindless entertainment. Which I could have done if my mindless self hadn’t forgotten my charger. I knew right where it was too. Could just visualize it all alone at the coffee shop table, it wondering what it had done to be so neglected.

Making myself pity an inanimate object I gathered my things and headed back to the coffee shop.

Luckily not many people have made a home there today. Just a couple of elderly folks at a table across the way and a few teenagers sitting at the bar.

I walk over to my table and see it occupied. A male is sitting where I once was and he seems to be staring at me, making me very uncomfortable yet…excited?

I begin walking over to the table and he looks down at his coffee as if I’m blind and didn’t see him burning a hole through me with his eyeballs.

“Hi, I was sitting here like an hour ago..”

“Am I in your seat? I can move no prob…”

“No, no, I just left…”

“This is yours?” he says pulling the charger from his pocket.

“My charger! Yes, he probably thought I was never coming back.” Good job Magnus show all your crazy first-hand.

“He said you would be back. Told me to keep him warm till you did, so I put him in my pocket.”

“Oh, did he now?”

“Sure did. Said his owner was an immaculate beauty that would never abandon him. I was like, an immaculate beauty, huh? He said, you won’t believe your eyes.”

I hadn’t even realized I was sitting across from him now. Who the hell was this guy?

“Who the hell are you?” I ask in a raspy whisperish tone.

“I’m Scott,” he replies mid laugh. “Who the hell are you?”

“I don’t want to say.”

“Why? Are you famous or something?”

“If I were famous I wouldn’t have to tell you who I am, you would already know.”

“Maybe I do, just seeing if you will tell the truth.”

“I’m not famous, I just don’t want you to laugh.”

“At what? Your name? Why would I laugh at your name?”

“It’s not a conventional name.”

“Like Scott.”

“Exactly.”

“I promise I won’t laugh.”

“You better not or your shins will feel my wrath.”

“I’m going to shit myself in suspense.”

Who says something like that…besides Alice that is. I look him in the eyes and he seems genuine enough.

“My name is Magnus.”

“Who named you? Mom or Dad?”

“My mom. My dad wanted to call me Carol.”

“Yikes. Imagine if you were a Carol.”

“I’d probably wear more tube socks.” The fuck does that mean?, I contemplate in my mind.

He just smiles and says, “Exactly.”

We sit for a few seconds in comfortable silence. He takes a sip of his coffee keeping his eyes on me, a slight smile creeps into the right corner of his mouth. He sets the coffee down.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“This is pretty much all I do.”

“Flirt with strangers?”

“No, sit at this coffee shop.”

“You a writer?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Coffee shop, computer charger, the tells are all there.”

“I haven’t shown my cards yet. Still have some surprises.”

“Don’t we all,” he pauses. “So, tomorrow night?”

“Right, I have an interview but after that I’m pretty free.”

“Got a pen?”

I reach into my pocket and pull out a red pen. He takes it from me and grabs my hand.

“Meet me here, eight o’clock.”

“Is this your sex dungeon?”

“If only,” he chuckles. “I wish. Seriously, there’s a good band playing there, you’ll dig them.”

“How do you know I’m not only into gangster rap?”

“Because you look intelligent.”

“Touche.”

He stands. Walks beside me. Leans in close to my face. I really thought he was going to kiss me.

“You better be there,” he whispers.

“Why,” I whisper back.

“Because you’ll never forgive yourself.”

He leans back and walks out the door. I try not to turn around and watch him leave but I cannot control myself. For that was the strangest and most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.

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The Odd Soul pt. 3: Does Magnus Have Time Enough For Love?

We join Scott Brewer one year before he runs into our lovely Magnus. He is in a bed being brought to life from the ringing of a telephone. He answers without looking and in a groggy state says…

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Thought you were off today. Why aren’t you home keeping my butt warm?”

“We need to talk.”

“About my butt?”

“I’m not coming home.”

“Tonight?”

“Ever.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, I’m starting a new chapter in my life. One that doesn’t involve you.”

“So just like that you are throwing away three years of friendship, for what?”

“Things have happened. And besides, it seems like the past months we haven’t been able to stand the sight of each other. Look, I don’t want to say anymore. This is what it is and nothing is going to change that…I have to go,” she hangs up.

Scott continues to lay in bed; staring at the ceiling he wonders, in his own words, what the fuck just happened?

It wasn’t until months later that he learned the truth. His girlfriend of three years left him that night to be with someone else. At first he was heartbroken. But that heartbreak soon turned to the realization that she wasn’t someone he should pine over. That if she were capable of doing that to him then she wasn’t worth the time.

So he continued to live his life. Singing in his band, going to pet stores to play with the adoptable pets thinking maybe he should just break down and adopt one. For as much as he hated to admit it, loneliness overwhelmed him. Unbeknownst to him his loneliness was in the process of ending.

It is here that we join our soon to be lovers. Scott left his house this morning feeling relieved for the first time in a long time. Things just seemed to be going his way. At every cross walk he approached, signaled for him to continue on his way without stopping. He stubbed his toe on the corner of a mailbox which led to him kneeling down to examine the injury, in turn finding a twenty-dollar bill.

It was with this twenty dollars that led him to the coffee shop that our Magnus had just left. The coffee shop that Magnus was quickly returning to look for her misplaced computer charger.

Let’s move along and continue this tale for here it changes everything.

 

The Odd Soul pt. 2: Does Magnus Dream of Electric Sheep?

The most difficult thing in, well, anything is beginning. Relationships, novels, movies, etc. How do I hook you into caring about what I have to say? Who am I anyway? What nerve do I have to ask you to take the time out of your day to read about the going ons in my jacked up head.

But here in lies the truth. I’m not writing this for you. I’m writing this for myself. And if the world reads it, great. If no one reads it that’s great too. It will be out there for the world and for myself.

So here is where we are. My name is Magnus Fairchild. I’m twenty-seven years old, obsessed with the universe and all it entails.

Currently I sit in the coffee shop down the block from my apartment that I go to just about every day to write nonsense.

A friend of mine meets me here every now and then. She should be here in a few minutes and that is where this tale really starts.

————

She entered with power. Swinging the door with a gust of might that would make a body builder jealous. All the patrons of the coffee shop were looking her way. Giving disapproving looks and wondering how a girl so small could be responsible for this ruckus.

She just stood in the doorway. Breathing heavily. Arms out at her sides. Fists clenched. She reminded me of a comic book heroine who had just had the shit kicked out of her but gained a second wind and was back to kick ass.

She finally looked my way. Smiled and waved and forgot the scene she had just caused.

She sat across from me, taking my coffee to her lips and downing about a third of it.

“Check this shit out,” she says. “He texts me last night, ‘I can’t date anyone that doesn’t have any direction in life’. He says, ‘Where are your goals, your hopes and dreams?’.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, motherfucker I’ve been supporting your ass for the past year while you go around to sing acoustic Bon Jovi covers. I may be lost at the moment but at least I’m not embarrassing myself every night.”

“You said that?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me.”

Alice takes out her phone, pushes a few buttons and hands it to me.

“Did he really respond with, ‘There’s nothing wrong with Bon Jovi’?”

“Yup. Then he blocked my number. Tried to call him but just got a recording saying ‘This user has call restrictions’. Last “musician” I ever date.”

“See, you have goals.”

“Hardy har. I am so hungry I could ride a horse.”

She walks over to the counter and orders more food than I could ever dream of eating. She returns and begins inhaling the lot.

“Anything new in your love life.”

“Nothing new. Still nonexistent. I have more important things to worry about. Did I tell you I have an interview?”

“Doing what?”

“Staff writer. Apparently some somebody stumbled on my blog. Said I’m just the kind of “quirky” they are looking for. We’ll see how it goes. Probably have me writing on a teen show about blowjobs or something.”

“Well, good on you,” she finishes her last pastry. “My shift starts in like twenty minutes and I gotta run home and shower; I probably smell like a horses ass.”

“You are all about horses today.”

“Eh, fuck it you know, horses today, cats tomorrow. In the end we are all just food for the worms.”

And it’s things like that make me love her.

“Get out of here shit breath.”

“Fuck you cuntbag,” she yells back at me as she slams through the entrance.

I sigh heavily and look around the coffee shop. Watching as a line forms at the counter, the patrons waiting nervously for their afternoon pick me up.

I look at them and wonder what led them to this place at this time. The coincidences of life that lead us to that next step or next relationship. How if one thing had gone another way you wouldn’t be were you are now. If you had gone to bed ten minutes earlier you wouldn’t have met that person you can’t stop thinking about.

People are so quick to put it all on the invisible man. I’ve just never had that much faith in the man upstairs. Guess I’m just too set in reality, I don’t really know.

I stop sitting there like a weirdo and gather my things and head out into the world. I think about going home but would probably just end up staring at a wall or falling asleep.

So I walk. And I walk and walk. Not knowing that in about an hour I will meet someone who changes my life.

The Odd Soul pt. 1: Magnus and The Long Tomorrow

Magnus never liked being a teenager. She thought it was for the birds. All throughout her teens she would write stories and draw pictures of herself as an adult. Going to fancy parties. Clinking wine glasses with high society. The things she thought adults did.

It wasn’t until she was eighteen and her mother kicked out of the house that she realized that the best time to be alive was when you had no responsibilities.

But she learned quickly enough. Got a job waiting tables as she wrote plays.

She became friends with another waitress that opened her home giving her a place to sleep and a place to imagine.

For Magnus was talented. More talented than she would ever admit. She wrote and wrote, never overly confident in what she was writing but believed it was pretty good. She always kept it to herself. Her strange little tales lived only for her.

Then at the age of twenty-three, tired of waiting tables she decided she would make something out of her life.

This is her tale. A tale of love and loss and the hardships of being alive. Told in the exact way she would tell it. In a way only she can tell.

Come with me as we join Magnus at the age of twenty-seven as she sits in a coffee shop starting her day…

Tales of People Dying pt. 15: The Goddess of the Dark Arts

The building was easy to find with all its neon lights and exuberance. He entered knowing what he had to do. But also fearing she knew what he had to do and was prepared. But, he thought to himself, psychics aren’t real…but what if they are?

Nevertheless he entered. A woman of about forty years-old greats him.

“Hello sir, come to have the mysteries of the world laid out before you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“This way.”

She leads him to another room that is occupied with only a small table, two chairs and a lit candle.

“Have a seat,” she says.

They both sit at the table. The light from the candle reflecting on the lady’s face making her appear younger than previously.

“What questions shall I answer for you my son.”

“Why did you tell my girlfriend to leave me?”

“You are full of anger. Nothing ever resolves itself properly in an angry rage.”

“What the fuck ever. You ruined my life. So I’m going to fuck up yours.”

He stands and pulls out a gun. Points it at the lady. His finger steady on the trigger.

“This isn’t a wise course of action my son.”

“I’m not your fucking son!”

He aims at her head. Steadies his hand and fires.

She has disappeared.

“The fuck?” he says quietly to himself.

“Poor poor child. Don’t you see why I told her to leave you? Look at how you react to the smallest of things. She was not happy and you were prone to violence.”

“I never touched her.”

“Trust me, you would have.”

“Cut the bullshit and come out here.”

“You really don’t want that.”

“What can you do to me?”

She appears back into the room. She is floating and wearing a lacy dress that dances behind her.

“I am the Goddess of the Dark Arts, I can do whatever I please.”

He takes another shot at her. The bullet passes through with no resistance.

She shakes her head. “People like you never learn.”

She smiles and looks at him. The hand he is holding the gun with starts to spasm causing him to drop it. His fingers begin to bend inward. Once, twice, continuously folding onto themselves. The folding takes his hand then moves up his arm. He screams in pain as bones snap like twigs. His legs begin the same process. Folding and snaping until it reaches his stomach.

He is left lying of the floor. His arm and legs nothing but folded skin and broken bones. He uses his still whole arm to try and pull himself away. The Goddess just laughs as his fingers fold back in the same fashion.

“Please! Please stop!”

“Would you have granted me such a request?”

“No…”

The Goddess approaches him. Kneels beside his head. Takes it into her hands. Kisses the top of it.

“You have nothing left to fear.”

She stands as his lower half begins to fold. Working its way up his chest to his neck. Once at his head a loud crack as his jaw shatters and skull pops and folds and folds until there is just a flat square of human skin.

The Goddess picks up the square and carries it to another room; a kitchen. Opens the refrigerator and places the square inside. Right beside a stack of more squares.

Tales of People Dying pt. 14: Satan’s Daughter

Jack Marlow had been alone for a long time. He would watch the beautiful women from afar, never brave enough to open a line of dialogue with them. To ask them how their day was. To compliment them on an immaculate hair day.

His nights consisted of making a dinner for one. Sitting on the couch and eating that dinner while watching a movie he had seen a hundred times. Then bedtime would fall upon him. He would change into his bed attire. Lay back into his queen size bed and masturbate while thinking of all the pretty ladies he would never have.

But on this night Jack Marlow decided to change all that. Instead of his normal bedtime ritual, this time he got on his hands and knees and prayed to God to give him the courage and strength to approach another of the opposite sex. That he was so sad and lonely and he would do anything to feel the love of another.

After his prayer he climbed in bed, masturbated, and fell asleep.

Later that night he was awoken to someone whispering in his ear.

“Jacky boy,” the figure said in a raspy whisper. “Wakey wakey.”

And Jack did wake to find a male figure standing above him.

“God?”

“Do I look like an asshole?”

“Who are you?”

“Me? I’m your slimey friend the Devil.”

“Devil?”

“Yeah…Prince of Darkness, Beezelbub…I’ve got many names.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Answering your prayer Jacky.”

“I prayed to God.”

“You think God cares if you want to get laid?”

“But you do?”

“Fuck yes Jacky.”

“Why?”

“Look, I’m here to do you a service. You want to get laid, I’m the guy that can get that done.”

“And what do I have to do?”

“You said you would do anything.”

“Pretty much.”

“There’s only one thing I want from you Jacky…your soul.”

“Don’t I need that?”

“Have you ever used it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly. Here, let me show you what I got. I’m pulling out the goods for you Jacky. Only the best, my own daughter.”

A female appears beside the Devil. She is everything Jack Marlow had dreamed of. She stood there hands on her hips, lips pouty, a smile creeping onto her face.

“Oooo…I’d fuck him for free,” she teases.

“Haha! Well nothing is free sweetheart. Go lay next to him. Let him feel your essence.”

She lays next to Jack Marlow. Taking her hand and running it up and down his chest. He looks up at the Devil.

“I’ll give you any fucking thing you want.”

“Your soul.”

“It’s a deal.”

They shake hands. The Devil starts to walk away. He says one last thing.

“If you cum. You die.”

“What?” Jack Marlow asks without getting an answer. The Devil’s daughter is already on top of him. Riding him widly. Jack Marlow tries to resist but feels the pressure rising inside him. And after about a minute he explodes in pleasure. It’s then he feels his body numbing and darkness overtaking him. His heart stops. He slips away.

Tales of People Dying pt. 13: A Metaphorical Death

I’ve died three times in my life. My physical death, the moment I saw her smile and the moment she left my life. The latter being the more painful death. A death I never recovered from.

The smile brought a welcome death. The weakness of body and heart. Make you susceptible for what is to come. Your brain is trying with all it’s might to build a wall to protect itself. Knowing what comes when it all falls apart. But the body being the more resilient of the two softens to take the blow.

I saw that smile and my body lost all control. Passing away into another realm so I could fill myself with all of her. I died that night and it was glorious.

My second death was vicious. Ripping and tearing. Pain seething and searing. Unrelenting. Poisonous. Spreading within me. Losing control of emotions and decision making.

It was like ripping my skin off. Losing completeness. Cutting a whole in my chest allowing all to drain out leaving an empty nothing.

We all die. Some deaths are welcome. Some make it that nothing feels good anymore. You press on from. But you never recover from the unwelcome death. I never did. She was the last thing I thought of on the night of my physical death. And to be honest, it was as welcome as the death from her smile. In some strange way I felt whole again.