《Divine Smartass》


 Chapter 1: Sweet Satisfaction

    Office work really kills you doesn¡¯t it. ¡°Ugh¡±, if not for the mental health checkups every month I would be acting a lot more depressed. I¡¯ve been wondering if I should get some sort of botox fillers in my cheeks, force a smile to look good for corporate.


    I technically should be filing in the documents for the upcoming Christmas party, but I somehow keep getting stuck in my head trying to rhyme words with ¡°silver¡±. I''ve yet to come up with any.


    Twenty minutes until leaving time. Sometimes it¡¯s nice being in a cubicle rather than a big glass office, no one can see me sleeping, normally.


    ¡°Maron¡­¡± behind me like some sort of blood sniffing hound is the assistant manager, or as us lowlifes of the office call him, the dictator. ¡°Maron, just because we are close to the end of the day doesn¡¯t mean you get to sleep on the job. You think those deodorant sales are gonna sort themselves?¡±


    Cursing under my breath is no use, I''m petty enough where I would want him to hear me. Imagine, imagine caring so much about giving people mediocre deodorant that it is important enough to wake me from my nap. I turn around and use the smile I have developed over many years of practice


    ¡°oh sorry I must¡¯ve dozed off from working so hard¡±. He doesn''t flinch, Well shit he isn¡¯t walking away, maybe I should have smiled wider.


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that excuse Maron, you are wasting company time, we don''t¡¯ pay you to sleep, we pay you to handle your responsibilities¡±. Why can¡¯t he just call me Remus, Why does he have to call me by my last name like an overweight gym teacher patronizing you on your mile time?


    I really should have tried to be an actor, I haven¡¯t seen another person in this office fake apologies with quite the commitment I have. ¡°Sorry Ned, I''ve been having an off week, my back has been aching a lot from these old chairs. I''ll try to stay on the agenda!¡±.


    If that hasn¡¯t done it I don''t know what will. ¡°Did I buy the chairs Maron?¡± He''s real ladies and gentlemen, Sherlock is real. ¡°No Ned I do not believe you bought the chairs¡±.


    ¡°Well then, you have no reason to complain about it to me, it doesn¡¯t change that you haven¡¯t finished your reports for the day, and call me Mr.Garrison, not Ned¡±. He turns around and walks away. I ponder how a five-foot-five man could feel so big. Well,  back to my work, spending the rest of the day finishing my imaginary scenario from my nap.


    It¡¯s cold enough outside where I feel not one bit of shame walking down the road cloaked in a blanket. Mothers walk by eyeballing me for a second and take a couple of feet of distance as they go around with their child.


    What are they expecting, am I going to open up my blanket and sell black market organs to their child? Wait, do I look like someone who would do that?  I get so caught up in this fact I step off the curb, it might¡¯ve been the minor concussion but the splat as I hit the ground sounds kind of like a cymbal crash after a bad joke. I pop up quickly and turn my head, whew no one¡¯s around, wrapped back up in my blanket I walk by some shops.


    All of them are near empty, it gets so dark in winter people take it as a sign to just stay home after 5:00. I peer into a shop filled with candy, I wonder if the man at the counter would judge me if I bought one of those ignorantly large lollipops.


    I¡¯ve never had one before but ever since I saw the Wizard of Oz I¡¯ve had a burning curiosity to try one. I decide to walk in, let''s try to do this nonchalantly I think. I push the door and am welcomed by the abrupt clanging of bells above my head, curses, holiday spirit has made me visible. The man at the counter looks at me, then looks down to see no child by me, then looks back up at me, with knotted eyebrows.


    My mouth is flat, accept it man, I came in here, a perfectly normal adult, to get a very oversized lollipop.


    Now is time to really commit to this, I stomp across the store, grab my lollipop, bring it to the counter and look him dead in the eye. My voice quivers. ¡°MAY I BUY THIS LOLLIPOP¡±. He scratches his head, ¡°Yea? That will be $2.25¡±. I put the money on the counter, grabbed my lollipop, and ran out the door, never again.


    Two miles feels very far in snow, doubly far when carrying a giant lollipop. I arrive at a building in progress that never seems to get finished. A black cat cuts across the opening of the empty road in front of me to take shelter in the empty building.


    The wind rustles up some leaves on the ground, and the snow starts setting in. Finally, a light layer of snow is caking the ground. It''s probably time to go. I scavenge my pocket grabbing fingerfuls of lint until I finally pull out a single silver penny. The penny was quite scratched, but you could make out the printing of the year, 1943.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I flick the penny high in the air, it spins faster on its way down, but right before hitting the ground, it suspends for a moment. Long hair-like strands of blue-green matter start circling the penny spinning in a spiral, they slowly go faster and get thicker till it resembles a vortex. I step one foot forward and fall, letting myself be sucked up until I am fully surrounded in a blue-green space, falling yet it doesn¡¯t feel like it''s going to hurt when I land.


    I plummet for a couple of seconds, eventually, there is visible light at the bottom, sounds of rustling, and a smell of cheap cologne. My foot touches solid ground and my eyes adjust to the space around me.


    Bright colors above shift around like they are alive, an eternal night sky aurora. The moving waves of light overlap and merge as if they were alive and aware. A faint buzzing emits from the boundless sky above. I look back down, turn to my side, and hop in an office chair. I mean the other cubicle is fine, but it¡¯s much easier to fall asleep with something this spectacular above me.


    Suddenly a loud pounding sound starts getting louder¡­ closer.  ¡°Maron¡­¡± I peek my head back and give a cheesy smile, ¡°let me tell ya, that snow is something, I swear I thought I was going to make it¡±.


    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna hear it Maron! You are 17 minutes late for your shift, what could be more important than this!?¡±


    ...  A lot.


    ¡°Nothing Mr. Harrison, I went straight to the office as soon as I could-¡±, he grabbed my left arm and lifted it, revealing the lollipop I fought a war of anxiety to achieve, ¡°what is this?¡±.


    ¡°Do you really want me to tell you, or are you just trying to make some sort of point, because it seems pretty obvious to anyone it''s a lollipop¡±, is what I would like to say, but alas, a job is a job and it¡¯s pretty nice being able to eat.


    ¡°It seems to be a lollipop, Mr. Harrison''''. He nearly turns the shade of the red swirl on the lollipop, I wonder what would happen if I lightly tapped his stomach, he looks like he¡¯s having some trouble.


    ¡°IMPORTANT THINGS WERE HAPPENING WHILE YOU WERE OUT PARTYING¡±. Well I mean, that''s an exaggeration.


    ¡°Maron! If you don¡¯t get those reports IN by the end of your shift, so help me I will-¡±.


    I grab his arm that isn¡¯t holding the lollipop, and place it on my thigh, he stops yelling, in shock of this event. ¡°Well Mr.Harrison, if you want me filing reports, maybe I should file a sexual harassment report,  consent is a cup of tea Mr.Harrison and I did not ask for Earl Grey on my lap¡±.


    His hand retreats and I await the screams, oh the screams. I wonder if he will turn purple this time, it''s like color-coded levels of anger.


    Thinking about it, this was unavoidable,  you see, people have limits, this was mine. Remaining serious for more than 2 minutes is a struggle, remaining serious while someone yells at you is painful, remaining serious while someone turns bright red spitting enough garbage they could rival wannabe rappers, is not something I can do.


    I close my eyes, as someone might do before they die, I wait for my fatal end, cause? Overactive sarcasm and the genes of a smart ass. I wait a couple more seconds and when I hear nothing happening, I open my eyes to see Mr.Harrison gone, how, how was I not fired, I do not know what just happened, but all I know is I get to sleep in my cubicle for another three hours. I noted to buy a bible after my shift. I don¡¯t know how to pray, but after that miracle, I better learn.


    Hmm, after this newfound epiphany maybe I shouldn''t nap, I mean I do want to keep my job.


    Like my morning office job, filing reports, well it¡¯s a little different than the other job, with the whole vortex to a subspace of reality. Where am I? I''m in the lower level of MMP. Just like normal offices, there are MMP agencies all across the Country. MMP, modern magic protection agencies are something still hidden from the public, no one remembers how they found the job, all they know is they found a penny in their pocket, and it has good pay.


    When we all started working for the MMP we had to go through an interview to see our magical capabilities, people with high capabilities go in the field and do all that stuff you see in action movies, my depressed buddies and I over here had low expected capabilities, so we are stuck in these stuffy subspaces doing regular old office work, with the occasional floating pen.


    The most we are capable of doing is powering the four-dimensional dispatch devices, basically over-complicated magic computers, they slap on a fancy name to make it sound fun or something.


    We tap into the frequencies from the Earth¡¯s core to use supernatural powers, they are out there shooting fireballs or whatever those protagonist people do. and we harness it to send shitty memes to each other. Oscar is in the cubicle in front of me, he barely missed the cut to go into fieldwork, so he contributes to most of the mayhem in the office.


    I start filing reports, you know actual work, being productive, and all the things that don''t happen often, when I feel something hit the side of my face.


    I turn to see a paper airplane flying in the air by itself, and a grown man giggling at his desk waving his finger around. ¡°Oscar, I can¡¯t put it into many words, there aren¡¯t enough to say it, so rather in one word may I ask... why?¡± .


    He clears his throat and stands up so I can see half his body over the cubicle ¡°oh Maron! I didn''t even see you here, whatever do you mean?¡±. I sigh and grab the oversized lollipop off my desk, ¡°Will I be able to continue unbothered if I give you this?¡±.


    His eyes open wide ¡°oh yes!¡± he giggles again as I reluctantly hand it over, my hands even more reluctant as they barely give out and are still gripping the empty air as the lollipop leaves their grasp. ¡°Thank you so much Remus!¡± Oscar ripped off the plastic and started eating it louder than anyone ever should. He continues to lick it and says, ¡°I feel like I¡¯m in the Wizard of Oz!¡± My head shifts fully round like an owl, and my eyes strike daggers at him, another day¡­


    I will do it another day¡­ Second note to self, when buying giant lollipops, always grab a spare.

 Chapter 2: Attempts of Grandeur

    It¡¯s quarter to eight, and I have a little over an hour left of desensitizing labor. So far, I got my reports in, I tend to take quite a while reading before submitting them, but today I only skimmed a few. One guy, Marco Ramirez, can create internal earthquakes in people, said to be unimaginably painful, but probably incomparable to my devastating coffee migraines.


    Apparently, Marco Ramirez lost his penny when he was getting spare change to buy something. To think that he keeps the most important object related to his job, keeping it with his other change.


    Well, when they went to find him and get him a different one, he was just gone. I initially felt like it''s an overreaction for a guy who probably just had to find a bathroom, but I guess when it takes over three hours and he¡¯s still missing it''s considered an emergency.


    The other reports I had read were quite dull in comparison. Sprained ankles, new penny polish, and ironically company sexual harassment reports. The few times I have seen Mr.Harrison since then he hasn¡¯t maintained any eye contact with me, I really should get that bible.


    I think it¡¯s justified after being so productive, and the lack of contact with any prying bosses, it¡¯s a good time to take a nap. I remain half awake so I attempt to envision what it would be like doing fieldwork.


    It''s difficult without even knowing what I do, a magical flying tie? Hm¡­ Lack of creativity really will make this impossible. New start, let''s try to think of what I can do, what could be my skill. With my limited creativity, all that I could think of was those silver pennies.


    As a kid, I always had fun trying to manipulate a coin to make it always go heads or tails, ah innocent childhood fraud. Maybe if I went in the field, I could flick the pennies really hard? Sigh, this¡­ This is what people always ranted about. Public school and dead-end jobs take away your creativity.


    After I finished my reports I did the classic thing everyone does when they have no hobbies, and sat at the watercooler, not that I drank much.


    To promote growth they add some essential oil that increases magic potency. If God wanted essential oils it wouldn¡¯t take a million flowers to make one bottle. I cringe at the flavored water, I accidentally filled my cup full. I would leave it behind but the bottom is pointed, forcing us lowly workers to have to finish it. I mean that would''ve been a great idea if not for the sink about eight feet away. I dump the green-tinted water in the sink.


    The walls are in nowhere, which leads one to wonder where the water goes. Well, I shouldn¡¯t concern myself with that unless it leads to my mouth. After that I walked back to my desk to grab my penny, I finally get to leave.


    I hold my penny up above my head for a minute until I feel my center of gravity change, the penny falls upward of my hand. My feet touch off the ground and I fall through the roof and back into the blue-green abyss.


    My mind fogs over in the silent fall, will I ever be able to get out of this office? I¡¯m not one who likes to complain¡­ Ok, I complain, but is there any way I could ever be a field worker?


    What do they even do with their skills? What do they use them on? Maybe things are simpler if I just have this job instead.


    I finally fall back onto solid ground. Well, semi-solid. On landing my feet sink into a foot of snow, a well-deserved foot of snow. After all my luck today, I power through it for the fifteen-minute walk to my apartment.


    By the time I arrive my feet and lower legs are fully numb. It feels like I''m walking with peg legs. I look up at the dingy three-story building. A flickering red and yellow neon sign with some bird poop smudged down the middle really tells the quality of Maron Apartments.


    I walk up one set of metal steps and find room 5B,  I jimmy my key in the lock until it clicks open. I hear a voice from inside, ¡°Oh finally back, I was expecting to have to carry your cold carcass back¡±.


    You know, when they talk about becoming an adult, getting an apartment with a roommate, you never expect it to be your sarcastic German father.


    ¡°There is a foot of snow out there, it''s hardly believable I made it back this fast¡±.


    My father turns around to face me, it¡¯s surprising that we are related. I have dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and eyebags. He has a broad forehead, long light brown hair, and two defined crease between his eyebrows like he¡¯s yelling at somebody, well in this case he is.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°One foot? Tell me, how much is that in metric?¡±.


    It seems being petty is quite a dominant gene, I ignore him and go to the cupboard for some nighttime cereal.


    I drown out his banter to pour some raisin bran. The milk looked slightly questionable, but not enough to rival my nighttime cravings. I take a bite and it might as well have been pieces of rubber.


    I look on the bottom and guess what, slightly over a year expired. I go to throw the cereal out, I open the trash and toss the box, only to be frightened by a quick pale hand snatching it before it reaches the trashcan.


    ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±.


    My father¡¯s eyes show a look that says ¡°Is this even my son?¡±.


    I put the trash can lid down ¡°Am I not supposed to throw out expired food?¡±.


    My dad clicks his tongue, ¡°Remus you don¡¯t know how it was during WWll, eating bread made of sawdust and water. Why would I throw away good food? If you want a new box, fill the bag with stones, glue the top shut, and ask the store for a different one¡±.


    My father definitely has a way with words, words that will someday get him banned from every store in a five-mile radius. I decide against cereal, but as I go to dump it, I see his eyes leering at me. I stare back at him and chew slowly with a smug look on my face, you win this one father.


    After snacking on rubber bran, I go to my bedroom. To the untrained eye, it might look like I haven¡¯t personalized it in any way, that it is about as drab as a hotel room, but the truth of it is, I am just not that interesting.


    Besides the bookshelf filled with garage sale throwouts, knockoffs of books like Henry Potter and Percius Jacks¡¯ son, there really isn¡¯t much to see. Besides the point though. My dad brought up an interesting subject WWll, the reason MMP formed in the first place, to protect from threats to the Country.


    When resources were needed, and the country finally started to see a turning point against Germany, in 1943. But now it¡¯s 2013, the biggest worry in recent times was the whole Miyan calendar 2012 end of the world fiasco.


    I sit down at my desk and open the bottom drawer to reveal two marbles. I take them out and set them on the desk. I may be boring, I may be lame sometimes, but that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m not going to try at all. I close my eyes, I concentrate until I hear a ringing that pulses in my ear, louder, louder.


    I open my eyes and try to concentrate the ringing to the marble, the glass starts to shiver, eventually, it rolls about half an inch forward, then back, then forward. I attempt to lift the marble, but the ringing dissipates, and sweat beads form on my forehead.


    I still haven¡¯t been able to lift them in the air, or move two at once, but my persistent curiosity wills me to try. I lay my head back and let my arms fall to my sides.  Again, the marble rolls, guided by the pulses of sound, ok one is rolling, now for the other one.


    I try to split my concentration on both marbles, but the ring fades. Again. I close my eyes again hearing the pulse and letting it ring in my head, instead of focusing on splitting it, I just decide not to focus on multiple objects, but just a range that I can move objects in.


    I try to focus on an imaginary circle around myself to attempt to move the marbles, again one moves, surprisingly, the other one begins to quiver. It moves for a second, however, I got too excited and forgot to imagine the range, the ring fades out, and my head is aching. I will say it again, if I never had the creativity pounded out of me by public schooling, and office work, I¡¯d be making marbles fly in circles.


    Through all my exhaustion I fall asleep, only to be woken an hour later by the bear-like snores of my father. People get guard dogs to prevent them from getting robbed. I have something much scarier, A Jewish-German man who can rival the noise of a jet plane taking off. I decided to do something to try to reincite my creativity.


    I grab a piece of paper from the printer and fold it, crumple it, and try again for a while. Once I have something that mildly resembles a paper airplane, I look at it for a second, this is a stupid idea. I toss the plane onto my bed. Time for another nighttime snack. They always tell you about the three meals of the day, and how breakfast is so important, but they never mention the beast awakening in your stomach at 10:30 pm, growling, and grumbling to be fed.


    Well Mr. Monster, I hope some spray cheese and crackers will satisfy you. After I''m done;  I go to the bathroom, and clean some bits of cheese off my face.


    I look at the mirror, my eyes meet my own. I lightly lift my shirt. Those 6-minute abs videos are the worst scam I¡¯ve fallen for. Imagine having to do it more than once to get abs. I look at the mirror again and flex, only to hear a squeak by the door. Wait¡­ Wait! Where did the bear-like noises go? Oh crap.


    My eyes burn holes into my face as I turn to see my father standing, sleepy-eyed, slightly shaking his head back and forth then grabs my hand. ¡°Look at this, what woman would like, with such soft dainty hand¡±. Yes father the reason I don¡¯t get dates is because my hands are too soft. Thank you, thank you for telling me this important information that I will someday tell my son; that I will be able to have because I will rub my hands with sandpaper every day, and attract flocks of women with my sexy rough hands.


    ¡°Ok Dad¡±. I walk out of the way so he could use the bathroom.


    Retreating to my room and wondering if any other 23-year-olds have to go through this, I hop on my bed.


    Next to me on my bed lay the paper airplane I had made earlier. Hesitantly, I pick up my phone and dial in a number, still not sure if I should do this. It nearly rings out until The ringing stops and I hear a ¡°Hello?¡±. I have to do this, I have to make this call, I decide it is necessary,


    ¡°Hey Oscar, I know it''s late but¡­ I was kind of¡­ wondering how you uh- How you make the airplanes float¡­¡±.

 Chapter 3: Accelerated

    ¡°Airplanes? What? What do you- Oh, that. I¡¯m sorry but I don¡¯t know anything about that¡±.


    ¡°Oscar you do realize I know that you¡¯re the one that hits me with paper airplanes during work, we¡¯ve been through this before¡±. I hear his voice break, ¡°Wait, you know?¡±. Sigh, it¡¯s like telling a kid Santa isn¡¯t real. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Oscar, but I just want to know, I need to know how it works¡±.


    ¡°Do you also know I¡¯m the one who moves everything on your desk half an inch to the left whenever you leave?¡±.


    ¡°God Damn it, Oscar! I knew I wasn¡¯t imagining things! But that¡¯s beside the point here, I have been trying to manipulate objects to make them float, and it hasn¡¯t worked out¡± I hear a slight sniffle on the other side of the phone followed by ¡°Manipulate the object? That¡¯s not what you¡¯re supposed to do.¡± I¡¯m dumbfounded.


    ¡°Then what am I supposed to do?¡±.


    ¡°If I tell you¡­ Will you do it to poke paper airplanes into MY head?¡±. I hang up. As I¡¯ve said previously, everyone has breaking points, I¡¯m like glass under a hydraulic press, and Oscar is a little kid messing with the controls. I¡¯m craving sleep but decided on coffee. Never make this mistake.


    9:17. Let me repeat that, 9:17 is when I woke up. How far am I from work? 15 minutes; with snow? Twenty to twenty-five.


    I rush so fast I wear one of those uncomfortable socks where the seam is thick and rubs against your foot, I won¡¯t figure this absolutely devastating fact out until I arrive at work. Even more upsetting, today in the morning I have my job at the MMP, hopefully they understand. After trekking through the snow I managed to make it by 9:38.


    Normally I like to draw out the whole penny flip. I don¡¯t get many times where I can pretend to be a hero, and normally that''s now, but I don''t even have time for that. I just hop in and somehow try to fall faster.


    Once I am greeted by the heating, my limbs started defrosting and felt like static television. Despite avoiding me all of yesterday, once he caught sight of me,  Mr. Harrison stomped over practically fuming from the ears, this is a very familiar situation for me.


    Except he seemed a little taller, maybe before I arrived he put lifts in his shoes so he could look down on me more to add to the drama.


    In Roman times I could¡¯ve been killed for being this late, or not, I liked Greek history more, either way, Ned looked as if he could kill me.


    ¡°I HAVE NO WORDS FOR YOU MARON, YOU¡¯RE FIRED!¡±.That was kind of quick.


    ¡°Can you even do that as assistant manager?¡±.


    ¡°WELL, WHAT DO YOU THINK?¡±.


    ¡°I dunno Ned, that''s why I asked¡±.


    He¡¯s not my associate anymore so I see no reason to be polite, well, at least as polite as I was before.


    The thing I am honestly most sad about is I have to go back into the snow right after getting feeling in my limbs again.


    I go to collect everything from my desk. I¡¯m about to go when a familiar feeling of a paper airplane hits my face. I look back to see Oscar¡¯s blonde head peeking over the desk with puppy dog eyes. ¡°Goodbye Oscar¡±. I go to toss it back when he quickly says ¡°you can keep the plane¡±. I shrug and thank him on my way out, I also thank Ned by dropping by his office to steal his stapler.


    If nothing else I have my mild acts of mayhem.


    I don¡¯t want to go back to the apartment to see my dad¡¯s disappointed look, again. So try to find a building overhang without snow on the ground. I have a blanket mixed in my office supplies from when our heaters busted, right, such a quality company I sadly have to leave. I sit down and wait. Boring, very boring, I start sifting through my own stuff hoping there might be something I haven¡¯t seen, probably not, except for Oscar¡¯s paper airplane.


    I grab it but it¡¯s halfway under a stack of useless doodles I did when I was told to work, why am I surprised I got fired. When I finally get it out it unfolds partially and I see a flash of ink. I further unfold it to reveal a note.


    ¡°Hey Oscar here, I noticed I didn¡¯t get to tell you about the airplanes last night. I guess your internet went out or something because for some reason it said you hung up in the middle of my sentence. Anyway, what I was talking about, you seem to be focusing on the object. Wrong Idea, focus on moving the air around it¡±.


    The air around it¡­ I refold the airplane and collect my thoughts. How should I go about this? Focusing on the object won¡¯t work, so how do I focus on air; and then it hit me. The range, I can focus on the range like before instead of the object, but this time only focus on a small range surrounding the airplane. I close my eyes, the cold wind cuts at my cheeks, but I remain unbothered.


    I concentrate until I hear nothing, slowly like it¡¯s getting nearer, I hear the pulse. The soft buzzing starts to reverberate in my head. I open my eyes, I imagine the circle around the plane, I don¡¯t focus on looking at the air, but rather I imagine the air pushing it. Not even hesitant, the plane lifts itself off the ground unnaturally to my will. The plane lifted about two feet from the ground, and remained still, so I attempted to change its course. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Copying Oscar, I used my finger as a guide to move it around, I chuckle, this is progress.The moment was short-lived as my little plane gets swept by the wind and lands a couple of feet away. The daytime snowfall keeps it dark, and the wind makes it hard to see. I hop out of the comfort of my blanket to scrape  my legs across the ground, the wind and snow are so loud I¡¯m unable to hear my own footsteps.I get down on my knees and reach around  not wanting to look toward the wind. I reach around until I finally feel something,  it¡¯s not the airplane.


    Almost immediately the wind stops, the snow waits as if watching my next move. The sound of my breathing becomes noticeably loud.


    I turn my head and gaze at the object to see my hand not on the airplane, but on a silver penny. The silver penny has an engraved on the side, ¡°Ramirez¡±, the penny seemingly normal except for the drop of blood smeared across the face.


    My own heartbeat seems to reach my eyes, they nearly pound out of their sockets, my whole body shivers, and a cold feeling reaches up my spine and grabs it like a hand of ice.


    Leaves rustle behind me. I jump and only see the wind had pushed them. Not knowing what to do, being controlled by fear,  I grab the airplane and the penny and head back to my apartment. Shame is much less important right now.


    I leave the setting behind me, but If only I had looked closer, and seen the footprint in the snow¡­


    I wouldn¡¯t have gone back to the apartment.


    My cheeks are red, and my palms are sweaty despite the overwhelming winter. What was that, why am I so scared? He probably just cut himself on the edge and dropped it. Yeah, that¡¯s what happened he forgot it. He forgot it¡­


    In all the rush I have dropped near half of my things from the office. But I don¡¯t want to stop, and I definitely don¡¯t want to look behind me, it just feels¡­ dangerous. I just want to go home. I finally catch sight of the apartment and I start rushing, I arrive at the stairs and walk-up.


    Not until now, not until I saw hope in sight did I let myself fully process this situation, this fear. My eyes had tears at their corners as I tried to jimmy the key. ¡°Cmon¡­ COME ON¡±.


    The key turns the door open and fall on the other side. I let myself slump down. I laugh to myself, with tears in my eyes I laugh to myself  ¡°I¡¯m safe¡±. My father walks in from his bedroom and raises an eyebrow at me ¡°What you doing back already?¡±. His broken English is heartwarming when I¡¯m feeling so scared. ¡°Nothing dad just¡­ sitting¡±.


    I laugh again.¡± Hm Must¡¯ve been hard walk in such deep snow¡±. Huh? I didn¡¯t even notice it was deep, I look at my legs and they are nearly wet to the knee. ¡°Wow, and it¡¯s still going¡±, I look outside to see it, and my heart drops.


    I see my footsteps in the snow leading to the stairs, and another pair of footsteps trailing behind them, my eyes follow the other path through the snow, once I see it leads to the side.


    Squeak¡­ My father and I both turn our heads. CRASH.


    The window is slammed open and a figure comes through.


    Even in this snow, it¡¯s dressed suit and tie. its eyes deeply dug in its face where you can barely see the tiny black pupils behind the shadows covering the face.


    I recognize him as one of the field agents, one of those poster board guys they use to inspire us.


    Rather than an inspiring poster,  he  towers over us, he then look toward us, and grins with one side of his face leaving me disheartened. That was not the grin of someone about to help us. He walks toward us, I don¡¯t even have the energy to make fun of his bald head. It felt the same as making fun of a serial killer¡¯s off-brand knife.


    Once he was about five feet away, I back up further away, he walks closer, I walk back, he walks closer, I walk back, he walks closer, until I was backed into a corner.


    The slow tap of his shoes is like an echo of my heartbeat, until he stops. Two feet away I can see the stains on his collar, and the yellowing of his teeth. His smile fades.


    ¡°Give it to me¡±.


    The bravado voice sends me to the floor.


    He repeats slightly louder ¡°Give it to me¡±.


    I stutter out ¡°W-what do you want¡±.


    He slaps his palm to his face. ¡°Imbecile, THE PENNY, GIVE ME THE PENNY¡±.


    I jump on the box I brought from work and toss everything out until I retrieve the penny. I tried to hand it to him, but my hand quivered too much for him to get it. Annoyed, he grabs my arm, popping something, and rips the penny out of my hand.


    My father witnessing all this stands up straight to him. ¡°HEY, what are you doing to my son?¡±. The agent¡¯s eyes slowly fixed on my father.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± he says.


    ¡°I said, what are you doing to my son?!¡±.


    ¡°Not that¡±.


    The man says. His devilish grin returns, but something is slightly different.


    ¡°Your accent¡­ German?¡±.


    He looks at me


    ¡° Do you even know what our mission is at the MMP?¡±.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± ¡°Our mission¡­¡± he continues. ¡°Is to protect the safety of our citizens in this country at any cost¡±. I finally started to understand what he was saying. He sticks his hand in his coat ¡°We founded this organization after WWii, and you¡¯re part of this company, and you¡¯re affiliated with them?¡±.


    That word, ¡°them¡±, that¡¯s when I truly knew it. I ran at him, fear for my life is the last thing I have now ¡°NO¡± I yell. ¡°This isn¡¯t personal, it¡¯s for the well-being of the Country¡±.


    ¡°NO¡± I yell again,  I don¡¯t have to see him pull it out, I know, I know what it is. Even before it was shot, I use the full capacity of my lungs to scream another long continuous ¡°NO!!!¡±.


    Who is the enemy I''ve asked myself, who is the enemy this organization is fighting?


    There are no wars going on, there have been no reports of terrorism, there is only¡­ us.


    I look up to see my father smiling at me, he mouths the words ¡°run¡±.


    My thoughts go blank, my ears are shot, scenes go by faster until they all fade away to reveal my father lying on the floor.


    The agent leaves. In fetal position lying over my father¡¯s body, repeating the same phrase, over, and over ¡°why?¡±.

 Chapter 4: A New Perspective

    Amelia Martin, Age: 26. Occupation: MMP Agent.


    I can¡¯t believe they¡¯d send me down after it¡¯s only been a day since they came in, but hey I guess they are good to their workers I¡¯ll give them that. Once I''m done with this home checkup I can finally get back to some important work.


    It would be faster if the snow wasn¡¯t so thick. I look to make sure there is no one around. I hum to myself until I hear a tone invade my head and synchronize with it. I lift my leg up and on top of the snow, instead of it sinking in, I am able to climb to the top layer and walk comfortably. This is so refreshing. For the heck of it, I decide to skip. Skipping through the streets along the avenue¡¯s, and in the alley ways, it¡¯s so fun when no one is around when it¡¯s like this. I assumed I was perfectly alone.


    I hear a faint murmuring, coming from the building to my left. That¡¯s the place I¡¯m supposed to check on. Stupid, I¡¯ve been too confident, I should remain quiet as I approach, incase there is any real danger. I arrived right in front of the building.


    I stick my gloved hand into my pocket. I pull out a note. ¡°5B¡±. Ok no sign of infiltration, but I still hear the murmur, I can¡¯t quite make it out, but it¡¯s getting louder. I take a step up and the stair squeaks, the murmuring stops, I bite my cheek, shit did I mess up?


    The murmuring continues again, ok this¡¯ll be fine. I continue up the steps, but this time altering my weight to make myself silent. On top of the steps, it sounds less like murmuring, and more like¡­ pleading.


    I continue forward. ¡°2B¡±, It¡¯s louder. ¡°3B¡±. Its louder ¡°4B¡±. It sounds painful. ¡°5B¡±.


    I can finally make out their words, repeating over and over. The murmuring, the pleading slowly, and increasing volume of ¡°WHY¡± .


    I shudder and instinctually take a step back. You don¡¯t need to be an MMP agent to know, there is meaning behind those words, and there will be a rude awakening to anyone who disturbs them. I start to leave, but wince. It is my duty, I cannot write it off. My hand reaches to the doorknob. The whole way there the ¡°Why¡± goes from a whisper to a word to a cry. ¡°Why, Why! WHY¡±. I turn the knob, it stops again.


    I open the door wide enough to peek my face through, and immediately feel a gust of wind followed by a white object that could only be caught in the image of a blur. It slams into the stair railing behind me. A paper airplane, a simple paper airplane, that left a neatly sliced cut on my cheek. When I look in, the sight I see is unforgettable. A man on the floor sitting over a body, a puddle of tears lay as thick as the blood smeared on the dead man¡¯s face.


    The dark haired head turns slowly like a puppet with gears, unnatural. It faced me while still holding the body. Being in the MMP is a dangerous job, once you know there is magic involved you should know there is a chance of injury, a high chance of injury. After going through so many rough and sad situations I thought all the fear had drained out of me.


    This scene brought it all back. The bags below his eyes lay heavier than the blizzard outside. His pupils are black, but feel deep, he looked hollow. A single word leaves his lips that still echoes in my head even though I ran away about an hour ago. ¡°Why¡±.


    3 Months Later


    Remus Maron, Age: 23, Occupation: Unemployed.


    Where others might falter, I step forward.


    Where others might give up, I seek opportunity.


    When others might worry about morality, I say who gives a shit.


    Everything is perspective. I could be wrong, but how would I know? I see my actions as obvious, and justified. The perspective is distorted, the idea could be short-sided, but I cant do nothing.


    For the first time in almost three months, I don¡¯t visit my father¡¯s grave. Instead, I shop. Carefully I pick through the coat racks. I see it, thats the one I want. Sleek black suit, with a crimson collar.


    Witht the little money I have left, I buy the suit. On my way out I slip on a single daffodil. It¡¯s yellow petals indented into the concrete path. I have no time to Mourn it, I¡¯m going to be late for the interview.


    It¡¯s time to get my job back, but not quite.


    I pass by all the shops I used to se on my daily commute. I stop for a second, and peer through the window of the candy shop, seeing the big colorful lollipop. I continue walking.


    Around the corner, I pause again as I hear a familiar word from the news channel in an electronics store, ¡°Maron Apartments¡±. It¡¯s taken this long for the news to get out, that''s the MMP for you.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The newscaster continues reading the script.


    ¡°Two found dead at the scene of the crime, identified as Daniel Maron, and Remus Maron.¡±


    My cheek tugs at the left side of my lip.


    That¡¯s also the MMP for you, do you a small favor so you won¡¯t go telling everyone about magic.


    I also asked them for one more small favor. A retrial of the field agent exam. After what Amelia Martin witnessed, they had little claim to deny me the right.


    In order to be able to be accepted, I have to put on a face. An unbreakable one of allegiance. They wouldn¡¯t have dared to do what they did if they knew how petty I am. I will fit in, I will watch every detail, and I will become one of the suited agents. That is if I pass the exam.


    Once i¡¯m close enough to the range of the space, I shuffle through my pocket. They have given me a new penny. It leads to the specific exam subspace that can¡¯t be accessed unless you have an approved transmitter. The way these pennies can be given specific transmission zones is through the ridges around the coin, they manipulate a pattern of cuts in the coin with different amounts of space between them, to represent, well, space.


    I flip the coin up and fall forward, this is where it starts.


    The fall was quick. I¡¯m suddenly in a room with an atmosphere that feels nearly identical to that of a library. Complete silence, except from the person who just walked in. Multiple heads turn in my direction. I must put on a face. I put on a smile that looks faker than my leather shoes, I hope it will cut it.


    Heads turn away, ok I guess we just wait. The setting feels much different than I remember. It''s like the difference between common core math and traditional math. It leads to the same product, but the way of going about it is different.


    ¡°Ok People¡±. A voice says from the other end of the large crowded room.


    ¡°We will be handing out number cards. When you hear yours called, walk toward the door on the east side of the room¡±. I look for the door, then I see everyone else''s head facing the other direction. Fit in I said.


    ¡°Through that door there will be a quick exam, if you don¡¯t cut it, you may either try to apply for an office job, or leave. If you do manage it, you will receive an official agent penny, and an alias¡±.


    An alias? Who knew being in a classified government program was so pretentious.


    They start handing out cards, I look at the crowd around me.


    I can barely make out the faces, they all look so boring. Except for a couple, a short girl with dark makeup, two long braids, and obviously didn''t get out of the blue hair girl phase yet. Two men standing together, looking like they should be playing dungeons and dragons rather than government affairs, and an inconspicuous girl right next to me, who should either breathe softer or brush her teeth more often, if at all.


    Other than that, I can only make fun of myself, I wish I stuck out like a sore thumb, but I only blend into the crowd, another face to be looked over and forgotten, I hope they don¡¯t see me that way.


    After a good 5 minutes of handing out cards, they finally reach the back and give me one. A thick white piece of paper as big as a postcard, with simple gold lining all around it. Right in the middle of the card printed in bold. 134.


    As not to be unfair to people who were late. Cough.


    They did it kind of like bingo, which again, I thought funny for such a serious event. Balls with numbers were drawn in 3¡¯s, and people entered, and never came out. They either left, or continued somewhere further.


    As it took quite a long time to test about 150 people, it slowly became a convention of sneezes and soft rustling. ¡°27, 58, and 134¡±, finally. By the time they roll out my number it¡¯s been near an hour, only about 20 people were left in the room roaming around the empty space.


    The two others who stepped forward, 27 and 58, was a blonde man, who could¡¯ve passed off as a highschool, and someone I¡¯d seen earlier. Big blue hair with two long braids. I walk up to the three agents holding the exam, and hand one of them my card. He raises an eyebrow at me.


    ¡°What?¡± I say.


    ¡°You just look very¡­ awake, compared to others¡±.


    ¡°Funny, i''ve never heard that before¡±.


    Truly I haven¡¯t, normally quite the opposite. The door leads inward, but turns a corner so I can¡¯t see inside. We walked in a line like troops, we were so in unison you might¡¯ve thought it was choreographed. There was a table, a box, and a clock ticking down from 10 minutes. The blonde man from earlier reaches into the box and grabs another one of those notecards, he reads in then looks back at us.


    The blue haired girl walks closer to him. ¡°What does it say?¡±


    He remained silent, then he released the notecard from his hand and it fell to the ground.


    The print: ¡°Kill Eachother¡±.


    Ok well this is obviously fake, who would believe a protection agency would make us fight to the death? Only an imbecile would believe that-


    All he does is raise his hand up to his hip, with his palm facing upward.


    The room felt heavier. The man¡¯s hand clenched into the shape of a fist. He closed his eyes for a moment. While they were closed his fist started turning blue, colder and darker until it froze with jagged icicles at the ends.


    Rather than fear, the thought that crossed my mind as he lunged at me, and blue hair lunged at me was, ¡°Are you kidding me¡±.


    Both their attacks aimed toward me, and both fell back after they were inches from my face.


    They looked down at their hands, the whole front was covered with shallow and deep slices.


    I slap my palm to my face and say aloud,


    ¡°Why did you think that would work?¡±

 Chapter 5: Humbled

    It¡¯s not like I spent the past couple of months just moping around. If you have access to magic, you use it.


    Normally your magic capabilities increase through puberty, with all the emotional fluctuation it can awaken your skills. I, like most people, didn¡¯t have an absurd awakening. But due to recent situations, I have had a double awakening.


    I kept the other applicants from attacking, by using the minor skill I learned from Oscar, except heightened. I¡¯m glad the room was so dirty, I was able to gather enough dust to create a thin dust cloud circulating my body and cutting anything coming within a short distance.


    As for the two in front of me, I thought we could¡¯ve just all passed. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d have to use it, but apparently, no one here knows anything but how to blindly follow orders. Looks like a clear win.


    Though, It was less of ¡°If I¡¯m going to pass the exam¡±, and more of ¡°I wonder what company benefits I¡¯ll get¡±


    .


    I can¡¯t keep this dust up for long, but they won¡¯t know that. I sit cross-legged on the floor and wait for the timer to run out. Let¡¯s see if they¡¯ll make a move.


    Charles Menny, age: 19, mood: pissed


    Who the hell does this guy think he is making me bleed?! I don¡¯t understand, at entrance level, nothing should¡¯ve been able to beat my fist. I could kill the blue girl to be able to pass, but where would my pride be if I settled for that? I must attempt it again.


    I pull a miniature water bottle off my belt loop. I focus until I hear the buzzing, I screw off the cap and turn the bottle upside down, and focus all my power on spreading it. It dissipates into the air. Heh, you¡¯re done now, you may have gotten me off guard earlier, but with this much moisture in the air¡­


    I pull back my arm and start lunging at him, fool, sitting on the ground like I¡¯m going to let this kind of chance pass. I extend my punch forward while forming a near two-foot spear-ended icicle from my fist. Slice slice slice. How. crumpling to the ground, neatly cut, the ice wasn¡¯t able to even scratch him. What the hell did he just do?!


    Remus Maron, age: 24, feeling: hungry


    Ha! Get this, I was starting to tire out my skill, the dust was starting to slow, I was actually getting worried. Then, this blond dude over here turns his water bottle upside down, and the dust starts going even faster than before! I¡¯m going to have to ask him after this where I can get myself one of those, without it, this could¡¯ve been a lot harder.


    Haha, well anyway, the blue lady already had backed off after getting hurt without even getting touched, my guess is she never had a good awakening. While Mr.Frost over here shoots this scary-looking icicle at my face; after I turned it into dust he looked pretty disappointed.


    Overall, quite a fun experience.


    The timer eventually ran out and started blaring. A moderator entered the room and evaluated the situation.


    Remus Maron: PASS


    Nancy Ludwik: Insufficient capabilities[FAIL]


    Charles Menny: PASS


    Ms. Green, a veteran agent, gives us the report of the test.


    ¡°Wait how did HE pass, he didn¡¯t even do what we were told to do!¡±.


    I don¡¯t want to stereotype, I really don¡¯t, but this blond guy here really is a dumb blond.


    ¡°Well Charles, you should really be asking why you passed¡±.


    ¡°It¡¯s obvious why I passed! I¡¯m the only one who was ready to kill when told!¡±.


    The silence after he said that carried more tension than the four-minute of attempted murder.


    ¡°Charles dear, that¡¯s why you nearly didn¡¯t pass. We are letting you go through because your family benefits our company and we do not want to lose their support¡±.


    They hand Charles and me a new penny. Charles takes it grudgingly. I¡¯ll never get along with this guy, and I accept that. More important things are at hand than making friends at work. I am an agent at the MMP, and my new company coin gives me access to any subspace there is. I flip my coin and open an entrance to the closest MMP Field Office.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I fell through the abyss. ¡°Smile ok, just remember to smile¡±, I keep telling myself. Put on a mask, a new face.


    I touch the ground of a wide lobby room. I look up with my fake smile, quiver. Tall black suit, inset eyes, stained collar. ¡°Hello Newbie¡±.


    Has he no shame? I hold my smile and squint back to him as to say ¡°Fuck you¡±, very passivly.


    ¡°Have I seen you before?¡± he says.


    ¡°No.¡±


    I walk off hitting my shoulder on his. My power is real, as is my anguish, but nothing rivals my trivial acts of mayhem.


    I walk through and past the lobby to take a better look around. It¡¯s set up similar to a hotel, but bigger, and many rooms instead of being filled with beds are filled with different types of equipment. More for creation than destruction, which seems uncommon for the military.


    I stumble through the halls for a couple more minutes until I finally find it, the penny press. Slightly disappointing that I was right, but nonetheless it¡¯s helpful. What do you think they are going to run around the country and grab all the 1943 pennies? No, they make them custom here, the real ones are rare to receive. All the pennies are pressed in this room, and custom line codes are written on their thin edge.


    The room is like an engineer¡¯s. Multiple tables set around the room with scattered papers and tools galore. The walls weren¡¯t even attempted to be painted, with sheetrock exposed. This is where I need to be. I spot a box full of an assortment of tiny items that could prove to be useful.


    Ten minutes pass by as I study the room, I know a lot more than I did previously. Hearing loud thumps, and clattering from a room down the hall I head out. Before going out the door I set down half of a burnt plastic dinosaur on one of the tables.


    I arrive at the door where all the ruckus is appearing to be coming from. There¡¯s a label on the door, ¡°Training Facility¡±. I do need to integrate myself into this place, might as well have a bout with a fellow ¡°colleague¡±. I can¡¯t help but smirk. This is going to be fun.


    I walk inside and the noise doesn¡¯t cease, it actually seems to get louder. The gym-like room wasn¡¯t huge in comparison to the other rooms, but it was a good deal bigger.


    There were two benchpresses near the left corner, and some unorganized dumbbells all around it. There was a line of punching bags on the left, and on the far left there was just a huge metal rectangle covered with scratches. Straight ahead of me was a boxing ring, where all the action was.


    In total there were four people in the room, two outside the ring, and two inside, pummeling on each other. It would appear to be a normal match¡­ for a second. I knew people here had some sort of ¡°power¡±, but I didn¡¯t know they would stray so far from the cliche. The shorter one of the two kept his guard near his face and tried to duck into the middle in a long stride. His opponent, in neon green shorts, seemed to predict his move and jumped back. The next thing I knew, I didn¡¯t know. He jumps back and puts his right arm onto the forearm of his left and tugs. It pulls clean off. He then goes on and starts swinging it around gaining momentum and throws it at his opponent like a shotput. The shorter man dodges.


    You would think that would be the end of it, wouldn¡¯t you? Apparently not, as superhumanly another arm grows back, gets ripped off, and tossed. Over and over, until the arm starts healing back slower, the shorter man realizes it and takes his chance to jump in yet again, and land a blow right on his chin sending him to the floor. I have no idea what sort of unearthly ability the shorter man has, but it cannot rival the idiocracy that nearly leaves my eyes teary.


    I run to the two people standing outside of the ring.


    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± I yell at them.


    ¡°What do you mean? Oh, Ricky?¡±


    I raise an eyebrow.


    ¡°The guy throwing arms¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, Ricky has a unique skill. He even has a nickname for it¡±


    A shout echoes loudly from the right of me.


    ¡°Lizard Limbs!¡±


    I look to see a dazed, confused Ricky, standing very unsteadily.


    ¡°Lizard limbs, They just keep coming back, and I don¡¯t know why!¡±


    I reply to him.


    ¡°Sad, I would¡¯ve liked to have been able to utilize my arms and legs as blunt throwing objects.¡±


    The sarcasm is thick yet he can¡¯t seem to see it.


    ¡°Oh, sorry it just sort of happens¡±


    I nod and remain silent, this is not where I want to be now. I realize the thumping was the sound of the missed tosses and a pile of arms by the wall. He surprisingly is quite accurate with his name. Lizard limbs, no blood is present and he can just rip them off at will and grow them back.


    ¡°Well¡­¡±


    I get under the rope and into the ring.


    ¡°I was hoping one of you could show me how you train here¡±


    I want so badly to smack that man with his own arm. Make him rethink some life decisions.


    Ricky, still unsteady but more aware replies,


    ¡°Sure, I mean, I¡¯ll help¡±


    I smirk yet again, the game is on Ricky. The game is on.


    I apparently have to get on headgear to be safe. A thing for newbies, but recommended for all. I don¡¯t think they realize that I can beat this guy just using dust. This is going to be a breeze.


    Elbow pads, knee pads. I don¡¯t see Ricky putting on anything surprisingly. I almost feel like I should warn him, or make sure to go easy on him. He already must be tired from the last fight. I want to show them that I¡¯m capable but I still want them to like me.


    Ok, all the preparations for the practice match are ready. Ricky and I get in the ring. One of the other men, I find out is called Antonio, is going to ref the match and make sure it¡¯s a ¡°clean fight¡±. I don¡¯t think they accounted for throwing limbs or magic when they wrote the rules for boxing.


    Well, I don¡¯t think I need a unique skill for this one. We bump fists and go to our corners. As soon as it starts a limb flies at me.


    I barely have the time to focus my magic to collect the dust. So instead I am forced to push the arm out of the way controlling the air. It went so fast I was barely able to change its trajectory. It passes by my face safely.


    I look forward. Crap.


    Two arms like helicopter blades fly at my face. Smack. Smack.


    K.O. By overconfidence and underestimating the powers of lizard limbs.