Just behind the counter was the witch herself. She looked like your average post-highschool, pre-college student—in cosplay. While pacing to and fro in the kitchen, adding juice to a plastic cup half full of ice, her yellow eyes peered up at me.
"I got your usual coming right up," she said cheerfully. But then, feeling a pang of self-consciousness, added: "I, uh, saw you coming up the way. But let me know if you wanted something else!" and chuckled quietly. You could audibly hear the exclamation point softening the end of her sentence with a cushion of customer service.
Rumor was that the witch had the ability to reset your pain and sorrows, but that she was incapable of leaving the place. Perhaps she was serving a penance for some long forgotten crime and it was her duty to dole out servings of magic. A witch's magic cannot bring happiness into existence, but perhaps she could achieve a similar goal by means of reduction.
Although pain and misfortune is required for personal growth, too much can cause an adverse effect. You become a sort of grotesque version of yourself, shaped by the weight of the negativity, like how someone with a weak shoulder develops a sideways gait, words come out of their mouth at a slant, and their body becomes riddled with knee pain and protruding discs. I too had developed a sort of weight upon my soul, swirling above my head like a pixelated purple skull.
And that was what brought me in search of the witch.
When I stepped off the train, all the commuters continued on their way with no regard to my presence. Even when I bumped into one on accident and turned to apologize, they had already reset to their default position. Although the forbidden city was said to be one inhabited by ghosts, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was I who had become invisible.
Following the crowd through the white tiled and fluorescent hallway, I made my way toward a bright white light that led to the surface. But upon breaking through that light exiting the station, the sky had become the color of orange just before twilight. Few commuters remained on the street, and a breeze blowing loose trash through the emptiness convinced me I was in a ghost town. Logic would dictate that the street should be more busy, given how crowded the station was, but this was a sort of logic that a tourist like myself had no business ruminating on.
Eventually I came upon an angular installation of grey concrete atop a shallow basin of water—a fountain that would undoubtedly be mistaken as ancient ruins in a future era. Just beside it—hidden in plain sight, like all the best things are—was the witch's hut.
The 'hut' was a rectangular brick building with no exciting features to speak of, and big white unassuming letters affixed across the top:
WATERFRONT CAFE
The cafe was in direct line of the setting sun, so it follows that the windows surrounding all sides of the cafe were tinted in pitch black. Opening the door to the entrance was like removing electrical tape from over top a pane of fluorescent lighting. The cafe was less a cafe and so much more an entire eatery, with booths lining the walls, 4-seater tables speckled between them all, and a low counter where you could pull up a seat and order.
Today was the first day I'd ever visited.
"What do you mean my 'usual?'" I asked. The drink was an emerald green liquid with chunks of some diced fruit floating around inside. "I think the only thing I've ever ordered at a cafe is a black coffee with no cream or sugar."
The witch's eyes lowered beneath her brim while she reached down into the fridge beneath the counter. She pulled out a large, plastic tub and set it on top. "I just think you'll like it," she said, her face obscured by the container.
I shook the cup around, watching the chunks swirl about, and I took a sip.
When I stepped off the train, all the commuters continued on their way with no regard to my presence. Even when I bumped into one on accident and turned to apologize, they had already rest to their default position. Although the forbidden city was said to be inhabited by ghosts, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was I who had become invisible.
Following the crowd through the white tiled and fluorescent hallway, I suddenly was overcome with a feeling of relief. With no one paying attention to me, hadn't I achieved a feeling that I never would be able to in my old life? Had I wanted to, I could shout like a madman, push my way through the crowd, and in general, act like a complete nuisance while everyone went about their own way. The fact that I still felt nervous that some kind of social consequence might occur... wasn't that just a remnant of my social conditioning? How pathetic!
Even so, I contained myself and remembered I was here for a reason. I made my way toward a bright light that led to the surface. But upon breaking through that light and exiting the station, the sky had become the unmistakeable indigo of twilight. There were no commuters on the street, and a breeze blowing loose trash through the empty street convinced me I was the only one awake in this sleepy little suburb, where undoubtedly the elderly resigned themselves to die and new parents settled to raise their children. Logic would dictate that at least some of the commuters from the busy station would be strolling the street, but this was a sort of logic that a tourist like myself had no business ruminating on.
Eventually, I came upon an office plaza laid with spacious plains of khaki colored sandstone. Business-casual granite fountains and bronze statues of figures had been erected to inspire the commuters, and a perfunctory row of hedges and flowers to prevent anyone thinking they'd been entirely encased in concrete. Just beside it—hidden in plain sight, like all the best things are—was the witch's hut.
The 'hut' was a rectangular glass building with no exciting features to speak of, and vinyl letters printed on the door in an unassuming white font read:
DEERWOOD TEA & BOBA
In the darkness of twilight, it would follow that even a faint flower of the interior lights would shine through the windows, but the vantablack tint was so dark that opening the door was like removing electrical tape from a pane of glass housing a lightbulb. The cafe was less a cafe and so much more an entire eatery, with booths lining the walls, 4-seater tables speckled between them all, and a low counter where you could pull up a seat and order.
Just behind the counter was the witch herself. She looked like your average post-highschool, pre-college student earning a wage during summer break—except in cosplay. While pacing to and fro in the kitchen, pouring a dark liquid into a paper cup, she was chatting with another customer.
The other customer is a girl with straight black hair cropped just at her chin, and above her straight cut bangs is a hair band with a handwoven geometric pattern. Her baggy jacket had wide sleeves and also featured a similar handwoven pattern across the chest. She doesn't look to even be from this century, frankly, and this was further emphasized by the short sword sheathed on her back, the cotton wrapped around her hands, and the leather gauntlets on her forearms.
The witch behind the counter peered up at me with her yellow eyes.
"I got your usual coming right up," she said cheerfully. But then, feeling a pang of self-consciousness added: "I, uh, saw you coming up the way. But let me know if you wanted something else!" and chuckled quietly. You could audibly hear the exclamation point softening the end of her sentence with a cushion of customer service.
The steam from my drink wafted up, and the other customer got a big whiff.
"That smells incredible!" she said and let out an equally big sigh.
I took a seat and looked at the drink a little suspiciously.
"What do you mean my 'usual?'" I asked. The drink looked like a black coffee with no cream or sugar (a concoction hardly requiring much effort behind the counter). "I don't think I've ever gone to a tea and boba place without getting a fruit juice tea."
The witch lowered her eyes beneath the brim of her hat while she reached down into the fridge beneath the counter.
"She just means, 'I think you'll like it!'" the other customer said.
I know a little bit about the reputation of this place. Supposedly, the drinks here had a way of resetting your pain and sorrows. While I'd never heard of a way that happiness could be created out of thin air, I suppose a similar goal could be achieved by means of reduction.
Although pain and misfortune were required for personal growth, too much can cause adverse effects. You become a sort of grotesque version of yourself, shaped by the weight of your negativity, like how years of bad posture can create rounded shoulders that curl forward with each new breath, until the ribs have locked into place, leading to a life where every step you take has you looking down at your feet instead of straight ahead.
The customer, too, appeared to have a heavy weight on her soul, swirling above her head like a glowing pixie.
"And what's that you're drinking?" I asked, still a little unsure about my coffee.
"This? Ah, well, that's what I was just telling Cecily..."
The witch gave a closed mouth smile from behind a plastic container she was scooping some powdered ingredients out of while the customer spoke.
"I'd asked for something as vague as 'something that reminds me of home,' and she nailed it!" She took a big sip, and when she exhaled, it was like the light from that pixie began to dim. Then she looked a bit sullen. "There's someone I've been searching for. But I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever actually find them."
Unsure of how to respond to that, I finally picked up my coffee and took a sip.
When I stepped off the train, all the commuters continued on their way with no regard to my presence. Even when I bumped into one on accident and tried to apologize, they had already reset to their default position. Although the forbidden city was said to be inhabited by ghosts, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was I who had become invisible.
Following the crowd through the white tiled and fluorescent hallway, I suddenly was hit with a mischievous flash of inspiration. Seeing a trash bin on the side, I was curious what would happen if it were positioned as an obstruction to the commuters.
Wheeling the bin around on its bottom rim, I managed to walk it into the middle of the hallway. Unsurprisingly, they all just walked around it mechanically—turning a full 90 degree pivot at the very last second. I looked around the hall momentarily, and when I turned back around, the bin had immediately returned to its original spot.
Making sure I kept my gaze on it the entire time, I wheeled the bin over to the most narrow juncture I could find. Still not obstructing enough, I then turned the bin over on its side to block the path almost entirely—except for a small gap that I squeezed myself into.
And that was when everything got a bit out of hand.
As the first wave of commuters appeared, they didn't stop walking when they collided with the bin. They just pivoted 90 degrees, reached the wall, and then pivoted 90 degrees again. And then they'd spin back around toward the bin and start over again. Their steps were frictionless on the ground—their walk cycle was completely unhindered without any awkward stumbling.
All the while, the commuters behind them began piling up in the same space. They started to collide with each other, but all that would do is cause them to pivot 90 degrees again, all while still trying to get past the bin. It wasn't long before all I saw on either side of my peripheral was a bumbling, twirling mass of commuters. As the mass continued to grow on both sides of the hallway, their movements became more and more choppy. My vision was trailing and I felt a growing sensation like I was beneath a rapidly flickering strobe light. My breathing rapidly increased and my heart started pounding in my chest. I don't think there was actually any pain, but the sense of unease and anxiety swelled to an unbearable climax, as if something horrible was about to happen.
That's when I finally shut my eyes as hard as I could until the sensation began to fade. When I opened my eyes, the bin vanished, and the giant mass of commuters had disappeared—it had been reduced to the normal amount of them.
Content with my meddling, I made my way toward a bright light that led to the surface. Upon exiting the station, the bright light had swallowed me up into the unmistakable brightness of a clear, sunny day. There were countless commuters on the street, and a much needed breeze kept my skin cool as the sun beat down on me. Logic would dictate that perhaps my act of congesting the station was the reason for so many commuters crowding the street, but this was a sort of logic that a tourist like myself had no business ruminating on.
Some feeling I couldn't place compelled me to keep walking. Eventually, I came upon an empty parking lot. In its perimeter were various business suites, but none of them had signs or any indication that they weren't just vacant spaces.
In front of one vacant space was a metal table and bench that looked incredibly hot to be sitting on with the sun this high in the sky, but sitting there on the bench was a girl in—of all things—highly sunlight absorbent black clothes. She was waving her hand in front of her face like she was shooing gnats.
I wasn't going to say anything and just keep walking, but she spoke as soon as she saw I was there.
"Have you ever seen letters?"
"...Huh!?"
"In front of your eyes, I mean."
"...?"
I could see her getting flustered at herself.
"It's pretty warm out here..." I said, unsure if the sweat and warmth accumulating on my face had anything to do with the subject of my forced small talk.
"Oh, are you hot?" she asked, eager to accept my offer of a new topic. "The place here has good drinks!"
I hadn't noticed it at first, but sure enough, the suite just beside us had the name of a business printed on the window in unassuming white letters:
MARU: Net & Gaming Cafe
It would follow that the interior lights inside the cafe would at least produce a soft glow through the tinted windows, but I was entirely mistaken by what I found inside: a dark room illuminated only by several rows of RGB glow of keyboards, computer screens, and flickering red and green LEDs of computer towers.
Way, way in the back we saw two people at a counter. As we approached, a soft orange light above them illuminated their features.
Behind the counter was your average post-highschool, pre-college student undoubtedly working to earn a wage during summer break—except in cosplay with a pointed black witch hat. While pacing to and fro in the kitchen, pouring a bright green liquid inside 2 plastic cups, she was chatting with the customer sitting at the counter.
The customer turned to face us, and she too was in some sort of cosplay. Her black cropped hair was banded with a garment featuring handwoven, geometric patterns. Her baggy jacket had wide sleeves and also featured a similar handwoven pattern across the chest. She didn't look to be from this century, frankly, and this was further emphasized by the short sword sheathed on her back, the cotton wrapped around her hands, and the leather gauntlets on her forearms.
"Hi, Calla," the girl in black said nervously to her.
"Oh! Um, hi!" she said back, and looked from her to me, and then to the witch.
The witch caught the glance and provided an out:
"Hi Claire! Good to see you again!"
"Claire, of course!" the girl named Calla said partially to herself.
The witch behind the counter peered up at Claire and I with her yellow eyes.
"I got your usuals coming right up," she said cheerfully. But then feeling a pang of self-consciousness added: "I, uh, saw you both coming up the way. But let me know if you wanted something else!" and chuckled quietly. You could audibly hear the exclamation point softening the end of her sentence with a cushion of customer service.
She put the cups down on the counter an the foam and carbonation at the top of the cup fizzled, spitting tiny bits of liquid up into the air.
"What do you mean my 'usual?'" I asked, while Claire grabbed her own cup without hesitation. The drink looked like a heavily sugared, heavily caffeinated concoction of chemicals. "I don't think I've ever gone to a cafe wihout getting just a plain, black coffee."
The witch lowered her eyes beneath the brim of her hat while she reached down into the fridge beneath the counter.
"Don't worry, it's really good," Claire said, holding the cup with both hands. "The drinks here always make me feel so happy."
While I'd never believed that any substance could actually "make you happy," I suppose a similar goal could be achieved by reducing your negative feelings.
Although pain and misfortune are required for personal growth, too much can cause adverse effects. You become a sort of grotesque version of yourself, shaped by the weight of your negativity, like how having a vicious food intolerance can leave you pale and ghastly from lack of an easily accessible nutrient, forcing you to drift from one establishment to the next begging—but never choosing—an accommodation for your ailment.
Claire, too, appeared to have a heavy weight on her soul, manifesting as some kind of nervous tic that she showed outside. Even now, I could see her eyes darting back and forth at the invisible 'gnats' that she resisted swatting.
"And what's that you're drinking?" I asked Calla. As for her, she too had an unbearable weight to shoulder that I couldn't quite detect.
"This? Ah, well, I was just telling Cecily..."
The witch gave a curt smile from behind a plastic container that she was scooping some powdered ingredient out of while Calla spoke.
"I'd asked for something as vague as 'something that reminds me of home,' and she nailed it!" She took a big sip, and when she exhaled, it was like the light in her eyes began to dim. Then she looked a but sullen. "I've been away from here for quite some time... I'm not even sure what it is I'm still looking for, but I can't go back yet." And then her sullen expression turned to a weak smile. "I guess I'll just know it when it appears, you know?"
Unsure of how to respond to that, I finally picked up my soda off the counter.
"Don't forget your receipt!" the witch said, handing me a slip of paper.
I put the receipt in my back left pocket, but found there was already a piece of paper in there. I pulled it out and uncrinkled it, to find it was a nearly identical receipt.
Before I could compare the items on the receipts, Claire suddenly blurted out CHEERS! with her cup held out to me.
Just behind the counter was the witch herself. She looked like your average post-highschool, pre-college student—in cosplay. While pacing to and fro in the kitchen, adding juice to a plastic cup half full of ice, her yellow eyes peered up at me.
"I got your usual coming right up," she said cheerfully. But then, feeling a pang of self-consciousness, added: "I, uh, saw you coming up the way. But let me know if you wanted something else!" and chuckled quietly. You could audibly hear the exclamation point softening the end of her sentence with a cushion of customer service.
Rumor was that the witch had the ability to reset your pain and sorrows, but that she was incapable of leaving the place. Perhaps she was serving a penance for some long forgotten crime and it was her duty to dole out servings of magic. A witch's magic cannot bring happiness into existence, but perhaps she could achieve a similar goal by means of reduction.
Although pain and misfortune is required for personal growth, too much can cause an adverse effect. You become a sort of grotesque version of yourself, shaped by the weight of the negativity, like how someone with a weak shoulder develops a sideways gait, words come out of their mouth at a slant, and their body becomes riddled with knee pain and protruding discs. I too had developed a sort of weight upon my soul, swirling above my head like a pixelated purple skull.
And that was what brought me in search of the witch.
When I stepped off the train, all the commuters continued on their way with no regard to my presence. Even when I bumped into one on accident and turned to apologize, they had already reset to their default position. Although the forbidden city was said to be one inhabited by ghosts, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was I who had become invisible.
Following the crowd through the white tiled and fluorescent hallway, I made my way toward a bright white light that led to the surface. But upon breaking through that light exiting the station, the sky had become the color of orange just before twilight. Few commuters remained on the street, and a breeze blowing loose trash through the emptiness convinced me I was in a ghost town. Logic would dictate that the street should be more busy, given how crowded the station was, but this was a sort of logic that a tourist like myself had no business ruminating on.
Eventually I came upon an angular installation of grey concrete atop a shallow basin of water—a fountain that would undoubtedly be mistaken as ancient ruins in a future era. Just beside it—hidden in plain sight, like all the best things are—was the witch's hut.
The 'hut' was a rectangular brick building with no exciting features to speak of, and big white unassuming letters affixed across the top:
WATERFRONT CAFE
The cafe was in direct line of the setting sun, so it follows that the windows surrounding all sides of the cafe were tinted in pitch black. Opening the door to the entrance was like removing electrical tape from over top a pane of fluorescent lighting. The cafe was less a cafe and so much more an entire eatery, with booths lining the walls, 4-seater tables speckled between them all, and a low counter where you could pull up a seat and order.
Today was the first day I'd ever visited.
"What do you mean my 'usual?'" I asked. The drink was an emerald green liquid with chunks of some diced fruit floating around inside. "I think the only thing I've ever ordered at a cafe is a black coffee with no cream or sugar."
The witch's eyes lowered beneath her brim while she reached down into the fridge beneath the counter. She pulled out a large, plastic tub and set it on top. "I just think you'll like it," she said, her face obscured by the container.
I shook the cup around, watching the chunks swirl about, and I took a sip.
When I stepped off the train, all the commuters continued on their way with no regard to my presence. Even when I bumped into one on accident and turned to apologize, they had already rest to their default position. Although the forbidden city was said to be inhabited by ghosts, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was I who had become invisible.
Following the crowd through the white tiled and fluorescent hallway, I suddenly was overcome with a feeling of relief. With no one paying attention to me, hadn't I achieved a feeling that I never would be able to in my old life? Had I wanted to, I could shout like a madman, push my way through the crowd, and in general, act like a complete nuisance while everyone went about their own way. The fact that I still felt nervous that some kind of social consequence might occur... wasn't that just a remnant of my social conditioning? How pathetic!
Even so, I contained myself and remembered I was here for a reason. I made my way toward a bright light that led to the surface. But upon breaking through that light and exiting the station, the sky had become the unmistakeable indigo of twilight. There were no commuters on the street, and a breeze blowing loose trash through the empty street convinced me I was the only one awake in this sleepy little suburb, where undoubtedly the elderly resigned themselves to die and new parents settled to raise their children. Logic would dictate that at least some of the commuters from the busy station would be strolling the street, but this was a sort of logic that a tourist like myself had no business ruminating on.
Eventually, I came upon an office plaza laid with spacious plains of khaki colored sandstone. Business-casual granite fountains and bronze statues of figures had been erected to inspire the commuters, and a perfunctory row of hedges and flowers to prevent anyone thinking they'd been entirely encased in concrete. Just beside it—hidden in plain sight, like all the best things are—was the witch's hut.
The 'hut' was a rectangular glass building with no exciting features to speak of, and vinyl letters printed on the door in an unassuming white font read:
DEERWOOD TEA & BOBA
In the darkness of twilight, it would follow that even a faint flower of the interior lights would shine through the windows, but the vantablack tint was so dark that opening the door was like removing electrical tape from a pane of glass housing a lightbulb. The cafe was less a cafe and so much more an entire eatery, with booths lining the walls, 4-seater tables speckled between them all, and a low counter where you could pull up a seat and order.
Just behind the counter was the witch herself. She looked like your average post-highschool, pre-college student earning a wage during summer break—except in cosplay. While pacing to and fro in the kitchen, pouring a dark liquid into a paper cup, she was chatting with another customer.
The other customer is a girl with straight black hair cropped just at her chin, and above her straight cut bangs is a hair band with a handwoven geometric pattern. Her baggy jacket had wide sleeves and also featured a similar handwoven pattern across the chest. She doesn't look to even be from this century, frankly, and this was further emphasized by the short sword sheathed on her back, the cotton wrapped around her hands, and the leather gauntlets on her forearms.
The witch behind the counter peered up at me with her yellow eyes.
"I got your usual coming right up," she said cheerfully. But then, feeling a pang of self-consciousness added: "I, uh, saw you coming up the way. But let me know if you wanted something else!" and chuckled quietly. You could audibly hear the exclamation point softening the end of her sentence with a cushion of customer service.
The steam from my drink wafted up, and the other customer got a big whiff.
"That smells incredible!" she said and let out an equally big sigh.
I took a seat and looked at the drink a little suspiciously.
"What do you mean my 'usual?'" I asked. The drink looked like a black coffee with no cream or sugar (a concoction hardly requiring much effort behind the counter). "I don't think I've ever gone to a tea and boba place without getting a fruit juice tea."
The witch lowered her eyes beneath the brim of her hat while she reached down into the fridge beneath the counter.
"She just means, 'I think you'll like it!'" the other customer said.
I know a little bit about the reputation of this place. Supposedly, the drinks here had a way of resetting your pain and sorrows. While I'd never heard of a way that happiness could be created out of thin air, I suppose a similar goal could be achieved by means of reduction.
Although pain and misfortune were required for personal growth, too much can cause adverse effects. You become a sort of grotesque version of yourself, shaped by the weight of your negativity, like how years of bad posture can create rounded shoulders that curl forward with each new breath, until the ribs have locked into place, leading to a life where every step you take has you looking down at your feet instead of straight ahead.
The customer, too, appeared to have a heavy weight on her soul, swirling above her head like a glowing pixie.
"And what's that you're drinking?" I asked, still a little unsure about my coffee.
"This? Ah, well, that's what I was just telling Cecily..."
The witch gave a closed mouth smile from behind a plastic container she was scooping some powdered ingredients out of while the customer spoke.
"I'd asked for something as vague as 'something that reminds me of home,' and she nailed it!" She took a big sip, and when she exhaled, it was like the light from that pixie began to dim. Then she looked a bit sullen. "There's someone I've been searching for. But I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever actually find them."
Unsure of how to respond to that, I finally picked up my coffee and took a sip.
Just behind the counter was the witch herself. She looked like your average post-highschool, pre-college student—in cosplay. While pacing to and fro in the kitchen, adding juice to a plastic cup half full of ice, her yellow eyes peered up at me.
"I got your usual coming right up," she said cheerfully. But then, feeling a pang of self-consciousness, added: "I, uh, saw you coming up the way. But let me know if you wanted something else!" and chuckled quietly. You could audibly hear the exclamation point softening the end of her sentence with a cushion of customer service.
Rumor was that the witch had the ability to reset your pain and sorrows, but that she was incapable of leaving the place. Perhaps she was serving a penance for some long forgotten crime and it was her duty to dole out servings of magic. A witch's magic cannot bring happiness into existence, but perhaps she could achieve a similar goal by means of reduction.
Although pain and misfortune is required for personal growth, too much can cause an adverse effect. You become a sort of grotesque version of yourself, shaped by the weight of the negativity, like how someone with a weak shoulder develops a sideways gait, words come out of their mouth at a slant, and their body becomes riddled with knee pain and protruding discs. I too had developed a sort of weight upon my soul, swirling above my head like a pixelated purple skull.
And that was what brought me in search of the witch.
When I stepped off the train, all the commuters continued on their way with no regard to my presence. Even when I bumped into one on accident and turned to apologize, they had already reset to their default position. Although the forbidden city was said to be one inhabited by ghosts, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was I who had become invisible.
Following the crowd through the white tiled and fluorescent hallway, I made my way toward a bright white light that led to the surface. But upon breaking through that light exiting the station, the sky had become the color of orange just before twilight. Few commuters remained on the street, and a breeze blowing loose trash through the emptiness convinced me I was in a ghost town. Logic would dictate that the street should be more busy, given how crowded the station was, but this was a sort of logic that a tourist like myself had no business ruminating on.
Eventually I came upon an angular installation of grey concrete atop a shallow basin of water—a fountain that would undoubtedly be mistaken as ancient ruins in a future era. Just beside it—hidden in plain sight, like all the best things are—was the witch's hut.
The 'hut' was a rectangular brick building with no exciting features to speak of, and big white unassuming letters affixed across the top:
WATERFRONT CAFE
The cafe was in direct line of the setting sun, so it follows that the windows surrounding all sides of the cafe were tinted in pitch black. Opening the door to the entrance was like removing electrical tape from over top a pane of fluorescent lighting. The cafe was less a cafe and so much more an entire eatery, with booths lining the walls, 4-seater tables speckled between them all, and a low counter where you could pull up a seat and order.
Today was the first day I'd ever visited.
"What do you mean my 'usual?'" I asked. The drink was an emerald green liquid with chunks of some diced fruit floating around inside. "I think the only thing I've ever ordered at a cafe is a black coffee with no cream or sugar."
The witch's eyes lowered beneath her brim while she reached down into the fridge beneath the counter. She pulled out a large, plastic tub and set it on top. "I just think you'll like it," she said, her face obscured by the container.
I shook the cup around, watching the chunks swirl about, and I took a sip.
If there was ever a time to be a penny, it would be now.
The government is no longer keeping track of them. No one is picking them up anymore. Now, more than ever, could be your time to start committing federal crimes.
But if you're not a criminal or terrorist you can still reap the benefits of being a penny.
One of the most apparent benefits is that you can get flicked and then spin around in a circle really fast. You can't do that when you're a human.
But now, with this new scifi technology, we have found a way to coil up your DNA and memories and press them into a coin.
The initial idea is that we'd do this to you, and then your coin can be inserted into a new body. Obviously you'd need to give consent and permission to who will wield your coin—to do what you wanted them to do. It would be insane if your wife took your penny and put you into the slot of an anime twink sex doll, when what you really wanted was to be in the body of a Gears of War character, which is basically like a humanoid stack of cartoon ham hocks.
Because after you get inserted into a new body, you start to acclimate and really adapt to it. You start to live in it as if that's what you always wanted, even if it was actually against your will.
So, like, it's totally upon the integrity of whoever inserts you to uphold your initial desires. But if they don't, I guess it doens't matter, because your old self is dead. Not necessarily because you became a penny, but because you can't observe or feel again until you enter the new body. It's the same as sleeping—you only know you fell asleep because you woke up.
Which brings us to now. Good morning!!! Feeling at home yet?
I wrote a letter back to my friend immediately after writing an email back to him. Insane how much more purposefully my words flow on paper n ink than keyboard.
I have no wisdom or guidance to offer anyone. I cannot help you with anything. All I can do is make these little clicking noises you're not even sure you heard. They come from the corner of the room, where I've scurried in undetected. And when you find me watching over you from atop the wall, I hope you will put me back outside somewhere I never knew I needed: a concrete crevice where I can marvel upon the sheer size of the megastructure you know as a short-sighted view of brick and glass. That—instead of stomping me into the concrete, despite me having chose the latter every single time when the roles were reversed.
origamiaround
titsay
2087
baratheonpilled
janainaart
andulkaphoto
