AMKent books

Part 11

I find I come at this from a strange angle, maybe it’s a man thing. When things are rough, especially during your childhood years, it isn’t so much the feeling of clear victimhood. It is the irritation that someone had that control over you; it’s like an ego thing. I am almost irritated at myself that you got me when I was unprepared, biologically and mentally. It feels like I was cheated out of a fair shake; you got the better of me when I was too insignificant to resist. It is really humiliating, you know? I tried therapy, but talking about the times I was made a fool out of like that, it is a different kind of pain, it’s shame and bruised pride. I have been told that these thoughts are misplaced; the onus isn’t on me, but on her and him. That stuff really sticks around, though. The childhood stuff is too deep in the circuitry. It reminds me of that story, where two architects build their towers, one on sand and the other on stone. I am built on sand; any minor change in my surroundings, and I start to collapse in on myself. I read about this thing called ‘Epigenetics’, but it is too late for that; these wounds aren’t so much healed or scarred, there is no renewal of biology that can rinse it down the drain. It is ongoing, like a little living homunculus with nefarious intentions, stomping its way around. I had foster parents; they were much better, but the little fiend was already created.

The day I met Melanie, I was on my way to a party shop to buy a canister of helium; she was in the shop for actual party purposes. When I picked up the canister, she made a joke about it feeling light; it wasn’t a good joke by comedic standards, but it was the best joke I had ever heard. Every word that came out of her mouth was the best word I had ever heard also, I dropped the canister and told her that was exactly why I picked it up, to test the weight. I bought some bullshit card, and she told me she had seen me before. We had coffee, it was really cliché, but my god, if it wasn’t the most original, novel, raw thing I had ever felt. The best part about it was that this feeling was good, a good thing, not something horrible, not a past ghost dragging its nails down my spine. That upset little boy, with his bruised ego and tears welling up defiantly in his eyes, cried tears of joy. I exhaled, and the homunculus dissolved into carbon dioxide, and when I inhaled, I breathed Melanie in. It wasn’t about getting rid of this pain; it was about enjoying what could be made with it as a foundation. To see value in my sandy base, enjoy being a castle of sand, it is me to melt in the sea, it is also me to build myself back up. It is all so generic, so cliché, and I couldn’t be happier about it, because it is all mine and I am finally unoriginal, and that overwhelms me with these original sensations.

The light dies down, Petra and George Freud are standing there frozen in ice, there is a magical llama blocking their combined stream of… Magic? The llama opens up a portal, and we all jump through it to escape. We are now in some dusty castle room, there are scrolls everywhere, parchments, quills, no brooms though, never any brooms.

Wait, what happened? Who are you? Do you talk like that dog?

Keir Llama: “My name is Llama, first name Keir, and I am the last of the only surviving crest.”

…

Wizard: “…”

Me: “Wait, no, no, we are not doing this. There is no way your name is Keir Llama.”

The grey llama trots around us and replies.

Keir Llama: “Look, Mr speaker, I am the head of our crest, ‘The Toil Party’.”

Alright, this is even more stupid than me being a mushroom.

Keir Llama: “We are waiting for our magical instructor to teach you magic. We need all the help we can get. Her name is Angela, but we call her Angela Trainer, because she trains people in magic.”

Me: “Please, I can’t take any more of this.”

Keir Llama: “I see you have met Petra and Freud. They are working for the national socialist magical party. They took out the old leader, Sigal.”

Ok, well, finally a name that sounds sort of magical.

Keir Llama: “Yes, Sigal Barrage was a tenacious fellow.”

Me: “OH COME ON!”

Look, we cannot help you until you turn me back into a human. I am not doing any more of this magical stupidity until you change me back.

Keir Llama: “Oh, right, well, I thought you stayed like that on purpose or something. It is a fairly low-cost spell, of course, I will have to tax your grandmother and you for it, but we can settle the details later.”

Wait, did you just say it is LOW COST?

Wizard: “Oh shit, yeah, we could just use a reversal spell. I thought we had to recreate her as a new human, but a reversal would just change her back into what she was before.”

YOU THOUGHT I WANTED TO BE AN ENTIRELY NEW HUMAN?

Wizard: “Well, yeah, I mean a reversal spell is kinda simple, like why would you get a guy from an occult crest to do that?”

Keir Llama: “I concur, Mr speaker. Additionally, under the toil party, I promise an occult socialism that is like magic capitalism if it had a chromosome removed. Yes, Mr speaker. I am very proud of my party’s laws on practicing free magic, that is why I will banish you to Azkabanner if you publicly criticise my party.”

Please just do the fucking spell and turn me back into a human.

Keir Llama thrashes his head back and forth, mustering his power, before flashing a bright charge of rainbow light onto Melanie.