Epilogue - Click, Click, Click…
Click.
Click click.
Swipe.
Click click, tap tap, clack clack.
Click.
I wish there was more to say.
I take a sip of my coffee, staring into the blue light of the computer in front of me. I swipe my mouse, an intense latency harboring my progress. I wish that there was some way for the IT guys to stop stuffing the extra cash into their pockets and actually, I don't know, get us new hardware.
The hum of the fluorescent lights above us a symphony, the percussion the continuous clacks of the keyboards, the sips of coffee and the sound of the company-mandated 'I Love Marshall and Sons!' mugs hitting the low quality plywood desks we spend six to ten hours a day at.
"Mornin, Asahi." One of my co-workers, Markal, says. His parents couldn't decide if his name should be Michael or Marshall, so they made the (very poor) executive choice to just mix the two. I know this because in the pseudo-mandated bi-friday bar hangout, he drank too much and started crying about elementary school. Fourth graders are harsh, I guess.
"Morning." I simply respond back, waving to him, not looking towards him as I did so.
"So, you watch the g-"
"You know I don't watch sports, Mark." I interrupt him. My shift is 7-3, it's 7:02, and the drowsiness hasn't even left my eyes yet. I am not ready for social interaction. I'm usually ready around 7:00. PM, though. Markal looks at me in upset understanding, and walks away.
God, how'd it come to this? I used to have dreams. Dreams of creating, dreams of inspiring. Now, now it's nothing but a sad dream.
Whatever, if you want to dream, you're gonna have to start by dreaming of the food on the table, because the only checks you get by dreaming are hospital checklists.
It feels it's been so long, mindlessly clicking away and making spreadsheets of statistics that give my higher ups bonuses and us pay cuts. I know it's not encouraged (as evidenced by the 'Good Children Don't Check The Time!' poster next to me, but I can't help myself.
It's 7:23.
What did I do to deserve a barely-living wage? What did I do to deserve braindead work?
Whatever, cattle are born cattle, not everyone can be a poodle or a shepherd.
It's been forever. My fingers ache, my eyes hurt, I need acetaminophen, and I want to cry. I stare at the picture frame next to my computer. It was next to the computer when I started working here eight months ago. It's a 'family' thing. Mine's empty. I don't have any meaningful photos, be it with any family or partner or prom. It reminds me, reminds me I'm cattle.
I hope some day, I can have a wife and a child, and that child doesn't turn to a cattle, but a shepard. I know I'm stuck as a cattle.
Stuck in this fence.
This fence.
The fence just broke open.
This fence is open!
...
No, literally.
We're on the seventh floor of a large building, rented out by multiple big corporations to flood their cattle into. So, whenever a massive crater erupted on the side of the building, it caught the entire office by surprise. Everyone began to storm to the emergency stairs, the sudden burst of pure sunlight temporarily blinding me. I couldn't look away. It's so beautiful. A cattle... Can I escape this life as a cattle?
I can't help but smile. I begin to take a few steps out my small little fence, into the greater pasture, the fence gate left open. I start to rush to the hole, my feet stopping at the edge of the impromptu plateau.
I can imagine it now... no more work, no more bills or water dripping on my bed and molding it. It's something I want, I want it so madly, I NEED it.
I push my feet off the ground, and fling myself into the air, looking down at the heavy traffic below.
The rush of the air pushing against me as I delve down is beautiful, my hair dangling high above my head. I spread my arms, and I can't help but laugh. It's my dream, my dream to no longer be a cattle, it's coming true! And, just as it begins, it stops.
It stops isn't the best description, actually. I begin to slow around the second floor, as if I was caught by some sort of net. I wasn't, though; I don't see any nets. I can feel one, though. What... what is this?
The world. It just... changed. My eyes adjusted, everything seems... better. Higher definition. The colors are more vibrant... what little colors there are, at least. The ones on the billboards and such.
"Hey, pal." I hear behind me. I turn around, and... next to me, standing tall, is someone with a fully suited classic black-and-white tuxedo, albeit with two aces instead of a handkerchief in its pocket. Inside the suit was a rather tall individual, his face sly and long, a black fedora with a grey band atop his short hazel hair. He takes a step forward, before he suddenly disappears. He appears next to me, the tell to this being his arm wrapping around my shoulder. "Alright, question, look over there." He says, pointing over to an alleyway. I squint my eyes, some sort of movement being tangible from the distance I'm at. "You seeing anything?" I squint harder, and I realize what I'm seeing; some sort of modified humanoid is rummaging through the bags of trash. Its skin is pitch black, with some sorts of spikey tendrils popping out of its back.
"Uh... yes. But if I may, w-"
"Alrighty, kiddo. Since you're seeing that, I'm assuming you know what Magica is. That thing cast a simple Vision Repel Singular on itself, me being the repellent; so I can't see it. But you can. So." His arm sparks; literally, blue bolts reminiscent of lighting, or one of those Tesla coils I think they're called sparked around his forearm; and he picks me up. "You're my impromptu eyes. Give me good call outs, or you will die."
Well... now someone else is doing it, I don't want to die.
Suddenly, I felt the brush of intense air across my face; we are in front of the alleyway, and, more conveniently (and horrifically), the.. thing, now was more in focus. It has bright red eyes, maroon blood spilling from its gaping mouth; its head flops around lazily, as though the rest of the body was responsible for the movements. It has eight, long tendrils, each tendril split into three spikey segments, fuzz covering the edges of it. The tendrils poke around, creating small craters in the bricks it lays into.
"So, where is it?" He says, looking at me; the creature pounded two more holes into the wall rapidly, shaking like a dog scratching its fleas.
"Directly in the middle of the two holes." I say, and he nods. his eyes seem to flicker, and suddenly, two of the creatures arms split off, the ones not close to its body.
"So, you're done here, why don't you sit and watch, huh?" He says, sitting me down like an animal. He takes a few steps forward, the beast turning around. It starts to sprint towards the man, all six of its legs galloping in the direction of the man. Suddenly, though, it seems to run into a wall.. though there's nothing but air there. The creature begins to move its neck, seemingly to bash its head against the pseudo-existent wall.
"Sorry, pal, you're not getting anywhere. Actually..." The creature bashes its head again, though it didn't run into anything; it immediately started galloping towards the man again, the man not batting an eye. He, in fact, pulled his arm back, as though he was gonna throw a punch. The creature leaped, pushing itself through the air slightly by 'walking' on the walls of the alleyway, before it stopped, falling diagonally towards the man.
"I call this one the glass cannon." The man says, and pushed his arm forward. The creature seems to stop in the air, the mans jacket twirling slightly. Suddenly, a large blast emanates from the space in between the man and the creature, the creature being flung back so fast it beats my eyes; like some sort of scene in a cartoon where everything goes so fast that the characters go ridiculous distances over each frame, I feel the creature went so fast it somewhat surpassed my eyes frame rate, or at least the rate in which my brain can process information; one 'frame' it was still, the next it was barely distinguishable, and the next it was gone. The debris from the creature's holes launched along with it, the mans jacket almost fluttering like a cape from the supposed pressure; to be truthful, I don't feel a thing.
"May have gone a little too far, hehe- whoopsies!" The man says, plopping me down like a sad animal or a heavy basket of laundry. "Hope the folks down in the other hemisphere can deal with that." He shrugs and begins to walk away. "Oh well, they don't have me, so they might have trouble." He begins to hum, before he pulls out a grey and black yo-yo, twirling it around his finger. He flicks it a few times, before the yo-yo falls to the ground, the man making an embarrassing attempt to pick it up, tripping himself with his shoes and almost falling face first onto the pavement, stopping a few inches from the surface of the ground below him. He tilts up slowly, like someone is propping him up like a cardboard cutout or wax statue, before he begins walking again, sheepishly stuffing the yo-yo back into an inner pocket of his jacket, muttering about how he's 'just a beginner'.
"Wait!" I yell, realizing I am sprawled on the floor and making a hasty attempt to correct that. He looks back at me, not saying anything, waiting for me to continue. "How... how did you do that? All the crazy magic-type shit you did! How?" I yell, and he tilts his head slightly like a confused puppy-dog.
"Do you not know Magica?" He says, but continues before I can answer, or even shake my head. "Yeah, you look pretty boring, and lame, most Magica users aren't lame. Ask around, search about it, you're a big boy you can handle it." He says, before turning his head and starting to walk off. I begin to yell out to him, before I see his form disappear, a shepherd, disappearing after letting a single sheep loose.
Magica... Is that what cut my fence?
