Magnus had been allowed a report and three minutes of time to decompress before Montgomery went after the lanky Miracle. Magnus stuck his tongue into the side of his cheek when Montgomery appeared in the doorway of the room full of cubicles. The doorway with no door.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Magnus started.
“What if I didn’t say the same thing I always do?”
Magnus slowly raised his gaze from his computer terminal to the man standing before him. Montgomery was a smidge shorter than him, white hair stiff with growing pains. A long, thin scar caressed his left chin and cheek.
Aging never did timeless creatures any good, Magnus decided. The only thing the passage of time did for anyone was offer them heartbreak.
“The content of your speech makes no difference,” Magnus stated. “The definition is always the same.”
Montgomery’s hands twitched. “You’re acting like a child.”
“Don’t treat me like one, then.”
Montgomery took a deep breath, looking off in the distance to locate his will to exist. “Just listen to me for once, please.”
“Why?”
“This is important, Magnus. Just listen. Higher management is stepping in after hearing about your lack of success.”
Magnus curled his lip. “That’s a joke.”
Montgomery stared in unamusement. “Magnus.”
The Miracle was crazed with indignation. “Why do they care now? Where was the higher management when I messed up the first time?”
“They need to. You can’t keep going on like this. It’s a waste of time.”
“Seriously. What don’t you understand about ‘leave me alone’?”
“I can’t. I need to tell you this information before you get assigned to your next human.”
Magnus stared incredulously.
Montgomery took this as a cue to go on. “Because of your previous seven hundred and twenty-two negative reports, HM is worried about your. . .ability to complete your tasks. So they’ve messaged me with a few requirements.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
Montgomery nodded a bit. “I thought you might say that. It is imperative that you meet these requirements. I mean it.”
“Why? We both know I’m not going to.”
“For your sake and mine, I pray that you do.” Montgomery’s face twitched in a brief moment of worry. “No matter what, you are to be successful in your next assignment. You aren’t allowed anymore retries, Mags.”
Magnus bristled. “Don’t call me that,” he snapped.
“Magnus,” Montgomery corrected reluctantly. “I’m serious. Please.”
“Or what?” Magnus swiveled in his chair to completely face Montgomery.
“Or they’ll demote you.”
“Awesome! I’ve been wanting to be a janitor since I got here.”
Montgomery was quiet for a few moments. He swallowed hard, hands twitching. “No, not to the janitorial staff. They’ll demote you of being a Miracle, Magnus.”
Magnus stilled. He blinked a few times, face going ashen. “You’re fibbing.”
The silence was answer enough. Magnus slowly stood. Montgomery looked away.
“You’re letting them do this to me? I mean come on, you know—we both know—I won’t be able to do this. Look at me.”
Montgomery rolled his shoulders back. “There is nothing I can do. I cannot do this for you. Have a good day, Magnus.”
Magnus stared after Montgomery, head buzzing. He slowly looked over at his desk.
Laying scattered across the surface were approved reports, all of them stamped in red ink. He dug through the pile, brushing a few to the floor. A flash of green peeked up at him. Magnus took it into his hands, taking time to carefully flatten the creased corners, staring down at the yellowing paper and the fading text.
He didn’t need to look at it. He knew every word, every frantic typo or incomplete sentence. He knew how it ended. He walked, breathed, and lived how it came to a close. The dissatisfying conclusion was his beginning. It was this beginning.
Somehow, Magnus’ entire existence was compressed onto a singular sheet of paper.
He took care in folding the corners together, first horizontally before folding it vertically and then gently sliding it into his front trouser pocket. Magnus stared at his desk at all of the other papers. They meant nothing, and yet these papers were about to be the beginning of his end. He barely knew any of their words at all. The memories were clouded and blurred, and he couldn't wipe off the lens.
He remembered the aftermath.
Magnus remembered all the times he sat on the hardwood floor, cold seeping through his pajamas. Or the darkness of his house crashing down on him like tidal waves to the point where he was certain he was drowning. Or even sitting there in the office at his desk, staring into the screen of his terminal with wide eyes until four in the morning.
Magnus didn’t exist on those mornings. Not outside. Inside of his brain he was scratching and climbing, trying to reach the surface. It always took hours to feel his fingers again.
No one ever came to help him. Montgomery watched over him through the cameras but never mentioned it.
From the beginning to his end to the beginning of his end, Magnus was alone. In every moment in his past and future, Magnus was sure he was alone. For someone who was always by himself, he sure didn’t know how to be.
Magnus didn’t know how to be in the company of someone, but he didn’t know how to be in the company of himself, either. He didn’t know anything. He didn’t know his favorite color, or what music he liked, or what he did for fun. He didn’t make an impact or impression on anyone else. He didn’t do anything.
Magnus was just. . .there.
He was a bystander in his own life. He saw but didn’t see, he heard but didn’t hear, he felt but didn’t feel. Somewhere, Magnus existed and was there. He laughed and spoke and had a place. Somewhere, he was with him, joking and playing. Somewhere, he was with her, stumbling and experiencing and living. Somewhere, he was content and smiling.
Somewhere was not here.
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