Sculpting a Future

Trish intended to sit down on the toilet and calm herself down, instead her bottom landed hard on the forest ground, a few twigs breaking beneath her bottom upon impact. “Oomph”. She turned around immediately and noticed that the toilet as well as the back wall of the bathroom stall had disappeared to reveal a forest and a winding dirt road. Trish got up, confused, and stepped through the back of the toilet stall to find that the remaining stalls had vanished ass well and she stood in the middle of a forest surrounded by the plastic skeleton of a bathroom stall.

With nowhere also to go Trish made her way up the winding dirt road. She was out of breath after about 5 minutes and needed a rest break every 10 minutes or so. Her progress was slow and her feet were hurting. How far out from society am I? Trish took out her cellphone and turned it on, but she couldn’t find a signal. Great, see mother, the thing is useless anyways. She turned the cellphone back off and put it away in her messenger bag. After another few moment she got back up again and dragged herself further down the dirt road. After about an hour she reached a clearing with a large dirty brown tent. It’ not civilization, but perhaps they can at least point me in the right direction Trish dreaded having to talk to people to point her in the right direction, but it was the only choice she had.

She stepped into the tent and took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting after her time in the blazing sun. As she stood she could see many large old object appear, some as tall as to reach to ceiling of the tent. There was no-one in the tent so she wandered further inside, nervously clamping onto her messenger bag with both hands. She passed object after object and the place even had intersections in between the mounds of stuff. She didn’t recognize any of it, but it looked old and well preserved. Then she passed a table where the most delicious looking pastries were laid out. The moment her eyes saw the pastries multiple reactions happen at once. Her stomach growled and made its desire for the food known. She realized she never actually got her donuts due to the stranger’s attack and was ravished. And with those two thoughts her mind instantly broke. Trish waddled up to the table, picked up a piece of baklava with one hand and grabbed the bowl of gulab jamun with the other. Comfort food was exactly what she needed right now. As she stuffed the baklava in her mouth the looked around for a place to sit down with her bowl and rest her feet, they were awfully sore after that long walk.

"Well you seem to have found my breakfast....please...help yourself."

Faustus appeared in a black cloud of smoke on the other side of the table. He wore his usual black business suit but carried a black cane with a silver handle, a lightning bolt engraved onto the visible sides. He strode forward and looked at her.

"Well you're certainly healthy, impressive, even despite your weight you are the picture of health....welcome young one. Welcome to my home...The Oasis."

He saw she had psychic scars, torment and misery had been her only company all her life. He saw her possible futures before him. All in which she lose weight. One in which she became a great healer, loved by all for her skills, one in which she became an Oracle giving guidance to those who were lost, and finally one where she became a dark avenger of those downtrodden and abused skilled with dispatching her foes with the bow.

"Believe it or not...."

His eyes flashed with glowing white light

"But your life is about to become...so...much...better."

Trish had a literal jump scare when a man appeared in a cloud of black smoke. Though he offered her the food, so it was pretty alright. Still he looked kind of scary and imposing with the black smoke swirling around him, the cane, and the crisp black suit.

“You have pastries for breakfast every morning? That’s awesome!” she said not noticing the disapproving tone or the upset stance the man had taken. Social cues had never been a strength of hers. In fact, when she spoke she didn’t look him in the eye, instead she seemed to look off to the side, at his ear or perhaps something over his shoulder in the distance.

Trish shrunk under the examining eye of Faustus. As much as she could at least. She didn’t like people looking at her. She didn’t even want to be associated with her art as she was afraid people would look at it differently knowing she was the one who created it. She brushed her hair away from behind her ear to create a barrier between her senses and Faustus as a way of protecting herself from his piercing eyes.

She finished the gulab jamun and her eyes shot at the table again. She then got up and walked over to the table again starting to fill the bowl up again with a little bit of this and a little bit of that. With her back turned towards Faustus she spoke again.

“No need to worry. I uhm… I will just grab some more of this for the road and then I will be on my way again. If you could just uhm… point me to the nearest village I’m sure I’ll be alright”

Trish always found it easier to speak with people when she didn’t actually had to look at them. She didn’t notice the change in Faustus’ eyes with her back turned towards him, and in her social discomfort and hurry to get out of the tent she didn’t really catch the part about her life either.

"I'm afraid this place will not let you leave in your..."

He glanced at her girth and searched his mind for a non-insulting word as she gorged herself.

"Condition" he said finished with just a minor trace of disdain, not even his manners were perfect.

"Please...yes...help yourself to some more." he said his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You look like you're absolutely starving."

He almost struck himself for being so obvious and cruel but this person disgusted him the more she attempted to feed.

"This place will not let you leave without a weapon or something to keep you safe from the monsters out there....after all.."

He glanced at her and then away as if ashamed

"you cannot simply eat your way out of all your problems..." He took a deep breath "You should take a plate and make your way to the ritual field...I need to see which god girthed erm I mean birthed you."

He picked up his cane and moved towards her, ushering her out the door towards the ritual field

"Come now, no more time to stuff your face...erm I mean no more time to waste!"

Trish was used to the way people treated her because of how she looked. Even when she started going by Trish instead of Beatrice after high school the judgemental looks and conversations behind her back had not stopped. But the fact that she was used to it did not mean that they didn’t affect her.

At the man’s words she froze for a moment with a pastry in hand. Then her posture slumped and, unable to put the pastry back because she had already touched it, she put it in the bowl. As Faustus continued to speak to her with such malice her eyes started to tear up a bit. She could feel her throat closing up and knew that if she tried to speak she would start crying, so instead she remained quiet.

No, I will not let them see me cry, not any more

She held on to the bowl like it was her comforting stuffed animal as the man ushered her out the tent and didn’t look back. Trish didn’t like this man at all, he was as mean as Richard had been in high school. Meaner even. At least when she was in high school she could leave and go home, here apparently, she wasn’t able to go anywhere apart from some ritual field.

As soon as she was out of sight of the tent flap she sat down on an old tree stump. She dropped the bowl of pastries in the process.

Why were people so mean? Why did they always think they were better than her? Her life wasn’t better, it was worse.

Trish let the warm tears roll over her cheeks for a few minutes. She then wiped her eyes with her sleeve and got up. All she had to do was go along with this for a little bit, then she could find a weapon, and apparently leave this place. She hoisted her messenger bag back over her shoulder and made her way to the ritual field. The bowl with pastries lay on its side beside the tree stump, forgotten, until some wildlife would be attacked by the sweetness of it.



end Trish

Epicurus watched her leave the tent his eyes narrowed in disgust. As soon as she was out of the tent he slapped himself in the face, hard. He was supposed to be a tutor, not a bully, but here he was engaging in juvenile insults about her weight when clearly she was in some sort of distress. He should be helping her, not throwing the obvious in her face.

And yet again here I am bringing myself low, not from any weakness of mine but an over-strength. I am low on demigods and I need her...despite her present condition. I will control myself. I will try to help her.

He inhaled and walked towards the large circus tent flap. On his way he paused by an open chest on the junk pile. He sighed and rummaged around inside of it to retrieve a tarished old dusty hand mirror.
He waved his hands over it, silver energy creeping over the mirror and restoring it to its shiny silver appearance.



Ah...the Mirror of Narcissus....

He ran his hand over the smooth finish of the mirror and glanced into it, then quickly away.

I should apologize...and start over.

He took and mirror and walked out towards the ritual field.