Part 1 – Maggie The Magpie
Maggie. Our sweet girl. Why are you the way that you are?
Always restless, always running, always burning, always impossible to hold.
Was it us?
Hey! Hey! What the fuck!
Where the fuck am I?
What the fuck is this shit?
Let me out of here right now, or I swear to god!
Let me the fuck out, now!
The thing with screaming is, it’s only effective if you’re within earshot of someone who gives half a shit!
You can sing Maggie, you have such a beautiful voice.
Awe, our Maggie, the magpie.
Why are you so afraid to shine?
The room was dark and smelled of stale cinnamon, and the putrid air amplified the heaviness and despair Maggie felt.
She struggled on the bench she was laid out on, unable to move. The restraints were cold and cold meant steel and steel meant forever.
How do I know that?
Doesn’t everybody know that?
Maggie’s right eye wasn’t working. Even in this room devoid of light, it was pretty apparent, her eye was fucked.
Did it ever work?
Is it crazy that I can’t remember?
A hissing sound popped to her left and a loud clicking repeated over and over, growing louder with every click. She felt a sharp pain on her left temple and her muscles tightened and seized. Maggie went limp and a single tear began to fall from her good eye.
The sticky, sweet, stench of cinnamon once again permeated the room. And again, 3 winged shadows swooped down, shoving and clawing at one another, to catch the foggy drop. The tear immediately turned hard and became a swirling glass jewel, as it came to rest in a cupped palm.
This happened once every 37 minutes.
Margaret Evelyn Scheben! Mrs. Cannady said you hit Amy Breven today without any provocation whatsoever. What is going on with you, young lady? Amy’s parents are absolutely furious! She suggested we not go to the school bake sale this weekend, and you know how much your sister and I were looking forward to that!
When was the last time I had a fix?
–I’m not getting sick?
Her initial explanation regarding her predicament was that this was some kind of well orchestrated intervention. Her parents, her sister, they were all willing to give it one last magnificent try to save Maggie the Magpie. But that never happened. Crippling desperation had now bore into her brain and all notions of escape had been stripped away. And she was somewhere between delirium and junkie street-smart swagger.
Hey fuckers! Can I get a menu?
The service here is atrocious!
Why aren’t I hungry or thirsty?
You are going to get a horrible Yelp review the minute I get home.
I can assure you of that, good sirs!
When put in extremely stressful situations humans tend to reach for the familiar tenets of routine.
Routine is the god of all addictions and junkies keep time by the length of the shadow the needle casts on their arm.
You wake up, hustle, get a fix, hustle, get a fix, hustle, get a fix.
Maggie would begin counting as soon as the creatures would leave, and she discovered that between each visit her count would get up to 2100, give or take a hundred.
Linear time itself had been taken away. She had been stripped of what tethers humanity to the tides and constellations.
Time had become an apparition, a ribbon of smoke folding and unfolding across Maggie’s peripheral.
It had been 11 days since Maggie woke up in this place, but she had no way of knowing that.
Two thousand thirty seven, two thousand thirty eight, two thousand thirty nine…
Part 2 – The Quaxmiri Collective
We don’t have time!
You have a definite advantage over any civilization that is hindered by the concept of time. We all agree that time is a construct of an inferior mind, yes?
Yes!
They give it order and pertinence! Which weakens them in ways they cannot comprehend.
The Quaxmiri, aren’t weighed down by constructs. If anything they are emboldened by the fact that peoples of other worlds are so weighed down by their totems, their fantastic menagerie of gods, their superb naivete, and their willingness to exert so much energy into their own self destruction.
The Humans being a wonderful example.
The only weakness of the Quaxmiri, if you would call it that, is a rather aggressive subculture which has steadily grown within the collective. This subset has an insatiable curiosity of everything human.
One learns the most from tedious observation. One can weaponize such knowledge in order to rain down fire and fury at a time of their choosing. If, that is, any race decides the Quaxmiri are weak and no longer deserving of sitting atop the multiverse hierarchy.
And this is why all Quaxmiri study humanity and for that matter, hundreds and thousands of other races. That is merely part of what it is to be Quaxmiri. But this subset only focuses on the lives of these rather insignificant bipedal creatures on a blue planet only a blink of an eye away, just through a vale of light and space. And like a magnifying glass pointed at an unsuspecting insect, their focus, if you will, tends to get downright vicious.
After all, it was us who dipped our fingers in their primordial ooze and stirred and stirred and stirred until they crawled into existence. This alone allows us some latitude with regards to our methods of observation and study.
The main members of this subset are the Quaxmiri Yothey. The Yothey are an underclass of Quaxmiri, who have not yet reached the point of fully mastering the skill of inter-dimensional travel. And when they do travel, it is only for short bursts of time, with rests in between, before they are able to travel again.
And the Quaxmiri who best represents this subset is the one they call Duricaiy.
Quaxmiri Duricaiy, please tell us what you processed during your last transfer with the humans.
-Screams, Quaxmiri Baylisk. Specifically the differences in pitch and decibel level of a scream generated through fear and that which was generated through physical pain. The results have been very insightful. I shall file them to the Collective.
Duricaiy has a large following of fanatical, Yothey converts, who would join him on any mission he conducted.
This is because Duricaiy recruits from within the Yothey. The Yothey who want nothing more than to be fully realized Quaxmiri.
During his time as a Yothey, he developed a reputation for devising elaborate and creative, if not cruel experiments. Now a full fledged Quaxmiri, his methodology with regards to his scientific pursuits has not wavered in the least.
Is what we do any different than these humans dousing their primates with poisons – experiments designed to meet levels of human comfort and safety?
And where is the reproach? The gentle nudge? The reminder of what it truly means to be Quaxmiri?
We study life in all forms, in all planes, and we do not intentionally seek to cause harm.
This reproach will never come. It will never come because Quaxmiri hold fast to the belief that all Quaxmiri are equal.
No Quaxmiri feels they are the better of another. They are each a universe unto themselves. They generate a gravitational pull. They are equal parts blackhole and supernova.
So to say to another Quaxmiri, what you are doing is wrong, is not a thing.
It does not exist.
One Quaxmiri does not tell another Quaxmiri that they have crossed a line. Because what is a line if not a constraint?
And the Quaxmiri have no constraints.
And no Quaxmiri believes this more than Duricaiy.
Part 3 – Muscle Memory
Maggie Sings:
…If the sky that we look upon
should tumble and fall
or the mountains should crumble to the sea
I won’t cry, I won’t cry
no, I won’t shed a tear
just as long as you stand, stand by-
-Oh God, oh Jesus, No! Not again please!
-No!
—
Maggie, darlin’ listen, your mother and I have to go to the hospital now, and when we come back home you are going to have a brand new baby sister, isn’t that great? And your grandfather is going to stay here with you until we get back. How cool is that?
-Ya, okay, but she gets her own stuff…ya?
-and I get to keep my stuff?
–Ya, daddy?
Yes, Margaret, you get to keep all of your stuff.
–
-Hi Grandpa.
Hey Maggs.
Are you excited about your new sister?
-Ya, grandpa. Very, very excited.
-Can we make cookies?
How about some hot cocoa instead?
-Yes!
-With marshmallows and cinnamon sprinkled on top?
Wouldn’t have it any other way!
Maggie only had one grandparent. Both of her dad’s parents had passed. Along with her mom’s mom. She never met any of them. But Grandpa Charlie was always around, a godsend really.
Maggie grabbed the cinnamon and turned to add the final touches to her hot cocoa.
Mr. Charles Landry, retired postal worker, member of the Elks lodge, proud Vietnam War veteran. Still living in the same house he had purchased for his bride in ‘71. Was standing in the kitchen of his daughter’s house, with the afternoon light coming in through the window. The subtle sounds of neighborhood traffic: a car, a lawn mower (further away). A blue jay growling at a squirrel?
His pants were down, his underwear was down, and he was masturbating.
Maggie dropped the spice jar holding the cinnamon, and let out what might have resembled a scream, if any sound came out at all, none did.
She wanted to run. In fact she believed she was. Down the street, a left at the end of the block, a right at the light, then a left into the park.
Her favorite swing was free. Yes!
Maggie got on her swing and tilted her head back-
A dry, hot feeling came over her. Her grandfather’s hand was on her.
This time she really did run. She made it to her room, her breathing was uneven and she was sweating. She put a chair against her door, and collapsed to the ground.
Did the jar break?
They are going to be so angry with me.
Maggie, it’s Grandpa Charlie. Come on out sweetheart. I have dinner ready. And I just got off the phone with your dad.
You have a new sister, her name is Eva.
Maggie had fallen asleep on the floor and woke up as soon as she heard her grandfather’s voice.
Your father will be here in an hour or so.
-Eva, Maggie thought, Eva, my little sister.
Come on Maggs, let’s have dinner. And then we can make the cookies you wanted.
Maggie was the older sister, by 3 years and 4 months. She grabbed her stuffed giraffe.
This is for you Eva, he’s my favorite, his name is Milo.
Maggie was never really a needy child, but the initial consensus was that with Eva arrival, Maggie was attention seeking.
She eventually told her parents what she could recall, but it all came out disjointed.
Charlie denied any and all inappropriate behavior.
And over time, well, it was just easier to focus on the new baby.
But a mother knows her child, she knows her child as well as she knows her – kitchen cupboards, for example. And she knows when something goes missing, just as well as she knows when one of her children is in pain, and in severe emotional distress.
On some level, deep down, under an ocean of denial, where the stones and shells lay silent and life matures lightless, she knew her daughter was telling the truth…but-
Now, where is that jar of cinnamon?
Day 14.
-No. Please stop! Please, please, please!
The probe pushed against her temple and Maggie was out.
-I can’t see!
Oh my god, I can’t see!
What did you do to me!?
Why can’t I see!?
-But, she could hear a fly?
There was a fly in the room.
Is this real?
A fly?
A fly!
A door opened to her right… and with a loud clunk, her restraints were gone.
Maggie was free.
She rolled over and fell to the ground, hard. She immediately began to crawl towards the air that was rushing in from the outside, but the door closed before she could get there.
Maggie began weeping uncontrollably.
-All of this!
-What is this?
-You held me captive!
-You blinded me!
-Who are you?
-Let me the fuck out!
-Please, let me out!
There were more flies now, thousands of them! All buzzing around Maggie.
They were on her, she swung madly at the space around her.
She screamed, please let me out here! Please stop this, you fuckers!!!
Again Maggie heard the door open, more air rushed in.
This time she was able to crawl out onto a dirt patch on the side of a highway.
There was nothing, except cars wheezing by.
-What the fuck?
-Where am I?
-Help! Please help me!
-Please help me.
—
The police had nothing to offer and along with the psychiatrist, agreed that putting the young woman on a psych hold was the best short term solution.
What happened to you sweetheart? Do you have a name?
-I can’t see, I still can’t see!
The nurse asked again.
Do you have a name? –There were flies and there were these creatures with wings I think, and-
Slow down sweetheart. First tell me your name.
-My name is Margaret Evelyn Scheben, and whatever you do, don’t call me Maggie!
Okay Margaret-
-No! Call me Evelyn, I go by Evelyn.
Okay Evelyn, do you have family or relatives we can call?
-No, like I told the cops, I have no family or relatives.
-What about my eyes?
-Am I going to see again?
Evelyn, I’m going to get the doctor to come in and talk to you about that, okay?
-No, please tell me now!
Okay, sweetheart. Okay. Your eyes are severely damaged, your corneas are very badly burned. I don’t think you will ever see again sweetheart, but I’m going to get the doctor now, okay?
And if you’re in pain we can get you an IV-
-No.
-No, drugs. -Let’s get this over with!