I don’t know. Maybe owning a candle making business really got to me after a while. Aside from creating the IT suite from scratch, the only creative writing I did during that time was content for the web store and mini-meditations to go with the candles. I guess it had to get out somehow…
By P. Orin Zack
“Hey! Get that infected tongue back in your face, you butt-ugly freak!”
Damn, this is embarrassing. As if it weren’t bad enough that my candle spell went south, the brat who snatched the magic snow-globe from my altar ditched it in the back of a Christmas truck. Playing cat-thief is tricky enough when you’re in your own body, but after being dumped into the cramped mind of your own sister’s pre-pubescent runway tramp? Give me a break! This isn’t the way a Yule spell is supposed to work.
So here I am, stuck in Nordstrom’s back window with the last of a truckload of snow-globes. One of these things is my ticket out of here, I’m sure of it. Unfortunately, in order to reverse the spell, I’ll have to strip in front of that nasty looking crowd of gawkers. I suppose it would serve my sister right for letting the store put her kid on display like this, but there’s no way she’d ever forgive me.
All right. So which one is it? I never was much good at noticing details, and they all look pretty much alike. Maybe this —
“I said, Back off!”
Oh great. Now I’ve got a migraine, too. Well, I might as well get all these globes rounded up, so I can run through them as quickly as possible. This Space Needle souvenir is as good as any to start with. Here goes nothing.
Deep breath… eyes closed… focus…
Zip. How about this annoying rural scene? Nothing. A snowman, perhaps? Nada. How about Mt. Rainier — wait a minute. This one feels different. Hmmm. Finally. Now maybe I can get out of this juvenile prison.
All right, how did that reversal spell go again? Wish I’d written the damn thing down when I bought the candle. ‘Reclaiming your Lost Childhood’, indeed. Well, I suppose it did work, sort of. Only it’s my niece’s childhood I seem to have reclaimed. Fortunately, I’ve still got the candle, but how the heck am I going to get the damn thing lit? Jenny doesn’t exactly let her brat carry matches.
All right. Deep breath. I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I need to find a way to balance the candle on the globe. But wasn’t the globe supposed to be upside down for this? What good is that? It’ll just roll over. Even if I could light the candle, it’d probably just send this whole exhibit up in smoke.
I’ve got it. If I gather up some of this debris, I can make a stand. That’ll keep the globe steady. Good. That’s got it. Now, let’s see about the candle. I need some way to warm the bottom so it’ll stick to the plastic base. That lava-lamp ought to do the trick. Who buys these things, anyway?
Good. Now all I need is a light, a quick strip, and I’m back to my own life. Crap. The one thing I need to make my life complete, and the only person holding it is the twit with the scarred tongue. Maybe I can get him to smash the window. Yeah, right. Like Nordies does cheap display windows. Not.
Uh-oh. What’s that? A cop? Well, at least he’s getting that jerk out of my face. Not that it’s going to do me any good. He’s not about to ask some lost little girl if she needs a light. After all, as far as he knows, I’m just some kid who crawled into the —
What the — Jenny? What’s she doing downtown?
“No! Go away! I’m not your kid. Go away!”
Great. Now I’ll never get out of this.
Copyright 2007 P. Orin Zack