Sorry, The Only Power Left Is Alteration.

Static of a heavy rain buzzed outside of her window. Drops clanged and pattered against the metal fire escape as Circe laid sprawled across her bed. The phone on the desk lit with a notification. It was Saturday morning, almost ten. She turned around and peeked out the dirty window before pushing herself to sit up on her knees. The nightgown slipped over the thighs of her short and slender body. Hands ruffled her disheveled light brown hair as she yawned. One bare foot hit the old paneled floor next to her Garfield slippers. After her toes shuffled around gripping the floor she found the fuzz and slipped the foot inside. Dull green eyes brightened just slightly as they received a rubbing from the sides of her hands.

Junk food wrappers, paper cups, straws, and sauce cups littered the top of her clothes drawers. A plastic tub with crusty dried BBQ sauce clicked against the floor as she struggled to open a broken drawer. Saturday outfits were stuffed inside, unfolded. Circe took out a pair of cargo shorts and loose pink polo that used to be a work shirt before she got a coffee stain on the back. After carefully pulling open the top drawer she found a pair of short white socks with a pink smiley print.

Palms slapped into her face. She probably needed a shower.

The nightgown arced gracefully into the air before landing on the bed. The bathroom was so small she could barely stand in front of the mirror to gargle and brush. The cracked handles of the shower squeaked when turned. The sound of water spraying echoed the sound of the rain from her bedroom window. A drop of water landed squarely on her nose and she wrinkled it in response. It came from the ceiling, another leak. Fingers swept through the falling water from the shower head and received an unwelcome chill. There was no hot water. Circe jumped in the cold shower with a squeal of protest.

Not even three minutes later she was done with the most basic of cleaning she could manage, as she’d not even bothered to wash or rinse her hair. As she got dressed in the outfit she’d cobbled together, she kept glancing toward the stack of unpaid bills in the basket on the kitchen counter. Her phone buzzed with an unpaid rent notice. With a quick motion she scooped up the phone and dialed the Battery Park library. The automated voice menu was the first thing she heard. They didn’t have that many employees and this was an employee number, right?! Perhaps she could play some music or do something on her laptop while she waited.

Finally, after fifteen minutes of waiting and pressing menu options she heard that strong city accent of Kathy, her former coworker.

“Hello, this is Kathy, who’s calling?”

“It’s me… ummm… Circe Sheffield.”

“Oh, Mrs. Sheffield, oh hey, what can I do for you?”

Circe swallowed, “Umm, I’ve been checking my bank account. My unused vacation pay hasn’t been deposited yet and I was kind of wandering why. I gave the proper two week notice and I wo…”

“Wha! Ya want vacation pay. Sorry, but it’s explicitly stated in the handbook that unused vacation isn’t compensated. Didn’t yuh read the handbook sweetie?”

“B-but I was told they needed me to be…”

“That’s just the way it is, get a lawyer if yuh don’t like it. Bye!”

The phone clicked as the call ended.

“…at work and that they would make sure the unused vacation... was- paid.”

Circe fell back on the bed. The part-time job she had picked up at Sub-Lane was not covering her expenses considering the rent, tax, electric, and gas, rate increase notices posted on her pinboard. She crawled back into bed and pulled the old tan quilt over herself. The clock ticked. The quilt fell over the side of the bed as she kicked it off. The Garfield slippers hit the refrigerator after she threw them. She clutched her glasses and her wallet. It was time to get her sneakers on and go for a walk, maybe she could think of some genius strategy to get her life back on track besides begging for yet another interview.

The bumpy bus ride made her nauseas, nor did it help that somebody was screaming in the middle of the bus the entire trip and nobody did anything except yell at them to shut up, which only made the problem worse. Circe made her way off the bus near Time Square. She had her wallet, her phone, and enough money to park herself at the nearest Lucks Star and drown her sorrows in a cool iced cappuccino as she listened to the rain. She wondered if she’d be locked out of her apartment when she got back.

Circe leaned over the counter. For one entire year she had lived and worked in New York City. And now, she had no friends, no job, no money, no savings, and no prospects. This city was just far too competitive and fast paced for her. Perhaps it was time to admit she was wrong, call her mom, and go back to Rutland Vermont. Her neatly cut fingernail tapped the screen of her phone as she considered it. She looked up the prices of haulers and grimaced. Perhaps there was a cheaper company.

A notice popped up on her phone: Your payment is three days past due. To restore service please make your payment of 135.02 dollars to VeryHighZone via your preferred payment option. A late payment fee of 25.00 dollars has been added to your account.

Circe stuffed the red cell phone back in her pocket. Now, she’d have to borrow someone’s phone to even call her mom.

Two mocha iced cappuccinos later and she was out of cash. It was useless to try paying by credits cards, all three of which were at their maximum limit. She pulled out a book and started reading. She lost track of time. The good scene, the romantic scene where the hero was about to kiss the peasant girl was approaching when she felt a shake to her shoulders.

“Excuse me, you’ve been sitting here for three hours,” the server said, “Do you plan on buying anything. We have paying customers who need seats.”

Circe shook her head slightly, “Ah, I did buy drinks, three in fact!”

The empty cup was still sitting across the small table from her book. Circe glanced at it. She was obviously a paying customer.

“That was three hours ago, if you’re gonna keep taking up a seat at least order a scone or something.”

They were always so polite to her here when she had money. Circe sighed, noticing that rain had stopped and that it was getting dark outside. It was best she got home anyway. Her bus transit card still worked. She could cry to her mom, admit defeat, and go back home to get her life sorted out for her. There was no prince charming in this city, no one like the heroes in her novels.

The stifling humid air resisted entering her nose. She was near time square, perhaps she would walk around a little more. A crackle of soft electric burst through the air. There was a thumping bass beat from the buildings. Streets were disconcertingly empty.

“Hey you, fried eggs, you don’t look so well! We been lookin fer ya, no payments been forthcoming fer a while now. What’s goin on wit dat miss?”

Circe turned around and saw a pot-bellied man wearing a track suit with a NY baseball team ball cap coming towards her. She ran.

“Hey, where you goin, I jus wanna talk business here!”

He was surprisingly fast for a heavy guy. Circe ducked into an alley full of graffiti and construction frames. Her sneakers pushed against the uneven pavement as she panted. An aluminum frame smacked her shoulder as she took an uneven step. She swore she shook something loose on the platform. The red phone clattered out of her pocket unnoticed.

“The boss is gonna be pissed when I tell im you run away every time I try ta talk wit ya!”

She continued to run to the other side of the alley as the big man jogged behind her until her bent over to pick up her phone.
“Ya dropped somepin! Hey! Get back here I said! Ya dropped somethin’! Don’t even think of going home till ya paid the money ya owe! We know where ya live!”

The big man watched as her soft brown hair blew in the breeze under the street light before she turned the corner and disappeared. Circe panted as she headed for Time Square. She could wait around there until morning. If she went to the right place a guy might buy her a coffee in hopes of getting to know her better. Desperate times.

What was she even thinking?! Nobody ever noticed her, she was short, flat chested, narrow hipped, pale, exhausted looking, and so unconditionally average that she didn’t stand out to anyone exceptional. Only creeps and losers ever approached her. Her sneakers splashed a puddle as she continued to run. The buildings towered over her, words and talking faces demanded attention from the brilliantly lit screens. Dirt stained her shirt as she leaned against a telephone pole to catch her breath.

There it was again, that thumping, banging, beating bass rhythm that connected with her heart. Her palm pressed against the pole as she looked back for the man in the track suit. She owed them a few thousand dollars, it wasn’t that big of deal, they had no right to stalk her like this! But she wasn’t being followed anymore.

Time square was empty. There was a dull bass beat coming from the buildings and then, a laughter. Circe lifted her glasses and let them fall back down over the bridge of her nose. The bass beat from the buildings accelerated powerfully.

Time square was empty.

There were no people. Most disturbingly, there was no traffic. There was that blasting bass rhythm, as if all the buildings were speakers. She looked up at the screens, once constantly yammering their announcements and product placements. A bouncing line kept to the phonk rhythm the buildings emanated.

“What was in that iced cappuccino?” Circe muttered.

Her sneakers picked up a pace to the rhythm as she power walked to the center of Time Square. A sickly-sweet voice spoke in another language over the dropping bass lines. The music pounded in her head. When she looked behind her there was still nobody. The big man was nowhere to be seen. Circe leaned into another pole and peeked out towards the screens that dominated the famous square. She could hear some strange lyrics amidst the music:

 

It is over pretty face.

Gotta Spy

Gotta Sigh

Mogg-dell Beef Ear Pie!

Mogg-dell Beef Ear Pie!

Gonna Make You Cry.

My Sanity Hold Inside,

Mogg-dell Beef Ear Pie!

Annnnnnd!

Azoria!

 

Fierce winds blew through the street to push her shirt and cargo shorts against her slender frame as her hair lifted. A hand in front of her face shielded her eyes and protected her wire frame glasses. Had she stumbled across some kind of event, a concert that she hadn’t heard anything about?

The screen brightened and what appeared to be a woman dominated it. That wasn’t entirely correct. She was on every screen. Her legs and thighs on the bottom screen, her torso on the middle, and her head at the uppermost screens. This woman wasn’t any person or character she recognized. There was a booming high-pitched laugh from the speakers. The visage on the tall buildings had long flowing silver hair. Her eyes were redder than fire and bright. Of course, she was impossibly well put together with curvy hips and pert breasts wrapped in black leather.

If there was an event, why was nobody else around? It was possible that the police had blocked off traffic but she’d seen no evidence of this earlier. Circe fought against the warm dry wind blowing from the screens as she approached. A black spaded tail swayed behind the Rosey skinned succubus as she shifted her hips. The visage extended her arms outside the screens as the lines defining fingers and palms displayed on the screens at the side of the road.

Circe stumbled towards the playful smile of the girl on the giant screen. A booming playful squeaky voice contrasted the bass notes pouring from the buildings. Even the stars above seemed unnecessarily bright as it spoke.

"Hi! Wanna come to my world and play a power progression game!? I promise it’s gonna be so much fun you might even die twice!"

“What are you!?” Circe yelled as she got her footing in the empty road.

“I’m the knight in shining armor you’ve been waiting for silly! I’m giving you a second chance to be somebody!” she said, then she made a lewd face as the arms withdrew back to the central screens, “Oh, look at the time!”

The spade tipped tail coiled around the torso of the woman on the screen, suggestively sliding around her body until it reached her pale violet lips. The woman let it rub her mouth and cheek as if it was caressing her. Circe felt another burst of warm wind as she stepped forward a bit more into the empty street.

“Your bus is here,” the succubus giggled.

The screen returned to an advertisement for jeans as the bass line faded. The walks had people again. There was no sign of the weird advertisement succubus girl or the bass beats of the concert. Perhaps it had all just been a stress induced hallucination? The normal sounds of traffic returned, like a taxi whizzing right by her as she stood in the center of the bus lane.

 

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

 

Circe tried to turn around, but the bus slammed into her at the maximum allowed speed before she could finish.

She could hear the crunches of her spine and an old woman screaming.

As her vision smashed together, the last thing she saw was an airborne tooth in front of her eyes.