I Draw Down the Moon

You would think with all the prep I did yesterday this would have prevented me being late to a once in a lifetime interview at The Messengers. The Messengers is a well-known and respected business with excellent benefits. A 10% match on the 401(k) plan, opportunities for professional development, flexible-time off, and a huge increase from my current salary: unemployed.

Plus, this company will not work you to the bone from what I heard.

By the gods I could use that right now...

Last night I read up on material that I could be questioned on for the technical portion, ate a balanced meal for dinner, ironed out every wrinkle from my selected interview outfit, and went to bed at a perfectly reasonable time. Not before of course setting ten different alarms, the first ringing two hours before the interview, the next nine ringing at five minute intervals, each with increasing volume to wake me up with enough time to dress, eat, walk over there in ten minutes, and half an hour to sit around and internally scream in the lobby before the interview.

But none of the alarms went off!

I instead woke up to the shade of Paris green filtering through my blinds. The shade of green that only appears at around nine o’clock in the morning, right when my interview is scheduled.

Shit.

I bolt out of bed. The first thing I do is smack the coffee maker in the kitchen before I sprint back into my bedroom and into the bathroom, flinging off my pajamas in the process. I shove myself into my pristine clothing; a satiny white blouse, a dark red business jacket and skirt. The wrinkles come back with a vengeance as I do so.

All that ironing for nothing!

I brush through my long ebony hair but it's full of balls and nests of tangled hair impeding the smoothness I’m hoping to achieve. Using brute force on the brush handle, I remove those tangled bits alongside a good chunk of my hair in the process.

“Fuck!”

I splash on some water to clean my face, scraping off what feels like a layer of skin with my towel before I hastily put on some makeup. I prefer to take my time with my makeup, making sure my eyeliner is nice and sharp and picking the perfect shade of lipstick to go with my outfit but I must throw away that ritual for the sake of not missing this interview! I flick on some mascara and pick a pomegranate shade for my lipstick. No time to put on foundation and concealer, leaving my acne scars out in the open. A thing that I’m totally not self-conscious about.

By the gods please have mercy on this poor soul!

I stick in some garnet earrings and nearly choke myself with a matching necklace to complete the look. Eyeing myself in the mirror I can’t help but think I look like I’m flying right out of secondary school with my present appearance.

Ugh... but there’s no time to fix any of this!

Exiting my bathroom, there is the smell of dirt-cheap coffee wafting from the kitchen. At least I can run with a coffee in my hand! I nearly slip and trip over my discarded pajamas, cursing at myself once more. I pick up the black pumps that I’ve selected last night at the bedroom door, hopping my way in as I place them on one by one. If this morning couldn’t get any worse, my roommate Charles floats down.

Charles...

Fucking hate Charles.

 If I had to describe him he is a man with a giant potbelly, his stained shirt barely covering it. Charles looks like he is trying to grow a beard but it's patchy and it only adds to his uncleanly look.

“Morning Clairisse,” he sleepily greets me. He yawns, his mouth looks like a blackhole as he does. “Shouldn’t you be at your interview?”

“Yes Charles!” I exasperate. “But I’m running late!”

I check the time on the clock hanging on the kitchen wall, I’m already fifteen minutes late for the interview.

Fuck!

Should I get coffee?

My focus shifts to the bolted-down front door to the enchanting pot of coffee, not before landing on the timekeeper again that keeps on marching. You think if you killed him eons ago that time would stop! Or is that the right one?

By the gods!

I’m not eloquent enough without caffeine!

Coffee it is then!

Charles shrugs nonchalantly at this. He settles himself right on top of one of the dining room chairs. I pour some coffee into a thermos, not before I double check it for cleanliness. Charles’s influence sometimes puts things out of whack, something I’m always second guessing on. Pulling the refrigerator door open I spot the milk in one of the door shelves, grabbing it I pour some into my coffee. I’m nearly throwing the milk back into the refrigerator, violently jostling the entire thing, as I take a sip.

I spit it out.

All.

Over.

The.

Floor.

Dammit! I just cleaned the kitchen last night!

My mouth is salivating from the sour flavor that hits my taste buds. Peering into the galaxy forming in my thermos, large white gobs float on top. I nearly gag at this.

“Hey!” Charles shouts out. “You fucking spat all over the floor!”

I give Charles, yeah-I-know-dude look. “I know man but I’ll clean it up after my interview!”

Charles scoffs, with an eye roll that goes with it. “Yeah if you first make it there...” he sarcastically comments.

Dumping my curdled coffee in the sink, I lean in to guzzle some water from the faucet to remove that terrible taste. I spit out the water.

Now my breath must smell terrible...

Using a nearby paper towel I blot the remaining water off my lips and chin to not mess up my lipstick. “By the gods, I just bought milk a few days ago. How could it already have gone bad,” I mutter under my breath.

“Yeah that was before I drank it,” Charles loudly announces.

Charles!

Of course it is!

“Charles what the hell! That’s my milk that I bought with my hard earned cash!” I yell. Or what little I have remaining. I hate being angry but this morning is going terribly! “You don’t even like milk!”

“Yeah well this is my fucking apartment!” he yells back, gesturing with wide arms at the space. “And I can do whatever I want like turning off all of your alarms!”

I point an accusing finger at him, crumpling the paper towel into a ball in my fist. “I fucking knew it!” I growl at him. “You ruin everything Charles!” I throw the wadded ball at him aggressively.

Another reason why I need to get to this interview: to move out of this miserable apartment. I only moved here for the cheap rent but I knew what I was getting into when I signed the lease. The landlord sighed a breath of relief and placed a hand on their chest when I signed the leasing contract. I should have taken that as a red flag. I thought I could handle having a roommate such as Charles but I’m no saint. I think any sane person would go mad when living with a Shade like him.

The ball passes through him, Charles turns a shade pink at my comment. “Well fuck you too Clairisse! Living with you is the worst thing that ever happened in my life!”

“What life?! You’re fucking dead!”

“You take that back you witch!” He says it with such force his ectoplasm spittle is getting on the dining table. Another thing to clean up besides the dining room chair. "I hope to the gods you ace this interview so I will never have to see you again!” he barks out.

“So we are in agreement!” I scream back.

Why the hell am I fighting with Charles?!

My eyes zero in on the time again. Crap, now I’m twenty minutes late!

I race off to the front door, unlocking the multiple bolts. I check for my keys, my phone, and my wallet. I have everything. I quickly exit the apartment.

Oh wait, I forgot one thing.

Opening the door again I flip off Charles.

Something he also returns.

***

The apartment building is right on Lethe Lane, a few blocks away from The Messengers building on Acheron Avenue. I spy the company’s logo, an envelope with wings, glowing purely white against the sickly green hue of the morning. If I speed-walk over there maybe I can shave my time by like two minutes.

Curse me!

Why did I have to wear heels!

My pumps click rhythmically against the smooth concrete sidewalk. It’s the only thing I hear on this quiet morning.

Quiet?

I pause. Examining the surroundings I realize why it’s so quiet. Styx Street is a busy street, normally there would be people walking already or cars racing down for the morning commute but there is nothing.

Nothing.

...

Shit!

Today is-

I’m blasted away, a bright light emerging right in front of my eyes. My body is flung back. I land on my back, there is a ringing in my ears.

Ow...

My sight is slightly blurry as I lift myself off the ground, this subsides along with the ringing in my ears as well as I start to examine myself. My outfit is fortunately still in tack, no dirt or holes. One of my pumps fell off, a foot is bare. I wiggle my toes to make sure I’m not too injured.

I can still make it to this interview...

I think...

I scramble to get up, scraping my knee in the process. I groan at this. I spot my missing pump right in front of the feet of the dead dragging across nearby. One Shade nearly snatches it up with a four-fingered hand before I did. They snarl at me as they march away. I hiss back at them.

By the gods...

I place my missing pump back on my foot, tapping the tip on the concrete to ensure it’s on securely. I flatten my frizzled hair down as Shades pass by me at a sedated pace, their feet, hands, and neck cuffed and chained together. The scraping of metal against the asphalt and the moans of the soon-to-be-judged dead fill the once silent air. Up on the buildings there are heavily-armed soldiers dressed in white and black, aiming guns at the Shades, as they monitor the situation from above. The White and Black Guards.

Yes, today is the second Tuesday of the month. Every second Tuesday is the day where the dead that need to be judged march down on Styx Street to the Eighteenth Circuit. The whole area is closed down as the White and Black Guards oversee the Shades so they do not escape.

I should have seen the signs: the alarms turned off, the tangled hair, the milk curdling. Of course Charles is to blame for some but still, all signs to stay inside on an auspicious day. An auspicious day to have an interview. I check my phone. 

Great, now I’m half an hour late. 

The Fates could be saying: turn back now, forget about this job and go back to being a slob at home and cry about my lonely ass. Or this could be a test, a challenge for what is to come if I make it.

If it is, it is something I’ll gladly take upon.

Days like these everyone avoids the dead, changing their course to accommodate them. I can’t ask them to stop, the White and Black Guards hate those that disturb them and their work. Plus, the Shades might drag me with them if I try to go through, wasting more of my time.

I, for one, can't afford to shift routes.

I raise my hand in the sky. “Heed my call from the dark cocoon. Fall and shine your light, moon!”

There is rumbling from the ground and the sky. My outfit may be tight fitting, but they cannot resist the pull of gravity alongside my hair, both flying, wiggling up in the air. Pieces of trash, pebbles, and other small ungrounded bits and pieces start to float as I draw the moon down. The pressure in the air changes as I draw it down from its cycle, bringing an immeasurable force. Buildings shudder and crack at the weight of this. I, too, almost crumble from the shear force. The verdant sky shifts through a variety of azures before it settles into black. The moon’s luminescence bathes the entire area in pale blue light. Some Shades stop in their shuffle to look at the moon, their eyes wide and the moon encompassing their irises, causing some to stumble into each other and fall face first into the ground causing a domino effect. In my peripherals a White Guard is radioing on his walkie-talkie for the disturbance while a Black Guard nearby points at me.

“It’s her!” they shout.

Now’s my chance!

“Pave the way for me, it is what I decree!” I chant.

The moon fires a beam of light. It becomes quiet for that split second. It all goes to white.

KABOOM!

Moonlight implodes right in the middle of the Shade parade right where I need it to be. Everything feels like it’s in slow motion. Bodies of chained Shades fly through the air, many landing harshly onto the ground. Their bodies contort in impossible ways. Some lay motionless on the ground, waiting for Death to come to them in a second wave if it were possible. White and Black Guards fling themselves from the building rooftops, making craters as they impact the ground. Instantly, they start charging at the Shades that were smart enough to start running or at least the nearby unimpacted ones. There is fire in the streets but not strong enough to deter me.

I run.

My dark hair whips back and forth, sometimes hitting my eyes at the right angle prickling them. My breaths come out hard and heavy, so do my footsteps. I clear Styx Street in record time. Time itself resumes its normal course soon after. I rush past a White Guard.

“Hey!” they shout at me, but I don’t stop.

No time to talk!

My pumps click in quick succession as I head down to Acheron Avenue, my goal nearly achieved as The Messengers building becomes closer. Behind me there is the sound of pandemonium as White and Black Guards struggle to contain the escaped Shades from the situation that I just caused.

“You could have asked one of us to bring you across you damned witch!” they shout once more.

***

Once my pumps meet the checkered tile floor, I pause in my step. I let out a breath.

Okay, take control of the situation. You still got this!

I pat down my hair once more. I fixed my skirt and jacket that had been starting to ride up when I was running. I dust myself just in case the moon rustled such debris from the streets. I stroll down elegantly to the front reception. One foot right in front of each other. I can’t tell how my makeup is but I hope I don’t look like a clown!

At the front desk there is a shriveled up old woman with bouncy white curls, she reminds me of a raisin with the amount of wrinkles that she has. As I approach her she eyes me up and down from her computer screen, still typing away at a vicious speed. Her mouth seems to be in a perpetual state of a frown.

“May I help you?” she speaks, her voice sounds like two rocks rubbing against each other. There is a faint stank of tobacco on her breath.

I clear my throat, fabricating a warm smile. “My name is Clairisse Callisto. I’m here for my interview for the Curse Counselor I position.”

“Oh yes...” the receptionist drawls out. “The one at nine a.m. this morning?”

I swallow thickly, still smiling. “Yes that one...”

“You do realize you’re almost an hour late...”

I nod, still smiling but there is a small twitch in one of my facial muscles.

I hope she did not see that.

“Yes I do... but I was hoping I could still do it...” I gently ask.

“Hmm...” she hums, staring me down.

I return it back.

I’m not backing down now, not when I’m this close!

She stops her incessant typing on her keyboard, grabbing a nearby pen she uses to type a number into a corded phone before hitting the call button and placing it on speaker. The dial tone rings for a few seconds.

Please... please!

“Hello?” a smooth voice languidly answers.

“Hello Mr. Nemesis, the interviewee for Curse Counselor I has just arrived,” the receptionist informs him.

There is laughter over the line. “Oh really? The one that never showed up for her timeslot this morning?”

I cringe at that internally.

 “Now tell me, is this the one that drew down the moon?” he continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Causing the hubbub with the Shades and the White and Black Guards?” he mirthfully asks.

The receptionist cues me by giving me a look.

“Yes this is her,” I answer confidently.

There is more laughter on the line. “Alright missy, I like your stuff. Let’s give you another chance.”

The call is hung up on the other end.

There is a ding on the elevator on my left, the doors ceremoniously open up, waiting for me.

“You’re lucky,” the receptionist says. “Mr. Nemesis rarely gives a second chance.”

“I know,” I say.

I really am.

I stroll up to the elevator, entering its golden glow. I turn around, facing the doors as they close. I let out another breath.

I got this.