MYSTIC REALITY

Willy hated this class. Creative writing 101. He had already published three novels, and they were gaining traction with the science fiction community. That’s how he looks at the sale of five books. Gaining traction. He is, however, pulling in a royalty that will allow him to go to Taco Bell after the next royalty check arrives.

But he wants a degree, and this is a required course, so he sits, and the teacher teaches, the instructor instructs, and the professor professes.

He smiled at that thought.

The teacher is Miss Alicia Burnham, and she is stunning. Maybe late thirties or so, but although her looks were an eye catcher, once you spoke to her, her appearance vanished into her essence. She was smart, intelligent at a level most of the other professors think they are at, but she is there, and not arrogant about it. It simply is.

“Class,” She began, “We are a third way through the course and today is an exercise in redirecting your mind to believe in something that is not real, or not possible, like a person’s skin changing color like a chameleon, or maybe the ability for a person to float or fly in some form. This is your story. No length requirement. No topic requirement. Sit quietly and see where your thoughts take you. Let your mind wander and go on the trip together with your mind. Sometimes, it can be an interesting adventure.”

Willy sat for a moment and grinned. He typed, “It is a dark and stormy night!”

The beautiful blue sky visible out the large set of windows to his right showed that the clouds were moving in. Dark clouds, storm clouds. Lighting danced closer and closer to the school, the building. Rain pelted the area, and the windows were covered in a near-horizontal rain.

Willy wrote, “The creepy castle on the hill was lit with what appeared to be candles. Their flames casting movement, shadows on the sheer curtains covering the windows.”

He looked out the window again and saw a castle, a duplicate of the creepy castle he thought about as he typed the last sentence.

The others in the classroom seemed oblivious to the goings on out the window. He looked at Miss Burnham, and she was staring out the window as well. Willy looked out the window and tried something.

Typing, “The weather worsened and the tornado cut its path next to the castle, slipping down the hill and into the small village. Huts were destroyed, and personal possessions were literally thrown from the vortex in all directions. Hail began pelting the area, growing in size and intensity.”

The sound was getting deafening as the rain and the hail hit the classroom windows, but was he the only person who could see it?

It must have been the look on his face because the instructor walked over to his seat and squatted down next to him.

“Willy. You have the gift.”

He looked at her like he had no idea what she was talking about, then it hit him. What he writes happens. Or, at least, what he writes, he can see happening.

“What happens if I delete what I write?”

“You can never delete the words. Deleting them can tear the fabric of reality. But, in order to turn this into a beautiful story, write what the world needs to see.”

He started typing again, “The storm broke apart quickly, and the sky had the most beautiful blue tint imaginable. Sunshine covered the area and began drying up the rain-soaked earth. Villagers left their homes and met their neighbors in the street, talking, joking, and being neighborly to each other. The last remnants of the horrible weather were gone, and beauty covered the land.”

He was finished with the assignment, and he printed the page and handed it to her after he walked to the printer and removed it from the tray. She reread it, a paragraph or two, less than half a page. She picked up her red marker and scribbled 100/100 on the top and added a smiley face next to it.

She usually puts finished assignments in a folder on her desk, but this one, she opened a small box and slipped it in. Did he see a flash and a few sparks as she put the printout in that box?

Class ended, and he looked forward to the next class. He found he was drawn to this course, this teacher, this mentor. As everyone collected their belongings, she said, “See you on Thursday, where we will explore this thought process on a deeper level. Can Willy and Sarina please remain for a few moments?”

Sarina was still seated, so Willy walked over to where she sat and sat in the seat next to her. When the room emptied, Miss Burnham sat across from them.

“The two of you have demonstrated magical realism. What you write happens. You both can rewrite reality, creating a self-fulfilling prophecy in the form of your stories and manifesting in reality what is written in your story.”

“That’s not possible,” Sarina said.

Miss Burnham handed them both a sheet of paper and a pen.

“Sarina, take that wall and tell me what color you want it to be. Willy, you take that wall.”

A minute later, they both looked up, and the white wall that had once been there was gone. Willy’s wall was a kaleidoscope of blues. It was stunning. Sarina’s wall was colored, yes, but it reminded you of a sunrise over the ocean.

Sarina asked, “Does that mean if I write that I appeared on the Times Best Seller list, I would be?”

“Yes,” Their teacher said, “But there is a penance, or downside.” She paused to collect her thoughts, “If you write anything, that can never happen. Unlike when there are always storms, and walls can be painted any color.”

Willy added, “But the chance to be #1 on the best seller list is not likely.”

“Correct. The payment for that is that something else is diminished. For example, I wrote something similar after I wrote my first novel. I wanted it to be popular and make a name for myself, so I used my ability to do just that. That book was published and sold four copies. After using the ability, I sold more than a million copies in a month, and sales of that book are still increasing.”

Sarina asked somberly, “What was your penance?”

Miss Burnham stared at the table for a long moment. Raising her eyes, she looked at her students, “My penance. My payment. My pound of flesh is…..” She paused momentarily and raised her left hand, “…is that my left hand is unusable.”

Sarina and Willy were shocked. They both said, “I never noticed that before.”

“I spent a lot of time at doctors, hospitals, specialists, and all they could tell me was that they had no idea as to why my hand is like it is until I ran into Dr. Kate Takayama, who specializes in healing energies. The moment I entered her office, or more accurately her waiting room, she felt my presence.”

Willy asked, “Felt your presence?”

“I walked into the practice and stood in line to speak to the receptionist so I could check in. A moment later, a nurse ushered me to the back. The doctor walked in and told me that the gift I possess is also a curse. She is sensitive to certain energies. We talked for half an hour, and she told me all about my gift.”

She picked up a pen and wrote that the room she is in looks like a library in a castle. A moment later, reality bent, and the furniture and walls changed to reflect that of a castle. Books lined the walls, and small windows are now where the large windows once existed.

Willy said, “I will be back in a second.”

He walked out the door and around the side of the building. He looked at their room from the outside. Sure enough, the windows were smaller now. He looked into the only window he could peek inside. Making his way back into the classroom, he was amazed.

“I went outside and looked in. From outside, it appears as it does from the inside. Meaning what you wrote, what we all wrote, changed reality as we know it.”

“Correct. Now that you understand, there have been seven in the past 28 years teaching this course at this university who have the ability. We meet once a week, on Sunday, at my house. There will be 10 of us, including the two of you, this Sunday.”

Sarina asked, “What do you talk about?”

“How to use our ability and not pay the price. Personal gain has a price. Kindness to others does not.”

She narrowed her eyes, “There are ways. Magic, true magic, is a two-way street. Magic is not free, and every spell, and the ability to change reality, is a spell of sorts; it must have a price.”

Continuing, “Helping someone is noble and is fine. Sarina wrote that Willy’s book became popular and required no penance. But self-gain, well, that pays a toll.

Sarina scribbled on the paper as they talked.

“Miss Burnham….”

“Alicia, Please.”

“OK,” Willy said, “Alicia. I will be there on Sunday.”

Sarina added, “As will I.”

"I do have one question though..."

"I think I know what it is," Alicia said, "But go ahead."

"When reality shifted, why were we the only ones who noticed?"

"Well, from what we understand about magic, if you have the magic, it does not blind you to magical events. You saw the walls change, you noticed the clear, then the storms. The rest of the class only saw what the reality in their minds allowed them to see."

They all stood and left the room. Sarina dropped the scribbled paper into the trash, but it missed. After Willy and Sarina left, Alicia picked up the paper off the floor and put it into the trash, but noticed what Sarina had written: “Miss Burnham’s left hand will become useful again!”