The Price of a Mystic

***He looked in her eyes. He knew that doing so would cause her temperament to flair. Nonetheless, there was no other choice. It wouldn't be the first time that he did, but it felt like it could be the last. He noticed that her visits were much shorter than when they were younger. She rarely ever sat down to reminisce or make a new impression. These days, she seemed more annoyed to be in his presence. He yearned to turn it around, but life had him going in a different direction. He shook the thought of losing her, as he had her right at this moment. He could taste her on his tongue. He had to savor every second of it, as she would be gone soon. The sour taste of metal, slowly causing adrenalin to move. How could he hold her? Convince her to stay? He couldn't. She wouldn't listen. The mere contemplation of how, made her dissolve. He was adapting.***


The beast burps and spits. It screams when I push on it from inside. People fear its call, as it can split an eardrum. It fights with me. I urge it to continue, even in its pain. It limps along, begging for mercy. Finally, even i can no longer take the shrill. I take it to a shaman who knows this beast. He exercises its demons, and the diagnosis is not good. The shaman tells me that the best needs $2500 in magic. I tell him the beast isn't worth it. I agree to $1092.58 in magic. The beast lives another day to soar among the other beasts. The shaman urges me that all future magic will be free, should the beasts new parts fail. I walk away skeptical and call to my beast. We RIDE.