The Magic Taxi - Part One

 A low guttural burp slips from my foreign lips as I feel my distended belly growl, the sight of a passing cheap and disgusting burger place leaving my body wracked with foul cravings as I cringe internally. I stare at the steering wheel ahead of me, my dark fingers tightening around the fake-leather as I grip the wheel as tightly as I can.

"Fuck... me..." I wheeze in a thick Indian accent, flinching at the sound of the unfamiliar voice escaping my lips.

It had been weeks now and yet I still hadn't gotten used to the sound of the gravelly and all too strange voice I had been stuck with. I had no clue just who had stuck me with this sweat soaked and grotesquely overweight form, the body I had been forced to collapse into the deep stained and indented mattress each night. They had merely picked me up and said the magic words...

'Have a nice day'

And suddenly I had found myself panting behind the wheel in the body of some middle-aged man from South-East Asia, my heart racing so fast that I had thought I was about to die. The image of my body darting out of the taxi played in my mind every single night, the lack of any last words from the thief sticking with me as I had read the notes left behind.

Whether it was from my personal body thief or someone before I couldn't say, all I knew was that the rules for leaving were simple. Earn a $50 fare and say the right words to escape the bloated and purely disgusting form you had been cursed with in exchange for whoever was in the back seat.

Ritual Reborn - Part One

The scratching of chalk and the sounds of strained wheezing breathes fill my apartment, hastily reorganized living room sitting bare but for my hunched and coughing figure looming over the intricate circles etched onto the dark creaking wooden floor.

The overturned coffee table and shifted sofa lay illuminated by a series of dwindling candles, the long red sticks having diminished in size quite substantially since the start of the evening.

"Come on..." I groan with a hoarse cough, sweat dripping from my brow as I pray that some errant droplet doesn't undo hours of work in an instant. Fever wracks my shivering frame, infection ravaging my body to the point it was almost a miracle that I managed to pull myself from bed let alone move the furniture.

It had been weeks since the illness had set in, a terrible infection that had left me largely bedridden. I had managed to get by with the help of my neighbors, their kindness taking the form of the occasional load of washing or tuperware container of food. However, try as I might the illness had continued to burn though me as my fever refused to break. Delirious, having been forced awake for days at a time, I was at my breaking point.

In that moment my panicked and slipping mind had turned to some other means to make myself well once again, my deranged thoughts turning to the small box I had once collected within my old desk.

Candles, chalk, and strips of papyrus sat within the small shoebox, a series of scanned pages sitting atop it all with a series of poorly written notes and attempted translations from the books the ancient words had been ripped from. It had spoken of 'Becoming Better' from what my mind could vaguely remember, though it was at a great cost. Be it something metaphysical or placebo, I simply had lost all care by this point.

Using a piece of chalk I try to nudge tone of the rivulets of wax towards the chalk line surrounding it, the blood red substance hardening almost as fast as I can manipulate it.

"Come the fuck..." I hack, coughing into the crook of my arm as to try to shield the flicking wicks from going out. "I need to get... get better... or..." I wheeze, trying once again to blend the wax and the chalk. "Get Reborn or.. or..."