A Queen Among Tides

Hello!

You know how they say ‘stop to smell the roses’? Well, I’ve been smelling the roses for centuries and I’m here to tell you they smell like shit.

I have no idea how humans tolerate the utter mundaneness of their lives. Oh, they don’t think their lives are mundane, but trust me, they are. Only they don’t realise it because they’re living on limited time but imagine if that time was endless. Imagine facing an eternity on earth. You could accomplish everything you wanted in life in the first or second century, and then what are you left with? Endless tedium.

Endless tedium is the bane of my endless existence, even as I watch people walking past the café window. They walk by with smiles on their faces, a pep in their step and a laugh on their lips and I hate them for it. Occasionally someone walks past the window with a deep-set scowl imprinted on their face and for a brief second I let a smile touch my lips. These are the people I relate to most.

I rub my eyes trying to ease the irritation of my contacts as I take another sip of my ristretto, feeling the intense flavour perk up my senses. I notice the waitress’s somewhat blurry figure walking over and I observe her carefully from the corner of my eye, hoping she doesn’t get too close.

“Is everything to your liking?” she asks in Italian with a broad smile on her face.

“Sì, grazie,” I say brusquely, my Italian sounding amateurish even to my own ears.

The waitress’s smile doesn’t falter at my tone. Instead, she reaches past me to collect my empty plate. I instinctively flinch away the moment her arm gets too close, doing my best to ensure no part of her touches any part of me.

The waitress’s eyes widen and then soften, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” she says gently, “You’re safe with me, I’m an ally,” she says proudly.

Oh for the love of all that is holy. Yes, because I’m black I automatically assume every white person is out to get me and I need saving from the five-foot barista. I can’t stop my eye roll at her stupid assumption. Could I maybe just not like to be touched?

“I’m not looking for an ally,” I say boorishly, getting up and withdrawing my wallet from my back pocket and placing a few euro’s down on the table.

“You don’t have to leave,” she says in a panic, “I promise this establishment has nothing against people of colour.”

For fuck sake, someone make this woman stop talking. She looks sweet, and perhaps she means well, but she seems like one of those people who are so woke they’ve circled right back around to ignorant. I was just trying to enjoy a caffeinated beverage and a snack and not be touched, how this turned into someone boasting about racial safe spaces is fucking beyond me.

I ignore the barista and make my way out of the café, my mood soured even more than usual. I’m so distracted by the interaction I’m not as vigilant as I usually am and don’t notice the man walking in my direction until I feel him bump into me. The sensation of razors lacerating my body consumes my senses and if this were three centuries ago, I would be on the ground screaming, but instead, I simply close my eyes and take slow breaths through my nose. I look down as I pull my sleeve up and watch as that dreaded chain made of pure darkness like a thick black fog, forms around my wrist, burning into my flesh.

I take a breath and wait for the pain to subside, then look through the crowd of pedestrians to find the one who just ruined my day. I can see the chain of shadowy darkness weaving through the throngs of people and wrapping around the wrist of a man in a tan suit. I scrub my hands down my face, dreading what I must do, but know I have no fucking choice. I look up to the sky and send out a silent curse to the Goddess who did this to me.

I quickly make my way through the crowd until I find the man I have been latched to and I tap him on the shoulder. He turns to face me with a curious expression.

“Scusi, you bumped into me back there,” I say.

The man quirks his eyebrow, “So? You followed me just to get an apology?” he snorts mockingly.

I fucking hate my life.

“No, I didn’t, but it wouldn’t have killed you,” I say dryly. The man’s face turns displeased, and he begins to walk away from me. I let out a deep sigh and race in front of him, stopping him.

“What the fuck do you want?” he groans in annoyance.

“This may be hard to believe, but because you bumped into me I now must grant you a wish. I can’t leave your side until I have,” I say with disgruntled irritation.

The man’s face turns blank before he doubles over laughing. It’s not the first time I’ve had this reaction and probably won’t be the last. This was much easier a couple centuries ago, although it came with a high chance of execution, at least back then people believed in the supernatural. Now everyone’s a sceptic, so trying to prove I’m not some random guy on the street who’s off his head, is just a new aspect of the curse that keeps on giving.

“You’re going to grant me a wish? What, like some kind of genie?” he laughs.

“Actually, we’re called visums,” I deadpan.

He stops laughing, catching the lack of humour in my tone and voice. “Look, I don’t know what you’re on, but maybe it’s time to get off it.”

He attempts to walk past me, but I block him and proceed to take out my contacts. I open my eyes and am finally able to see clearly for the first time since I woke up this morning. I look at the man in front of me and watch as confusion and annoyance turns to shock as he takes a step back. I’ve been using contacts almost since they were invented. Nothing wrong with my eyesight, I was just sick of people crossing the street when they saw me, or getting scared at the sight of me, and it has nothing to do with the colour of my skin. Well, sometimes that was the reason, but mostly it was because of my eyes.

When I was human I remember having eyes the colour of molasses, but ever since I was cursed, they were replaced with electric blue irises that blend into an electric purple closer to the pupil. I hate them. It’s not exactly an eye colour you see in everyday life, and they tend to give people cause for concern. I suppose in the era of customised contacts where you could make your eyes look like you have planet Earth for irises, I shouldn’t have to worry, but I prefer not to draw unwanted attention to myself.

“Look I don’t know what kind of street prank this is, but I’m not interested,” the man says in agitation, pushing past me and walking off.

I sigh and decide I have no choice but to wait. I move off the street and lean against the wall in a nearby ally. I close my eyes and wait, bracing myself for the inevitable pain that’s soon to come, and like clockwork, I watch as the dark chain around my wrist glows darker as every nerve in my body wakes up to the sensation of razors being dragged across my flesh. I grit my teeth and am immediately yanked from the spot only to suddenly appear in the backseat of a car that could use an air freshener or two with the man who had bumped into me sitting in the driver’s seat. He jumps and throws himself against the driver’s side door the moment he sees me sitting in his backseat.

“How the fuck did you get in here?! What are you?! What the fuck do you want?!” he shouts, reaching for the door handle.

“As I said, I’m a visum, and because you bumped into me I cannot leave your side until I grant you a wish.” I repeat the boring sales pitch, “I’m literally chained to you. Where you go, I go. So if you want to get rid of me make your wish,” I urge him.

“I thought genies give three wishes,” he says flippantly.

“Did I say I was a fucking genie? It’s one wish, and one wish only,” I snap.

“So you’re telling me I can ask for anything I want, and you have to grant it? No questions asked?” he asks for confirmation.

“Exactly,” I sigh. I hate that I don’t get a say in what wishes I grant. I have granted some fucked up wishes that I try my best to forget.

A malicious smile creeps up the man’s face and I instantly don’t like where this is going.