Double Dead Magic

9

It was past noon when Priya woke, slumped over the drawing board. Her head ached where it rested on sweat-damp glass, and it swam with last night's dreams. Behind closed eyelids, thunder crashed, and lightning illuminated a beast. Its enormous heart thundered as it swayed to its feet, extinct no more.

This was a job for coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Priya hoped a hot shower would slough off the weird visions, but when she closed her eyes under the showerhead, the scaley monster wouldn't fade from her mind.

Her eyes popped open, and she shivered under the spray like a wet cat. Mere stupidity. No reason to worry. It was just her imagination, no matter how real the dream felt. Sometimes being an artist wasn't as fun as it seemed.

Two rounds of shampoo and a rinse with conditioner put the nightmares out of mind. Toweling off, she stood in front of her tiny dormitory closet. Black gothy goodness hung to the left. Jeans, paint-spattered smocks, and workout clothes hung to the right. Back home, a third section held traditional wear, but here the fanciest thing she owned was a pencil skirt and blouse for job interviews.

The forecast was hot for June. She chose a short, black lace skirt and a flattering bias-cut top. You never knew who you might bump into on campus. After class, she'd continue her summer job hunt. She had been searching since April and had dropped off a dozen resumes without a call back. It was a matter of pride. Her family was paying her tuition, but she had to buy extra materials for her creations. How could she show Papa receipts for her masterpiece when she was still figuring out what it was?

Her dreams whispered that she'd created a monster, but what made her shiver with delight was the sensation of commanding life and death. Amid thunder and lightning, she had risen akin to Victor Frankenstein, looming over the slab, animating her creature—like a god.

That must be her dream's inspiration. She had studied Mary Shelley's Frankenstein for Women's Studies. And there were many parallels between herself and Victor. Her sculpting was a secret kept from her family. She toiled at night, bringing art to life that would shock and inspire. Parents and siblings scoffed at her aspirations, but she would show them. This was the sign that proved her vocation. It had to be.

All this time, she thought she was toiling over a T. Rex, but dinosaurs belonged in little kid dreams. Her vision beast meant so much more. She would give it wings.

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Maaja