Majik is a free to view, donation supported fantasy universe created by
Horror-Fantasy writer (Among other things) LIL 6 but is intended to be shared by
the fandom. Rather than try to own it, LIL feels that the best way to create something
amazing is to allow it to be created by its culture. Fan fiction is invited and some
of what is submitted will become canon and some writers will be invited
to write canon about stories that have been planned.
“This is my creation but I want to give it to its fans; this is yours.”
Eventually a group will form to decide what will or will not be canon and
LIL will relinquish control to them and move on to create other shared
universes already in the works.
Worlds a Far
Infinite Definitions of Sanity
“Seen enough?” Said a little round man at the end of the hall standing in front of a door hanging in the nothingness a hundred yards or so down the corridor of mirrors. Martin had not seen this far before.
“Yes... Yes, please.” By this time Martin was near the point of begging.
“I suppose we will see won't we? Come along.” The man said quickly just as he reentered the room and shut the door behind him. Confused already, Martin tried the door but found that nothing budged, not door nor knob would shift.
“The door wont work.” Martin said, dumbfounded.
“Well you need to knock, it's only polite” Chirped the man gleefully.
“But you invited me.”
“Still, manors are important!” Martin paused. It was true, some of the counselors were nuts, he mused, knowing however this was something else entirely. Martin knocked.
“Who is it?” the 'Counselor' sang. Martin again paused, even more aggravated.
“Do you have an appointment”
“You just invited me”
“let me check my book... Yes it seems I did, come in.” The door swung open.
Entering the room Martin went from highly annoyed to perfectly content in seconds. The little old man wore a horrid purple and blue sweater with strings sticking out everywhere. The strings fit as the man, who was almost perfectly round, had hair coming out of just about everywhere visible apart the top of his head. It struck Martin that this had to be the cutest old person he'd ever seen.
Sitting down Martin was so distracted by the room itself that even if he'd still been upset, he would not have given any mind to the fact that the little man now seemed to be ignoring him entirely. The room was a circle with Roman style pillars lining the outside, in front of bookshelves, the tops of which could not be seen, stacked one next another, fitting the room as if they were made for it. A ladder, the top of which was also out of sight, leaned against the shelves. The man moved the ladder from place to place and went up and down at remarkable speed, in and out of sight.
Martin repeatedly tried to count the pillars but kept getting distracted by the tiny translucent powder blue butterflies that were flying around the room. In fact; the butterflies' interruptions were so well timed, Martin was convinced by the regular moment that there had to be intent involved.
Soon, martin gave up counting the pillars, shifting his busy mind upon the countless books lining the the shelves which the little round man was perusing at a furious pace. Even more fascinating were the shelves' only other tenant: every type of magnifying glass imaginable. Some were single lenses anywhere from just big enough to see a little light through, to so big that they fit several shelves at once. Where those sat, the shelves were bridged together to form a large enough space. Others had multiple lenses - two, three; one of them had so many Martin didn't bother to count them, convinced he would have another encounter with some butterflies. This set sat on a shelf supported by massive crossbeams.
“Ah, here we are... Yes, let us just confirm: you are male?” asked the little man, leaning down from the ladder.
“Um, yeah,” Answered Martin
“Ok... I was wrong about that one.” the little man muttered.
“17 Earth years old?”
“Earth years?... are you an alien.”
“Alien? You aren't stupid are you? It doesn't say anything here about stupid.”
“Um...” Martin really wanted to get angry but he still lacked that ability. “Why can't I get angry”
“Oh, that's my mood!” The little man seemed to believe this explained something.
“Oh, I forgot, you don't have those . . .” The little man now made no sense at all, but Martin was so confused he could not find words. “Oh, I'm sorry... I'm not used to the gravity in your dimension...” Martin wondered if he'd understand anything the man would say, “oh... no... not gravity... CAKE... no, not cake... technology.”
“Do you have a name.” Martin needed to get a grip on some part of what was going on before he lost his mind.
“Yes... yes I do.” The little man seemed very proud that he'd found an easy question to answer, but still had missed the mark.
“Can you tell me?”
“Oh, yes, of course I can...” Martin waited but the little man just went about his work oblivious.
“Well, what is your name?”
“I am Counselor Tamik.” the little man gave a cute little head bow and hat tip.
“And you're a Counselor?”
“Of course not - That's just my cover!” the little man whispered. Martin looked around while he set up a series of lenses pointing at a spot in the middle of Martin's forehead, just above the eyebrow. Apart from the pair of them, the only other living things present were the butterflies. While this man was odd, Martin hoped first that the man didn't believe that the butterflies were listening, and congruently, that the butterflies weren't listening.
The particular set of lenses, when Martin got a better look, consisted of three progressively smaller lenses starting with 9 inches and progressing down to 3 followed by three increasing to 7 and 3 decreasing to 1.
“So, I'm crazy right?” Martin almost expected a yes.
“Well, considering the infinite definitions of sanity, yes... and no... well, both. I wonder what the mathematical proof of that might be . . . I'm pretty sure it would be made mostly of infinity symbols . . . but where do you put the third dividification symbol?”
Finishing his strange rant, the little man shoved Martin back out the door.
“Oh poop...” the little man shuttered, “wrong door.”
One Last Tear for Denial
Parents having been called and now on the way, counseling session done, contracting confirmed, it was time for Jamie, Sam and Jose to return to their respective homes. Sitting in the lobby of their high school, the three friends sat silently for a time, no one really knowing what to say.
“So, basically this only gets worse from here, right?” Jose broke the silence having been given his first chance to think since losing his closest friend. He had reasoned his way far beyond blind optimism and straight into Nihilism.
“He's coming back.” Jamie was determined to stick with her theory in words, though doubts were growing internally.
“That's not even what I mean. I'm not going to process anything in that area until I'm 35, dead, or far more likely vanished without a trace . . . Oh gods, I hope I'm the next one to go . . . Shit, if one of you goes next the other has to kill me; I don't care what you do after that. I can't be the last one left cause I can't kill myself. I'm just too wonderful” With those words, Jose's mind switched from worrying about himself to the terror of what it would really mean for his friends if he were to vanish,
“I'll do it now” with these words Jamie punched Sam. “What?”
“Seriously, have some tact!” Jamie motioned to Jose, who had gone into full cry mode for the first time in all of seven minutes - a new record for the now Martin-less Jose.
“Nope, no, yeah, no...”
“What?” Sam and Jamie said in a round.
“I'm not waiting. I'm am not facing our mother and father right now! I . . .” Jose took a deep breath, as for him, a true lawful-good, breaking rules was highly stressful, “. . . am walking home”
“You're not lyin', I'm going with you!” Sam responded like a cat jumping on a mouse.
“Yeah, I'm in!” Jamie had only passed at seconding Jose because she knew Sam was desperate enough to go anywhere but school or home and would be unable to halt the interruption if she had tried to speak sooner.
“Counselor Erik...” Jose stood, subconsciously straightened his shirt, and continued, “We are going home, please inform our parents.”
“Oh, um... Okay, sure...” Counselor Erik was far from worthy of the title, which to be fair was not much to live up to. Erik left his good job at a local tech firm to counsel his son's peers, then his son vanished. Taking a quick careful look over their faces Erik realized first how badly they needed to get away - second, no, wasn't an acceptable response. Regardless, for Erik, middle aged, out of shape and in his own deep depression, lodging a protest would have been a tall order; any attempt at stopping any one of the three fit, determined teenagers, would have been comedic at best and suicidal at worst.
“So where first?” Sam asked as they walked out the school doors.
“Anywhere but home” Jamie stated with a tone expressing the obvious nature of the statement.
“Hey, let's go to the arcade and see if they've gotten any games working” of the few social options for teenagers outside school was the arcade at the nearly abandoned mall. Most of the mall had been converted into lodging for orphaned children and indigent families. The arcade was always packed, even more so after the movie theater closed. It was hit or miss however, as bands of anarchists liked to break shit and while they would leave the patrons be, they were not so kind to the games.
If they'd gotten three or four games working at a time, kids packed the place. Mainly people watched the best gamers as they took way longer than anyone else. It hadn't been long before most everyone had resigned themselves to observing the best; side betting was even available on the down low.
Recently a top gamer had vanished. The following day his friends and some anarchists they knew 'broke' (you could hardly call walking through a half boarded broken storefront breaking) in, made a hole in the side of his favorite game and put in a daisy chain of 7 m80s inside (7 was the kids lucky number.) The group painted the words “We sent this shit wherever they took Mikey. Enjoy it dude!” on the floor sat down right there and got high. Some time later someone lit the m80s.
Miraculously the group escaped with only a few nicks and bruises as result of the buffoonery. When the cops got their they looked them over to make sure no one was hurt bad and gave them community service. The local cops had even given up worrying over such trivialities and had instituted a community service program for troublemakers which was basically voluntary. Enforcing such things was impossibly dangerous in an environment as chaotic as the one at hand.
“The hell! I get bored so fast in that hole!” Jose argued.
“Where else we gonna go - home?” While Sam was blunt, Jose had no good answers.
“How about we head that way and see what happens?” Jamie was often the source of reason between the brothers.
The trio, trapped by logic into choosing the best among questionable options, began to weave their way through town towards their destination. The walk to the arcade was short when times were good, but circumstance had changed everything. What had been a half hour walk now took two or three. There were areas that were safe areas that were not and areas to cut through fast while hoping with equal vigor. Walking forward as slowly as situations would allow the three each began to process the day.
“This is so unfair” Sam had entered.
“I don't want to go home, I don't want to go to the arcade, I don't want to go anywhere - let's just walk forever.” Jose said, forlorn.
“I really don't care. Let's just throw caution to the wind and go to the park.” Jamie tried to say casually.
“The park!?” Sam and Jose exclaimed together. The park had become a haven for the desperate and the disturbed. Countless prisons and psychiatric facilities had been forced to close, leaving a large part of the free population unable to tolerate former social norms. This group had formed a subculture that rarely intersected with those clinging to traditional life. The park was filled with such.
“You realize we'll get murdered if we go to the park, probably more than once.” Jose pleaded.
“Not if we . . .” Jamie couldn't say it, but she didn't need to.
A tradition that had taken root as the picture grew bleaker was the wearing of a black cloth when in mourning for a loved one lost to the vanishing. Everyone in your group wore one and, while it started out as just a way to grieve together, it had become much more.
When areas where people had marked occasions to remember the lost became too dangerous for most people the black cloth became a mark of protection; those who were otherwise dangers became protectors if any wearing the cloth came under threat. Alternatively, any who were caught donning the symbol falsely rued their mistake; when word got around, they were basically outcast. In a nearby town, a couple was stripped of clothing and driven out. Local markets had posted images of the two, so no one would mistakenly serve them should they manage clothing and wander in.
“No...” Jose might have given up hope, but he wasn't ready for Jamie to join him.
“Wait, what's going on?” Sam on the other hand could not allow the plan any room at all.
“She's going to put it on.”
“She can't though, she still thinks . . .” Sam stopped mid-sentence. Looking at his friend as if he were seeing someone totally new, Sam stood in a daze and silently wept.
As Jamie sat on a bus bench, staring at the cloth, Sam and Jose realized that in that moment, nothing they could say meant a damn. Jamie tied the cloth. As her world ended, she shed one last tear for denial.