E’s Perspective


“I can’t go in there,” I say, staring down a large ‘Employees Only’ sign spread across stainless steel double doors. Rather than taking me to an actual bar, with actual alcohol that could have actually made today better, I get brought to the mall. Nathan, the delivery guy with a seemingly endless supply of annoying fortune cookies, leads me all the way beyond the food court bathrooms to a pair of doors that I recognize immediately. Not because I’ve ever held a job here, mind you. These doors are something any acolyte of the modern age would know about. Something I was always taught to avoid.

“Why the hell not?” The long-haired man snorts as he stares me down.

Above the doors, carved to look like meaningless graffiti left by rebellious youth is the seal of Milas, goddess of mercy… Or as the sacred texts of Eleonora’s followers always referred to her as, ‘The Self-Righteous Gnat.’ Who said gods couldn’t be petty?

“Every follower of Eleanora is banned from Milas’ domain. I’m not allowed in there.”

Nathan rolls his eyes. “You actually believe that shit? The hatred between Eleanora and Milas was purely one sided. Besides… you’re no follower of Eleanora anymore. Congrats on that, by the way. Big personal victory, not letting yourself be controlled by a sadistic psychopath anymore.”

The lump in my throat doesn’t subside with his words. Being told your whole life something is wrong, it rewires the way you think. From where I’m standing to just beyond the door might as well be from here to the moon. It just doesn’t strike me as a distance I can ever physically cro–

“Times up, motherfucker,” I hear as two shockingly powerful hands shove my back, sending me falling through the doors. I expect to collapse onto cold linoleum tiles that match the walkway outside. Instead, my fall is broken by a plush patterned forest green carpet.

“What in the Narnia bullshit is this?” I ask, earning a chuckle from the guy who follows me into this bizzaro world. While the mall outside is generic as they come, with cream-colored walls, unremarkable tiles, and the same twenty stores you expect to see in every mall that has ever existed since malls first sprouted up in ancient Mesopotamia or whenever… this is way different.

Gentle music wafts through the air as a soft instrumental of my favorite song plays with crisp quality over seemingly invisible speakers. Soft warm lighting complimenting the earthy tones and organic architecture of the building gracefully radiates from cream-colored crystals all around us, while the subtle smell of lavender wafts by on a cool breeze. “Is… Is this heaven?” I ask, only half joking.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing first time I came to K-Mart,” Nathan says while looking around with approval. “The mall of the gods, perfectly tailored to every individual’s taste. Gods, I love the smell of frying bacon in the morning.”

My brain screams with the shrill sound of a fax being sent over dial up as I look at Nathan, more confused than ever.

“I’m sorry. What the fuck did you call this paradise, this Shangri-La?” I ask, honestly offended that he would compare this otherworldly magnificence to a D-tier big box store.

A cheerful woman skips out from around the corner with an expression of pure energy and excitement. Her ear length chestnut hair sways along with her as she skids to a halt, looking down at us while bouncing on her heels and squealing. “Yes! This is K-Mart, short for Karma Mart! Welcome you two!” The incredibly tall woman wearing a tan knitted sweater with cats all over it and loose sweat pants, like a grandmother who suddenly woke up twenty again, throws her arms around us. Hooray… hug from a stranger… yeah, I guess no place is perfect. When we’re finally released from her remarkably cozy clutches, the woman beams another wide smile before joyously announcing, “I’m Milas, welcome to my home!”

“Hey there again, Milas. It’s always a pleasure to pay you a visit,” Nathan says while waving. Guess the goddess of mercy’s energy is infectious, even to a self-proclaimed abrasive soul like him.

“Natey Potatey! I thought I knew that smile. Boy, I hardly recognized you with those lovely locks. Bring it in again!” Milas leans in for another hug and I casually step to the side so as not to get swept up in the tide. Once the goddess lets go of Nathan again, she turns her attention to me. “And who might you be? I don’t remember seeing you around these parts before.”

“Well, Milas, this here is a former follower of Eleanora come to visit you for the first time. His–”

Milas places a hand on Nathan’s head while shaking her own. “Tsk tsk, Natey, why don’t you let the lady introduce herself?” I’m not sure whose face is more confused here, mine or Nathan’s… probably mine, going by the fact that Milas looks at me and chuckles. “I’m a goddess, dear, remember? Now, what shall I call you, beautiful?”

After a split second existential crisis, I shrug. “Umm… Estella?” I answer her with the intonation of a question, as if trying to win a game of Jeopardy.

“Gorgeous name, gorgeous girl!” Milas says before patting my head. I’m not even sure how to respond at this point. This is Milas’ world and I’m just living in it, apparently. My mind is pulled in two directions at once. I’m both giddy that someone other than Eleanora has acknowledged who I am and even complimented me… but it’s so jarring to know that nothing about me has changed and yet I’m exposed without the option of wearing my comfort mask. “Now, let me just show you to—”

Nathan steps between the goddess and me, reaching up to touch her shoulder reassuringly. “Milas, I know you must be busy with this whole place to run. Why don’t you let me give Estella here the grand tour and the two of us will swing by your office to say hello in a bit?”

The goddess grins and glances over at me. “This Nathan, always such a sweetheart. Alright, you kids have fun, and don’t forget to come see me if you need anything, anything at all!” With that, Milas power walks off to do whatever it is gods do when they’re not humoring us mortals.

Once Milas is out of sight, Nathan breathes a sigh of relief. “She always means well, but sometimes she can be a bit…much. She doesn’t get the concept of being overly kind, or overly supportive.” Nathan shrugs. “Hope you don’t mind me taking the reins. It looked like you could use a lifeline.”

“Not at all,” I respond, floored by the fact that this guy could understand my discomfort. “Thank you.”

As if sickened by the warm atmosphere he has helped develop, Nathan grunts and walks past me, shoulder-checking me as he goes. “Yeah, don’t get used to it. The boss said to take you to the bar, and that’s where we’re headed. No unnecessary stops or tours. You want to look around? Do it on your own time.”

His veneer of indifference is so transparent it’s comical. “Whatever you say… Natey Potatey.”

This particular combination of words causes him to freeze and turn on me with a sharp glare. “Don’t you dare start with that shit.”

Must… resist… self control… failing… “Na-tey! Natey Potatey Bonana Fana Fo Fatey, Fee Fi Mo Matey, Natey!” Damn, that feels better than it should.

I expect rage, I expect foul language, hell, I expect a well-deserved slug to the arm… what I don’t expect is a sly smile and a warped and twisted laugh. “Oh, I hope it was worth it.” It was. “My vengeance will be swift, and it will be brutal.” Noted and appropriately feared.

Without even making sure I’m following, Nathan starts walking down the row of shops to the left of the entrance. I trail behind a bit, anticipating the inevitable pain train I’ve bought a ticket for, while idly looking into whatever stores we happen to pass. There’s a music shop with instruments that supposedly grant you masterful skill in playing them or empty sheet music pages that can transpose your thoughts into a beautifully written score.

Another shop we pass by is simply called ‘The Best Meal You’ve Ever Eaten’ and the single item present on the menu board is ‘Undercooked Eggs, Chewy Bacon, and your parent’s smiles.’ Just reading that, I’m brought back to a summer, when I was just eight or nine. Dad and I had been begging mom to come camping with us for weeks and finally wore her down. She agreed on the condition that she got to plan the entire event. She forgot to check the weather report and the three of us ended up huddled together in a flooded tent, soaked to the bone and eating the half cooked food our waterlogged camp stove hadn’t quite finished preparing when the downpour started. It was the only time I remember mom and dad smiling and laughing together like they didn’t have a care in the world.

When I snap out of it, I realize just how far ahead Nathan has ended up while I was daydreaming. I start rushing down the walkway, but see something that absorbs my attention completely. “Callista’s Boutique,” I whisper with reverence. The goddess of beauty has a store here. Forgetting my original objective at the bar, I walk in and gawk at the spectacle before me.

As I cross the threshold into the storefront, the world melts away and I find myself in what looks like a wide open and infinitely expansive warehouse. I’m beset on all sides by beautiful outfits and perfectly dressed mannequins. Dresses, gowns, workout attire, suits, casual ensembles, club wear, the endless sea of lifeless models donning flawless fits stretches as far as the eye can see in every direction. As I slowly weave through the forest of displays, I notice that the outfits here are all incredibly familiar. I’ve seen each of these outfits, either in person, in a movie, or while traipsing around the internet in my free time. Every outfit, every single article of clothing present, inspired awe, wonder, and envy in me… wishing I could have worn something similar. Each outfit is represented exactly one time in one color combination and available in one size…

“Pretty great, no?” A woman walks out from behind me. To call her beautiful would be an insult to the world itself, that obviously bent the rules to allow such a perfect being to exist. She’d drive poets and artists mad by possessing a flawless, gorgeous presence that simply cannot be captured adequately by any other means other than experiencing her in person. Wearing a pitch-black suit jacket over a red linen shirt and pants cuffed right above high heels that only serve to supplement her already otherworldly height. Her olive skin glows with a warmth she must have absorbed from the sun itself as her short silver hair twinkles like starlight viewed from a mountaintop.

“Callista?” I ask, as if this could be anybody else.

The woman smiles at me, nearly giving me a heart attack as she leans forward to get a better look at me. “Ναί! That’s right!” I make the mistake of looking into her eyes only to find an aurora of swirling colors that should only exist in a perfect sky. “You have fantastic taste! All of these outfits, they sing to me!”

“Yeah, uh, s–same here…” Look, I’m not proud about being reduced to a twelve-year-old stuttering in front of their first crush, but here we are.

“Mhmm… but I have a feeling you didn’t stop by today for clothes. Come.” Callista takes my hand and starts leading me confidently in a single direction while I try to keep from melting with her touch. After walking for a while, the goddess stops in front of a simple glass counter housing a single glass bottle of what looks like perfume. “Can you guess what this is?”

Trying and failing to not sound like an idiot, I shrug. “That Dior thing from those Charlize Theron commercials?”

The goddess laughs and shakes her head. “Funny, but no… I call it ‘Truest Self.’” Callista unlocks the glass case and places the bottle on the counter. “In the past, I used to carry a plethora of unique features and changes to one's appearance that people could pick and choose. However, everyone is different and the sheer volume of options I needed to carry was staggering… so now, one product. One size fits you. The moment you hold the bottle, it will know you, as wholly and completely as the store itself does. It will know what you desire, it will know what you need, and when used, it will make your ideal self-image a reality.”

My hand has never reached out for something so fast, yet Callista still catches it. She smiles with warmth and sighs. “So eager. It makes me happy to see someone desire my services so fervently. There’s just the matter of payment. As the name suggests, here in Karma Mart, you purchase items with your own accumulated karma. This particular item costs thirty thousand credits. Shall we measure your karma?”