Magglio Cervantes, an excerpt

Please humor me here. Imagine that you are immortal and have lived for hundreds of years, yet you are physically as healthy as you were at 25 years old. You have reaped immense amounts of learning and experiences in your time. You’ve spent centuries amassing wealth and it’s been generations since you’ve had to consider living expenditures and the inconvenience of gainful employment.

Through folly or crime your wealth has been lost. You now must seek work amongst the mortals with whom you will now be forced to mingle daily. No more quietly living in sheltered and luxuriously equipped anonymity.

The following excerpt is a piece of fiction I have in progress based on that scenario.


Magglio Cervantes, an excerpt


After so many years of luxurious living where anything and everything could be had or accumulated at the merest fancy, he was now feeling restricted as though by a claustrophobic episode. His finances reduced to a few simple thousands after so long basking in the deepest realms of riches, though by appearance this was not visibly noticeable, had him mentally reeling. ‘How can one survive on such a meager sum,’ thought Magglio knowing full well that it could be done and, in fact, is done by all but 3% of the world’s richest people. To be cast into these circumstances by the doings of a crook, even if it was his own error that practically invited the infiltration, burdened him greatly.

Having gone yet a third night without sleep, encumbered was he by his plight, he clumsily allowed his legs to carry him downstairs where he seated himself upon a tall stool at his kitchen counter. Elbows on the countertop of the finest black granite with his chin resting uncomfortably in his hands.

“What am I, to get a job,” he questioned through pursed lips with motion restricted by his chin in his hands. Surprised and somewhat alarmed was he for even speaking such nonsense aloud. Leaning forward over the counter and reaching into the impeccably undermounted kitchen sink, he acquired a slightly used glass, and filled it halfway with tap water. So distraught with his circumstances, as he’s finally come to accept the depth from which he is now to operate, he thought not to even allow the faucet to run in an effort to get a cool flow of water. Sipped the room temperature liquid and put the glass down on the counter with no thought of a coaster. Early afternoon and noticing just now his three days of beard growth. Thick and as dark as the day he turned 25 was his beard. His finances, too, were now no different than those meager days, he pondered.

Unable to shake these feelings of defeat, he stepped over to the refrigerator where he retrieved a box of frozen chocolate chip Eggo waffles from the freezer, tossed a pair into the toaster, returned the resealed box to the freezer and stared blankly at the toaster watching it do its job. One minute it took to toast and pop. Coincidentally, some semblance of clarity came to Magglio as the waffles burgeoned from their cocoon of heating coils.

A job he will get. Not only that, given his current state of finances, he must rent out his finely equipped abode and lease a cheaper domicile for his own domesticated occupancy. This was sadly necessitated not so much by a concern over expenses but as a means of gaining another income. He could rent something for himself for much less than his current home could fetch on the rental market. In these desperate times the income he could gain would be of much importance.

Eggos in hand. Wallet in pocket. He intended for one last luxury before making a life change for the modest. Three blocks to the Spanish bakery where he purchased a cranberry scone with the sugared lemon peel shavings of which he was so fond, a tall latte with two generous shakes of nutmeg, and a local newspaper. Now occupying one of those seemingly miniature tables fit for no more than one person but most appropriate, it would appear, for nothing more than a telephone and note pad for jotting down messages. Briefly assessing the diminutive surface space at his disposal he placed his latte and scone, minus one hearty bite, on the table and turned his chair sideways extending his legs perpendicularly away from the table. This allowed him to read the newspaper by suspending it in air rather than the more pedestrian manner of lying it flat on a table and hovering over it as is his preference. This preferred style also acted as a crumb catcher what with his biting and chewing taking place over the page.

Opening the paper and getting directly to the Classified Ads, he perused the Help Wanted columns for a line of work for which he might feel a hankering or inclination. Minutes passed.

Popping the final bit of scone into his mouth and draining his now luke warm, though delectable beverage, he folded the paper several times and cleanly placed it into the rubbish bin. He felt not inclined, as it developed, for a job of telemarketing, real estate appraising, contractor of any sort, insurance underwriter, or bank teller. Nor even coxswain or spelunker should such openings exist. His momentary inspiration that drove him out of his kitchen one hour before had evaporated and his gumption quickly waned.

Looking now out the window and across the street he saw Cassidy’s Irish tavern place a Help Wanted sign in the window. Cassidy’s. A comfortable grog shop of which he finds himself traipsing through often. Often enough, anyway, to know that the sink in the Men’s room at the far wall always splashes one’s trousers and that the pinball machine nearest the rear exit tilts to the left. Throwing darts, wrecking a game of billiards, or simply sampling a finely aged pint of hops Cassidy’s confines of leisure appealed to him.

He stood, enjoyed a flamboyant and thorough stretch, and casually brushed a scone crumb from his mouth. With the easy knowing confidence of a professional baseballer participating in a celebrity softball game he proceeded across the street toward his goal.


-klem