Why Should I Be a Magical Girl? I'm Overworked As It Is! — Chapter 2: A Day in the Life
Carmen’s phone alarm went off. She groaned into her drool-soggy pillow, “Five more minutes…pleeeeasseee.”
Her hand reluctantly emerged from the blanket, smacked around the nightstand, knocked over an empty ramen cup, sending the fork clattering on the carpet, and eventually swiped the snooze button.
She almost cried in relief. Yes. Finally. Blessed, beautiful silence. She curled into her blankets and immediately dropped back into sleep.
Carmen was on an obscenely, glamorously expensive yacht, drifting on perfectly blue water underneath a cloudless sky.
She was stretched out on a lounge chair in a swimsuit she couldn’t afford in real life, surrounded by a buffet of food.
A cheese board the size of a coffee table was overflowing with sliced fruit, grapes, jams, cured meats, and cheeses. She was happy to see little fancy sandwiches with the crusts cut off. There was also cuisine from all around the world: Mexican, Thai, Chinese, Italian, Indian, and Japanese.
Another table was dedicated entirely to pastries and desserts with colorful and vibrant breads, pies, and frosting-covered cakes. A chocolate fountain for no practical reason whatsoever.
Towers of shrimp sat in crushed ice. Sushi rolls, caviar in a crystal dish, sashimi, and a lobster the size of a small dog with a gleaming red shell filled another table.
Someone, just out of frame, was shucking oysters for her.
Carmen didn’t even like seafood. But dream-money didn’t discriminate. Being rich, even in the privacy of her own subconscious, meant having things you didn't want and never having to explain why.
“A little higher, Alfred.”
“Yes, Señorita.”
He was on the cover of a magazine she’d seen recently. He’d been shirtless and posing after winning a medal for some swim sport. His name definitely wasn’t Alfred, but Carmen didn’t care and neither did Alfred.
In the distance, she could see a mermaid family frolicking in the water. A man with black hair, a woman with purple hair, and a little girl with black hair.
Carmen recognized them instantly.
Her bad. Not mermaids, water mages.
She'd read their story, one of those two-a.m. web novel reading binges she’d gone on. She remembered thinking what a shame, he was such a green flag. Why would the author kill off one of the few decent male leads?
Carmen waved. They waved back before swimming away, their tails glinting.
“How lovely, they’re together. As they should be.”
A waitress approached Carmen. She was carrying a tray of assorted fruity cocktail drinks.
Carmen lifted her sunglasses.
“Is that a piña colada?”
The waitress smiled…
And screamed into Carmen’s face.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Carmen’s eyes snapped open.
“No, no, no—ugh why is it always at the good part?!”
She slapped her phone alarm off and sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall while her soul attempted to unwillingly reconnect with her body.
Her small studio apartment looked exactly like the home of someone working too much to properly maintain it.
A mountain of laundry hid the wooden frame of a chair that hadn’t been used as a chair in weeks. Stacks of junk mail sat on the kitchen counter beside a half-dead succulent Carmen kept forgetting existed.
She only got it because online research told her they were hard to kill. The people who studied them were clearly exaggerating.
She shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. It always took several minutes for it to heat up.
Her reflection was unfortunate.
“Jeez.”
Her eyes were crusty. Her hair had flattened itself into several conflicting directions overnight, and the breakout on her cheek had invited friends.
Carmen brushed her teeth.
Last night came creeping back.
The glowing pink wand.
The talking cat.
The monocle.
Your world needs you!
She slowly stopped brushing.
Foam hung from the corner of her mouth.
She stared at herself through the mirror, shaking her head.
“I’m the poster child for what burnout looks like.”
Carmen spat into the sink.
She climbed inside the shower and let the hot water run over her shoulders, making sure her hair didn’t get wet as she rinsed. There wasn’t enough time for it to dry if she did. Besides, she was putting it up anyway, and the hat covered the greasy part of her hair. As for the back, nothing a little bit of dry shampoo couldn’t fix.
Everything was peaceful as she enjoyed the warmth of the shower. Then she remembered she had work.
“Goddammit.”
She rushed out, water dripping everywhere.
First things first: clothes.
She opened her dresser. It was empty.
She looked at the full laundry basket. Then toward the pile of clothes on the floor that existed somewhere between dirty and technically wearable if nobody got too close.
Carmen picked up one yellow work shirt from the pile. Sniffed it and recoiled.
“No.”
Another. Sniff. Her face twisted.
Onto the third shirt. She sniffed one armpit. Then the other.
“…You win.”
It wasn’t clean. But it also didn’t smell actively hostile.
She pulled it on.
The drive to work consisted of sitting in traffic and listening to people honk in aggravation while her speakers cheerfully played a podcast.
“Remember,” a bright, soothing voice said, “every day is a brand-new opportunity to become the best version of yourself!”
Carmen imagined flying through the windshield.
A car cut in front of her without signaling.
She slammed the brakes.
“Oh, fuck you!”
The podcast continued.
“Instead of reacting negatively to obstacles, ask yourself: What is this moment trying to teach me?”
“That people are assholes.”
“Choose gratitude.”
“No.”
“Choose joy.”
“No.”
“Choose—”
Carmen turned it off. She put on some nu metal music, turning it on full blast, and screamed along with the chorus.
“BURN IT DOWN, BURN IT DOWN, WATCH IT ALL HIT THE GROUND!!!”
When she drove into the restaurant parking lot, the drive-thru line was already wrapped around half the building.
Carmen counted through the windshield. Five cars. Nine. A minivan joined the end.
She closed her eyes.
Inhaled.
Exhaled.
She opened them.
“Ok. Let’s go ruin my day and deplete my empathy.”