blackbearmagic:

I may have low-key cursed my coworker this afternoon.

I don’t much talk about in here, but I’ve been struggling with my new job. The majority of the employees at the lab have their little “clique”, and gods help you if you aren’t part of it. I’ve basically been the object of ridicule for them since I started, but today I actually walked in on them mimicking and mocking me, which had my hackles up for the rest of the day. (And none of them had the decency to even pretend to be uncomfortable when they saw me there…)

At the end of the day, as I was pulling my things together in the locker room, I noticed one of the women at the heart of it–both the clique and the mocking–had left her locker door wide open when she left to go home.

I could have easily reached in and tampered with her things. I wouldn’t have even had to steal anything–there’s enough clutter on top of the lockers that if I moved, say, her water bottle, up there, she’d never find it again–but I could so easily mess her around. But as much as I love fucking with people (and believe me, she’s done other things that make her worthy of a good fucking-with), I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not in that way.

As I stood there, staring into the open maw of her private, personal property, I felt a strange kind of power welling up inside me. Even if I wasn’t going to mess with her things, I still could. She had left herself vulnerable to anyone who happened to walk past. Vulnerable to me.

The last time I met with my group of pagan friends, I purchased a wand. One of them, @theautumnhunter, had casually mentioned how, really, a wand wasn’t necessary to direct energy–your finger would work just as well, which was one reason why some cultures consider pointing to be offensive. And with those words ringing in my ears, I raised my arm and pointed directly into her open locker.

Suddenly I felt charged, electric–my heart pounding tangibly in the blood vessels along the sides of my throat. My stomach clenched and boiled. “May something truly awful happen to you,” I said aloud, the first thing that came to mind, “and may you realize that you are in the wrong.”

It felt so firm, so powerful. But it was clunky and unpolished and vague. I decided to try again. I shifted and pointed and my stomach.

“May the anxiety burning here be quelled.”

I swept my hand out in a slow arc and pointed again into her locker.

“And be ignited anew here.”

Better. I liked that. It felt good and right, and maybe it was just the placebo effect, but my stomach unclenched and calmed right in that moment.

I raised both hands and cupped their palms together in front of my heart. I tried to feel all of the hurt, the anxiety, the fear, the doubt, the anger, the hatred, all pouring out of me and into my hands. Palms ringing, I shaped it into a ball and underhand tossed it into her locker.

Then I picked up my bag, closed my own locker, and walked away.