He Blinded Me... with Science! by A. J. Gillespie

“What a wonderful day to be sitting in a café, watching strangers!”

I think. (Not that there’s much more to do for someone like me.) So today it’s just another obscenely mundane day and I have decided to once again be floating comfortably in a bean bag chair, biding my time until another victim - so to say - appears.

And here he is. I may have seen him before in this place, but my mind is a total blur right now. And He is to blame.

I’ve no idea what his name is, but the barista calls him Charley. I guess this name characterizes him full well. Not Charles, but Charley - in a more playful, somewhat childish tone. An impression of youthful joy on his face, he sips his latte carefully while reading a book. In spite of what I have just said about his name, the book is no children’s literature: he is reading some tome on medicine with an outrageously long and complicated title, which I am unable to reproduce in my memory the very second I look away. I am fascinated by the way he articulates while reading. He seems to be on the edge of his seat, ready to seize the dragon and vanquish it - metaphorically, of course. Should you forget that he’s deep in medical terms at the moment, you might suggest that he is having a great time reading some adventure novel, or a horror novel, or a fantasy novel... But it’s a damned handbook on medicine! Truly charming, isn’t it?

So, Charley is reading this medical book, batting his Bambi eyes with an almost cartoon expression. Then he flips a page, and another, and another. While watching him do that, I can’t help but take notice of his hands. They are very smooth and oddly devoid of birthmarks. What his hands are not devoid of, though, are distinct veins of the colour blue. They suggest, it seems, that he may be a man of many talents: a surgeon or a pianist, or both. For these are the hands of a master, destined for the creation of masterpieces. And knowing that, I suppose, he generously adorns his hands. One ring in particular attracts especial attention: the amber inside the ring reflects his gleaming eyes. There’s something in his whole visage, something magical - that’s why I want to say that he has witch-hazel eyes, and that his raven hair lustres as if it were a night sky where stars were spilt, and that his skin is, akin to cinnamon, a remedy. He, like the edge of a sharp knife, radiates this dangerous allure, bewitching when you spectate it from afar, piercing - when you close in.

The magic doesn’t end where ends the face; the way he is dressed is the last straw that leaves you questioning: is he even real? Or is he a vapour, merely an illusion? It is ravishing what clothes can say about the wearer, and so, Charley yet again proves that he is the person of many talents, blessed by the gods or whomsoever, wearing the simplest clothes, but making them bright as diamonds. By simply looking at him, I feel like he is a kaleidoscope, constantly changing before the eyes of the beholder. And the more you look, the deeper within himself you see.

I wish I could just come up and talk to him, but... well, I cannot. I am a ghost, you know! No one can see me, unless I allow them to, but some people can- Oh, wait! What is that? I think Charley has just felt my presence. See, I told you he’s a magical kid!