The Magic Beggar, Part 1

"Your total comes to $13.24" he said.
I unfolded a small piece of paper, and showed it to him.

"Here is an appropriate amount of currency. Please keep the remainder for yourself and do not distribute it to your masters."

He looked at me like I was crazy.

"Have a nice day to you too." I responded to his staring. After the transaction, I gathered my supplies and headed for the door. As soon as I stepped outside, I removed one sandal and began to recite the incantation.
 

"From Dust you were created and to dust you shall return, follow in my footsteps or the world will surely burn."

The second level transaction complete, I resumed my walk. That cashier had been a mindless zombie in a system that devalues human thought and emotion, but at least he had been capable of providing me with goods. I could have simply taken them and hurt his masters directly, but I wanted to give him an opportunity. He didn't take it, but at least I tried.

A bird whistled at me from a bush. I could hear its song plain as if it was speaking English. "My baby, my baby" it was crying. I couldn't do anything for it, I knew, but I sent out a tendril of good vibrations to it, just in case.

How many days would I spend on this street before a single human lent me their space? So far, it has been 25 years. I can't tell anyone that I'm testing their species. That's one of the conditions. I have to remain in character for the whole test. We had to put that condition in. There had been a lot of murder before we did that. Now we have ignorance instead. It seems better on the surface level, but dig one layer down and it's pretty obvious it's worse. With murder, the answer was clear. With ignorance, we can't tell if it's malice or lack of vision.

Oh, well.

"Excuse me, ma'am, I'm very hungry and haven't had anything to eat for several days, could you spare a coin for a lowly beggar?"

She looked at me like I was a pile of shit she didn't want to step in. She walked more briskly, hoping I would fade away. I lowered my voice to almost a whisper and directed it directly into her mind,
 

"Help me, I am starving. My stomach growls with pangs of hunger. I will die without you."

She stops for a moment and scratches her ear, thinking a bug had gotten on her. She continues ignoring me, and turns the corner. It went on like this for five hours. Everyone who was asked, ignored the pleas for help. Then, a young man happened by. He was wearing a new suit. You could tell because it didn't fit him quite right and he was pulling at the places it didn't fit.

"Excuse me, young man, could you spare a coin for a lowly beggar, I'm quite hungry and haven't eaten for several days."

His face lit up and he reached for his purse, but before he could pull a coin out, his eyes lit up again, but with a darker light inhabiting them, like a demon's.

"If you are hungry, I will gladly feed you. Come with me and we shall dine at my house."

I agree.

Upon arriving at his home, he bids me enter first, and I understood the signal.

"Brother," I said, "we seek not to be first, but to be great."

He looks at me with borderline contempt.

"Leave. Now." He hisses directly into the foam.

I hold my hands together and gather the good vibrations around me as a shield. His words echoing around me seem to warp the very air. My shield stops the negativity from hitting me, but it drains my soul.

"You are a disgrace among our people" I tell him in the common vernacular. I leave him and return to the shop for a small pittance of food.

"Hello, again, dear shopkeep. Have you been keeping well since last we met?"

He looks at me much like everyone has been, but something in his eyes is a bit different today.

"Hey, I shouldn't ask this, but I know you sleep on the streets. Do you want a real roof to sleep under for a few days?"

His eyes betray his inner turmoil.

"Yes, dear shopkeep, that would be lovely, but first let me procure this spiced meat from you."

He charges me less than the value of the meat, but I refuse to sell him short, and perform what to him could be nothing other than magic.

"My name is Matthew. What's yours?" The shopkeep, whose known as Matthew, asks me.

"I don't have a name. Call me whatever you want."

He gets a suspicious look on his face and ponders this a bit.

"Well, you've pretty much singlehandedly been keeping this shop alive, so I'll call you Profit."

"Profit I am, then. Shall we go to your home?"

We journey to his home. It's a quaint cottage on the outskirts of town. Small, wooden, lived in. There is a picture of his wife and two small children hanging on the wall, but the house is too small for four people, and no trace of them are to be found.

"Quite a lovely home you have here."

"Thanks, built it myself for my late wife. She died of consumption and took the kids with her to heaven."

His eyes carry no hint of sadness, only longing.