prompt: mark, title: necessary contradictions in "the next big thing" flash fiction

“I mean, all mystic traditions go back to the same source,” the Amazing Mitzi once told Frank in The Magic Castle near closing time, “I can’t say I don’t believe my way is the closest to true, but I’m not one-hundred-percent there, either, we’re all flawed, all human,” she remembered she was speaking to a six-foot-eleven sasquatch, “I mean, metaphorically.” Frank just smiled forgivingly.

“Kabbala is one path to magic, to God, the one that works best for me, maybe from upbringing, maybe from bloodline, but there’s so many ways to get there. I stay knowledgeable of the other ways, Sufis, pagan, indigenous faiths, because they could help me understand my connection to Yohowho better whether by positive or negative example.” She shrugged and drained her drink.

Calling the Hebrew god Yahweh ‘Yohowho’ was emblematic of the essential paradox within the woman who both was the charismatic performer ‘The Amazing Mitzi’ as well as the brilliant but awkward, low self-confidence Margaret Nussbaum. That hyper-competent thirty-something with lingering body issues, peppering her language with ‘uhms’ and ‘likes’ and ‘I means’ because she subconsciously did not want to come off as bright as she really was, fearing that too unfeminine.

Margaret Nussbaum, the studied Kabbalist sorceress, couldn’t say ‘Yahweh’ as pronouncing the proper name of God is verboten in more orthodox stripes of Judaism, is to take The Lord’s name in vain. They spell it, Y – dash – H – dash W – dash – H, out of respect. But The Amazing Mitzi was glib by nature and being too respectful just wasn’t good casual stage patter. So, she showed respect through the comic conceit of pretending all God’s vowels are the English letter “O” and speaking His name as if a jolly pirate captain’s ‘Yo Ho Ho!’ This was her duality, threading the needle of respecting God under the guise of a breezily irreverent joke, protecting her truest self.

“I can only imagine the beauty of your peoples’ musical faiths, Frank,” she could allow herself seriousness with Frank, that was how much she trusted him, “no separation between the divine and song, it must’ve been amazing.” He let that linger for a bit then replied, “it absolutely was.”

“You know what’s funny about the Christian apocalyptic mystics?” she had to lighten the mood, even with Frank, too much sincerity exhausted her, “They really believe their Mark of the Beast from John’s Apocalypse is, like, a chip they’re going to get in their hands or something with the number six-six-six attached to it.” “What do you think it is?” “Come on. The Mark of the Beast was something you could not buy or sell without, and to take it seriously is to damn yourself for eternity. The Mark of the Beast is your credit score. Love of money being the path to damnation, root of all evil and all that.” “Probably a lotta people around floating about with credit scores of six-six-six and don’t even know it,” Frank mused. “I mean,” Mitzi agreed, “like, yeah, exactly.”