Your Destiny Inc.

Marvin’s parents were beside themselves.

He wants to be an artist, Marvin’s father said to the administrator of their account with Your Destiny Inc. An artist! And he can’t even draw. See?

Marvin’s father showed the administrator, whose name was Alice, a drawing that Marvin had made. It was a drawing of a farmhouse, complete with chickens, cows, bales of hay, and a farmer holding a rake.

I’m no critic, but that’s pretty bad, said Alice.

I know, right? said Marvin’s mother.

The rake isn’t even touching the farmer’s hand, said Alice. It’s, like, levitating or something.

The boy has no sense of the physical reality of the world we live in, said Marvin’s father. And just look at that cow.

I mean…wow, said Alice.

That some kind of shit cow, said Marvin’s father.

You’re not wrong, said Alice. I’ve never seen such a cow.

No one has, said Marvin’s mother.

Marvin, I hope you’re not taking any of this the wrong way, said Marvin’s father.

From a little table in the corner of the office, Marvin looked up from his latest drawing. He frowned.

We’re just worried is all, said Marvin’s mother. His Your Destiny assessment said he would be a boffo patent attorney.

Is that the word it spat out? said Alice. Boffo?

Yes.

Wow, that’s one of our highest ratings, said Alice. Boffo is just a hair below humdinger.

Marvin’s parents both nodded.

Yet he insists on becoming an artist, said Marvin’s father. He says that’s what he’s going to be. A goddamn artist. As if that’s a thing he can be.

Have you tried to explain to him what a patent attorney is? said Alice.

Yes, said Marvin’s mother. He projectile vomited all over us right after we read to him the definition of tort. Drawing is just about the only thing that seems to give him any joy in life.

Marvin picked up a blue crayon and began to color the drawing he had just made.

Well, look, said Marvin’s father. Another masterpiece. Let’s have a peek, son.

Marvin held up the drawing, which showed Marvin’s parents and Alice all levitating above the floor. In the drawing, Marvin’s dad’s hand appeared to be bleeding.

He doesn’t even know how floors work, said Marvin’s mother.

It’s just a sad state of—ouch! said Marvin’s father, who cut his finger on the latch of his briefcase. Blood trickled from the wound.

I feel…funny, said Alice, holding on to her desk, as her face went cerulean.

Marvin’s parents looked at Marvin and kept looking at him, even as their perspective slowly but inexorably changed.

A cow like no one had even seen before pressed its monstrous snout against the office window and lowed.

Marvin smiled.