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Chapter 1 : It's magic
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They said it was a gas leak in the kitchen. One that went unnoticed for hours, and then caught fire. The explosion was heard across half the town. It was at the Governorís house, where mum and dad were having tea. They said it was a gas leak. But I know better.
There are curious happenings taking place everywhere. Theyíre passed off as construction damage or faulty electrical wires or an accident of some sort. Theyíre the kind of accidents that make people want to stay at home where itís safe. Where they think theyíll be safe.
I know my parents were a part of something big. Their hushed voices never failed to die down whenever I entered the room. They would enter the house late at night in weird attire, the hems singed. They kept secrets. But I didnít care. They were always there to tuck me in at night.
All my relatives mysteriously disappeared or had something important to do when the adoption agents went over to their houses. Sometimes, the officials would suddenly fall sick when they neared the area. So now Iím alone. Stuck in an orphanage filled with screaming youngsters, pulling each otherís hair out and digging their noses. I should be used to it by now, but I miss the comfortable peace of my own beautifully furnished bedroom. I donít even get a tutor here or a lot of books to read like I did at home. I donít get a loving kiss on the forehead or a family movie time. No one here has a family. I donít have a family.
I look out the window, over the sprawling, congested buildings fighting with each other to get some air to breathe. I watch the bridge over the way collapse, killing hundreds of people. I pick at my food, eating just the bare minimum to sustain myself and live another day. I keep vigil at my window, in this tiny room with its bare walls, and watch the owls soar through the sky in broad daylight. Sometimes, sparks fill the air; from where, I cannot say. I puzzle over every unusual incidence, and the days go by.
I eat a bit more, making an effort to meticulously chew the dry food, and regain the healthy flush to my cheeks. After a lot of pleading, I managed to obtain a couple of pencils and some sheets of low quality paper. They are now filled with cramped scribbles and hasty drawings, adorned with question marks. The wardens look at me like Iím crazy to even contemplate these possibilities. But I cannot explain to them what I have seen. What makes me wonder about magic.
Itís been two years now. Two years since I got stuck in this crumbling establishment with its mould covered walls. The mice that come to nibble at the tiny pieces of moist biscuits I offer them are my only company. I think itís safe to say that Iíll never be accepted into a new family. Iíll always be alone. But thatís okay. My hair is longer now, a bit more lustrous. My eyes arenít sunken and perennially miserable. They said I wouldnít last long when I was brought here, trembling, burning with fever, and throwing up all over the place. A couple of months at most. Tragedy and loneliness weakens a child of eleven, they said.
The patterns and deductions that cover my walls keep me going. They keep me sane, despite what the others think. I have a map of the country now, bought with the little money my parents had left in their bank. Despite the amount they worked and the high status they held, the amount of currency was minimal. I expect Iíll suddenly get some inheritance once I grow older. That would confirm my theory. My parents were magic. They didnít die because of a gas leak. They were murdered. By someone from that world.
Sometimes, the wardens let me watch TV. I mark the place where each event happens. Car crashes, drowned victims, people dropping dead without reason; theyíre all noted down. When fireworks suddenly appear in the sky without an indication of their trail, I strain my eyes and watch the sky. More often than not, I see ghostly images flickering in and out, highlighted against the dark sky. I can catch the outlines almost every time. I know no one would believe me, and if the wrong person found out about my discoveries, I might be killed as well. I keep everything to myself, and wait for the right moment.
I now have a purpose. Iíve seen even more people dressed up the same way my parents were. Itís odd how we tend to not notice them. I sit at my window for most of the day, watching the magic folk walk below. They almost always wear pointy hats and thick cloaks. The ones who try to dress normally usually end up wearing the most hideous attire. They might go unnoticed to most, but I know who they are. I even have pictures. They are hidden in a box under my bed. No one checks under my bed. No one even comes to my room anymore. I am left alone. Just how I like it. Iíll get enough proof to oust them. Iíll wait till Iím eighteen and can get out of this ramshackled building. Iíll find someone to tell. Probably the media. Iíll get my revenge. Soon, the whole world will know.
This was written for the House Cup, from the point of view of a squib. It's to show how people who are so close to falling off the edge can go on, holding on to something dear to them. That purpose can make a person go a long way.
This is the first time I've written something with absolutely no dialogue and in first person. I'd love to know what you think so please leave a review! Thank you Ravenclaw333 for beta'ing this. :)
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