Wednesday 11 June 2014

Flash Fiction #4

Power was fleeting. One minute you held it in your hand, the next second it was long gone. She hated the days when she had magic, and she hated the days when she had none. She wanted to be like everyone else, to feel like everyone else. Well everyone else in the land that had magic. Instead she was called The Cripple. The poor poor girl who had so little control that she let her magic run away at times. Like she had a choice in the matter. Magic had a will of it's own, and why it did not like her she did not know.

It had been a couple of days and Arina had spent the time in the stables working. Her father always told her that if she could not keep up with her studies then go out and help instead. Like she was some bloody farmhand! She grumbled as she brushed one of the horses. Then, then she felt it. Glorious and powerful, she felt it in every part of her body and she rejoiced. She had magic again. She opened her hand and saw little sparks come out of her fingers. She threw down the brush and ran to the main house. But before she could rush into her father's study she heard something and stopped.
"The girl is useless, why even teacher her?"
"She is my daughter."
"She will never be whole, you know that. We need to take it away, she can't be half and if she realise, well then all hell will break lose."
"My daughter would not turn on us."
"All Dark ones do in the end, that is those whose power we have not taken."
Arina backed away from the door, all the way until she was outside again. Then she ran as fast as she could and did not stop before she reached the woods. She was not dumb, she had a lot of time to read when she could not study magic. She knew about Dark Magic, she had just not realised that that was the reason magic feared her. She was meant to practice dark magic instead. A smile formed on her lips and she opened her hand and a flame shot from her fingers. One sad little flower dying and she had never felt more powerful in her entire life.

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