The blue fire, with traces of green spiraling along the edges, danced in her hand.  It gave no warmth but warmed her all the same.  It did her no harm but held the potential to greatly harm others should she choose to unleash it.  It was a simple spell but it was enough to prove what she had overcome.

Bullied and outcast for her strangeness as a child, she had thrown herself into the pursuit of magical studies at the first school that was willing to admit a girl.  Though she had hoped things would be different, her classmates ceaselessly tormented her rather than accepting her as one of their own.  They told her she would never become a sorceress.  They told her she would fail and be cast back to be trodden upon by those she had sought to escape in the first place.

The year she took her test, the worst of her bullies orchestrated one assault after another to demean her, to frighten her, to convince her she wasn’t worthy of possessing the power they longed to call their own.  The day of her test they went so far as to lock her in her room with various charms and odds and ends of heavy furniture.  She pounded on her door with her fists until the door splotched red with her blood.  She kicked at the door until she tore ligaments in her ankles.  She screamed for help until her voice cracked and faded away.

A passing teacher rescued her, mended her ailments, and whisked her to her test on time, where she showed great strength of character to push aside her emotional distress and flawlessly execute the exam spells and potions.  She wasn’t the greatest magician the school had ever produced, but she was close.

After graduating she sought residency in several of the top magician friendly realms.  Then she sought residency in any of the friendly realms.  Then she went after a spot in places that would at least allow her to live in peace, and not hunt her and murder her for practicing what they perceived as sinful.  When all her requests were denied, she requested permission to remain at the school that had been brave enough to admit her and teach her in the first place.

She was afforded a small dwelling, unlimited access to the archives and magical tomes in the library, and a small stipend in exchange for the classes on diversity and inclusion she was expected to teach.  Despite the anger she felt for having to teach something she hadn’t been shown herself, she threw herself into the work and her classes became very popular with the incoming ranks of students.

The anger never diminished though and she managed to assuage it by tracking down the tormentors from her youth.  One by one they fell to her hand.  She defeated them with her superior cunning and exceptional magical abilities.  And those who were on par with her in their knowledge of the craft, she defeated through her force of will born of vengeance.

“The fact that I have become what I loathed is not lost on me,” she whispered viciously to the man cowering in front of her.  His eyes darted back and forth between the flame in her hand and her frightening eyes.  “I am truly reveling in your discomfort as much as you ever did in mine all those years ago.  I am a bully.  And perhaps one day I will be forced to pay for that…, but it will not be today.”

The flames flared in her hand, casting shadows of death across the surrounding walls, and his eyes went wider as a small yelp of fear escaped his lips.  The acrid stench of urine accompanied a small stain on his robes and she snarled in distaste and loathing.

“There is still a difference between us, though,” she said and she leaned in closer to the man despite the smell of piss and sweat, “you failed in your attempts to keep me from the magic.  You should have tried harder.  You should have done more, but you never completely gave yourself to the project like I gave myself to magic.  You never committed to your bullying like I am committed to your death.”

With a small, deft, flick of her wrist, she freed the fire from her hand.  It hit the man squarely in the chest and spread quickly from there.  His screams of pain didn’t last very long and were easily drowned out by righteous laughter.

Moments later nothing remained but a smoking corpse, contorted from the torturous lashes and intense heat of the fire spell.  A lingering hint of laughter disappeared with the tendrils of smoke as she had already walked the corridors of magic to return to her private room at the school.  She had a class to teach in a few minutes, and students eager to learn about the importance of valuing the differences in others.  It was too late for her generation but there was still hope for the future.

23 thoughts on “hope

  1. Wow. The timing of this is pretty amazing. I head to my high school reunion in a few days … perhaps I should pack some magic? (Actually, I have found that being incredibly nice to folks who have bullied you makes them feel like total shit. Which, of course, is how they should feel.)

    • Interesting…
      So far I’ve adopted the “they aren’t worth my time” approach to my past bullies. As such, I’ve avoided my reunions. The people I was meant to stay in touch with, I have and don’t need the excuse to see them at inflated prices for watered down drinks, and the rest? Couldn’t care less what became of them.
      However! Perhaps if I had some magic, then I could be temped to change my mind.
      I think perhaps your approach is the more mature one…

      • I was very quiet and shy in school. Not any more, so I enjoy getting to know what folks I used to want to be are actually up to.

        But my bullies have been laid to rest — the chief one, anyway. And he did it to himself in a very public way — just desserts! This is still one of my favorite blog pieces — how my bully got what he deserved: http://fiftyfourandahalf.com/2011/10/09/comes-around/

        I will be interested to see if Tommy shows up this weekend …

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