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[Story] Daisy's Orgins Chapter 22

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Ariel

Post time 2018-12-9 12:16:57 | Show all posts |Read mode
I was going to post this on my blog but it didn't work. BTW, Daisy's Orgins is the name of the first Spirit Prep book

Chapter 22-Need to Believe

I would’ve wanted to grab myphone and shout at my sister via a furious, all caps text as soon as the dawnrises. That’s what I would’ve wanted, but now, even though I still don’tforgive her, I’m starting to have second thoughts.   Throughout the week mythoughts drew away from the anger of Missy and toward the serious hope ofSienna visiting again for more clarity about this roller coaster. I wish Icould cast some clarity spell, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to learn howto with Teagen begging the teachers to make the work more difficult for theentire year. Unfortunately, I think some of the teachers, especially my historyteacher, listened because I’m struggling more in school right now than just afew months, or even a few weeks ago.  Because classes are completeright now and I have nothing better to do, I check on Instagram. I know; Ishouldn’t do that because I always hated seeing these photos of teenage girlsin their little “fun” lives. And what do I even do on this human app? The lasttime I even used this was in my dream anyway. When I grab my phone andcharge it with my magic, I remember the dream as if I had just woken up fromit.   With a slight twinge ofregret, I check the dance studio page once again because I think it’s thelogical thing to do. But Margie and Nora aren’t in the recent photos, so what’sthe point of checking anyways? Sitting down on the bed feeling the soft cushionon resting below me and my phone touching flat on my lap, I somehow feelextremely calm as if I were about to sleep or meditate. That’s when I faintlyhear the words in a familiar sounding voice; “Dreams are do be recognized” Those words are the only onesI hear. I’m guessing that the dream I’m supposed to recognize is the recentvivid one I had. Though I doubt Margie will ever get an Instagram, I search hername anyway, because why not? I’m bored. Not to mention that I will be stressedif I let those words play in my head and spend an entire day not doing anythingabout them.  On the familiar list, is thename; “Margie Volkova” after searching. And on the profile picture is thefriend whom I haven’t seen in so long. Though she’s fourteen years old and herdark hair appears a lot longer than I remember, her face still has thisfamiliar look, like I know her, even like we still know each other.  Despite the enthusiasm, I’mnot sure what I should do now. While I was eager to follow her in my dream, Ijust can’t follow her now. My account name is just a bunch of numbers, and Inever even use it. And above all, she likely doesn’t remember me. And I need tolearn from my previous mistake.  But as soon as I turn off myphone and lie down on my bed, I don’t know how, but it comes to me in certaintythat she does remember who I am. It was a feeling that did not existjust a few seconds ago. I’m tempted to reopen the app and follow her, but evenin a magical world, I need to be realistic.   Oh, why is this so difficult?Suddenly I need to turn my focus on what’s likely more important; school. Thisfire potion I’m trying to make in potions class is just too much. Potions classis difficult enough, but this one is very dangerous to create because itrequires fire magic, which I’ve never really mastered.  When I measure theingredients, I dread the time to add the flames and hope it never comes. Whenthe time unfortunately does come, I step back from my table and take a deepbreath pointing my wand at the top of the bowl trying to lift the tension in mybody. Because fire spells require intense passion, so I think of how passionateI am to find out my origins and solve this kindergarten mystery as I recite thewords as instructed;“Ignis, ignis, ignis, flame light up, ignite, ignite,ignite, flair, flair, flair,” Tiny yellow sparks drip fromthe tip of my wand into the bowl as if dew were pouring out of it. Those dropsare enough to morph the chunks of ingredients into a shimmery brown soup-likemixture that smells a tiny bit like smoke. I use the funnel to filter themixture in a tiny, clear potion flask to pour on the baby robin. Mrs. Amber toldus that the potion is supposed to give the bird phoenix powers after a quarterof a bottle is poured onto it.  I nervously pour the liquidon the poor bird for the sake of getting a good grade.  I normally don’t like pouring potions on theanimals and insects we test them on because of the fear that I’d kill them withmy messed up potion skills. But as soon as I found out that we’re testing themixture on a robin today, this makes me more worried, and there’d even be thisintense concern if the potion didn’t have fire magic. I’m guessing the strongsympathy is because robins were my favorite bird in kindergarten. Yep, this isthe logical thing to guess now.  After pouring the liquid on, thelittlest bit of orange, yellow and even bluebell colored sparks surround thebird like snow in the wind. It is expected that a larger flame would suddenlyflare up as if chemicals were reacting and the bird’s feathers would turnphoenix orange, but all that happens after the sparks slowly fade intononexistence is that the tweets grow more frequent.  “Daisy,” it says in a quiet,female voice. I step back a bit. Did thatbird just TALK? Though magical beings are able to communicate with animals ifthey learn how, most of these woodland creatures, even at the Core, do not talkon their own. “Daisy, you need to believe.You need to face your fears and think of the positives. You need to keeptrying.” “What…just happened?” Amberasks firmly.I stand up straight lookingat the teacher’s specific eyes as she walks towards me. “Well…I think my potionmade the bird talk instead”. My muscles tighten in the fear of punishment. Amber sighs, “Please redo thepotion. You’re lucky nothing terrible happened to the robin.”  While everyone else is atleast very close to the flame spell, I have to start the potion over, whichrarely happens to me. But this doesn’t bother me as much as it should becausethe bird’s words are still playing in the back in my head; is it telling me todo something important?   




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