A story has a clear beginning. A place where the narration commences and the plot begins to unravel. It makes sense, to have a clear starting point, but that's not always the case. In the real world, you don't know who the bad guys are until you read ahead until you've trusted them and they've betrayed you. Life is not a storybook, life has no set good guys or bad guys, and the story has no clear beginning.
I don't know where to begin, a feeling most "writers" will have. They may simply write this feeling off, throwing it in a corner and referring to it as "Writer's Block", but all of us know they've just lost their passion for their story. Except this isn’t just any story. It isn’t some work of fiction or fantasy dreamed up in my head during Algebra class because I didn’t want to pay attention.
This is the story of me, and of how I died. Kidding. I’m not dead. Not yet anyways, and I don’t plan on going into the light anytime soon. So don’t you worry your pretty little head about me and my life status.
It's actually the story of how I ended up here with my powers.
Obviously, I was born with them. We all were. But until I was about 8, I had no clue they were even there. That is until I did something. Now don't take that the wrong way. It was nothing bad. I just made some flowers float...and then they might have "attacked" someone. But I swear to Merlin that isn't what happened. At least not the way I saw it. Yes, the flowers did levitate off the ground a little bit. But that was all they did. They did NOT in any way, shape, or form attack that little jerk. I mean, umm...nice little boy. Yes, that's what I meant. But even if they did, he probably deserved it. It's not like they hurt him or anything. They were just flowers. But nooooo. I was still the one who got in trouble.
Anyways, that was the start of it. After that, I was pretty confused, seeing as I was a Muggle-born and was unaware of the existence of magic and powers and all the other wizard-y stuff. I grew up with my mum, dad, and younger sister. I guess I should start with my mum then. She's a schoolteacher and ever since I was a little girl, she would encourage me to read and write and learn anything and everything that I could, which gave me one heck of a drive for learning. But yeah, I'm a nerd. If you know me, that shouldn't surprise you. But now you know, I get it from my mum. Then there's my dad. He's a welder, so yeah...umm...stuff with metal. Then there's my sister, Annabelle, who somehow manages to be my best friend and the bane of my existence all wrapped into one. We have our good times...and our bad. Mostly good, though. She's younger than me and we don't know if she's a witch yet. She and I are both crossing our fingers that she is.
In addition to my "real" family, I grew up having a few pets who may or may not have been affected in some way or another by my "abilities". In my defense, it was an accident. And she did eventually stop smelling like lemons. But not before, we renamed her Lulu Lemon. To this day, I'm still not sure how I managed to do that one. Maybe it's like a secret spell that only works on cats and that's why no one's discovered it before. Because what kind of person does magic on cats? Apparently, me. I did make it up to her by bringing her to Hogwarts with me. I think we're even. But honestly, I don't think anyone would know what the equivalent of making someone smell like lemons for a year is. Could you just imagine, the kind of person who would know that? And again, I'm criticising myself.