Beginning of a Story
The sky is dark today.
I watch the rain as it falls and dances across my window pain. In that daze, my eyes look empty and dead, my face unsmiling. The mind wanders.
I wonder how today would look in a fantasy novel, and try to imagine what a dragon would look like with the wet sheen on it's scales. Or perhaps how a gnome in the open would find shelter against the unfeeling rain. If a witch would make a magical umbrella, or perhaps she would run from the elements like everyone else.
These thoughts are my own, my family is unaware of the fantastical attraction I have when I watch the rain. They think my thoughts pertain to school, of books like the Kite Runner or Jane Eyre. I study, I read, I work, but my head does not think of it. My favorite thoughts do not exist in the world I live in, but alongside with Cimorene in an enchanted forest, or Artemis Foul in a Troll's Lair. When I think of these things I am truly happier than anyone else.
Now I cannot wield a sword or fire a bow or cast a magic spell. I am stuck being a normal girl in a magicless world without a hope of seeing a dragon or even a dinosaur. How unfair is that?
It could be worse, I suppose. I at least have hopes, dreams, wistful thinking. I have my fantasy books, my drawings, my imagination. I'll also always have my window pane on rainy days.
But is that enough? Is it really enough?
tricklesky Community Member 
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