The Diary of a Wizard - Fantasy Fiction

Dear diary...

21.04.2013

I woke up today sweating like a hog. The sheets wrapped around me and a stinking headache killing all memory.

The light bulbs were in pieces, I had to pull a splinter of glass out of my foot as long as a tooth. Blood was pissing all over the place leaving patches of wet claret in the carpet. The stench of sulfur and stale sweat mingled in the air with fading tendrils of purple smoke.

Scorch marks on the wall.

Today was the first time I realized I was a wizard.

It was like a dream. Sundays have never been so good. The clear air above the Himalayas rushing through my hair. The thunder of the dragon's wings blasting a slipstream across mountain peaks.

The look on that monks face as he opened his eyes to see two hundred tons of scaly death plummeting from the sky. Glittering glaciers enfolding the mountain in an icy embrace. The flare of sunset shimmering snow fields from violet to amber, as the glow of the beast beneath warmed me.

Looking down on the earth and wondering who to smite first like god after one too many whiskeys. Looking out at the stars and hearing the song of the spheres, order among chaos and the sublime balance.

Today was like a diamond; carbon compressed over millions of years. Existence polished to a fine veneer.

22.04.2013

The veneer has faded and reality returned to bite me in the ass. When I woke the morning bubbled in my belly and I had the strangest feeling that it had all been a dream. Then I noticed the burn marks on my hands from gripping the dragon’s neck. Angry red welts where flesh seared as I fumbled the pommel on the obsidian saddle.

I snapped my fingers to get the hell out of that room. To get the hell away from the thought of sallow eyes, deodorant stink on the train and miserable glances. To escape the reality of green glare from the computer screen and soggy sandwiches for lunch. It had worked before. Teleportation is the dog’s bollocks. Much better than the morning commute.

Snap, snap, snap... nothing!

So I took the train, went to the office and sat in my cubicle waiting for the next phone call. Snapping my fingers every ten seconds in the hopes of that rush that flings you into the heart of chaos. The beginning of a teleport.

Nothing.

Magic must be like an old mobile phone. At least twenty-four hours to recharge.

23.04.2013

I learned something today. Go big or go home is a stupid saying. Especially with magic. Slow and steady would be a better axiom.

I spent the whole of today stuck in a prison of perfection. A mind-drain of my own creation. You are your own worst enemy, believe me. After yesterday's shit show I wanted a break. Wanted to go where everything is perfect, somewhere simple and comforting.

I snapped my fingers and entered another world made up of memory wrapped in nostalgia.

The summer air scented with cut grass tickled my nostrils as the sun warmed my neck. A football sailed past and I ran after it tripping on my own feet in my haste. Time stretched and contracted like a cosmic accordion. Trees danced in the heat haze as the day wore on into evening and the cool scented breeze of lilacs closing up.

My eyes started to close as a sigh of satisfaction rose up from deep inside me. A feeling of contentment, something I had lost long ago.

My mind sparked in alarm. What was my name?

I couldn't remember my name.

Everything in that world rose up as if in reaction to my question. The breeze started to sing a soft lullaby, a gentle echo of that music of the stars I had heard two days ago. The scent of honeysuckle and elderflower mingled with the soft drone of a bumble bee as my eyes grew heavy.

What was my name? What was my name? What was my name?

I repeated the litany against the onslaught of nostalgia. Until finally, I screamed into the fading evening.

JOHN.

I opened my eyes to faded curtains and the musty smell of the apartment. Nothing seemed familiar. The cat looked up at me like I was out of my mind before staring at its empty bowl.

26.04.2013

It has been three days since I have done any magic. I can't eat, I sleep little and there are strange doubts in my mind.

The bark of the dog sounds weird like there is some other sound under the surface. A high pitch keening. He keeps rubbing up against my legs in the oddest way.

The house plants have all died and something is wrong with the blinds. They won't open or close.

Everyone keeps calling me Andy.

The end.

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