"Revelling in the resonance of gushing wind through his ears, he stood at the city's brow, yet again, second time in a decade. As the effusion gradually numbed his mind, his ear still hammered from the noises of yesterday, "Magic, is only your imagination. But what you choose to do with that imagination is up to you."
He sometimes wished his imagination had a lot more power than he could muster out of it. Uncoiling his brains, sorting each memory into their worthy cabinets, he plucked his favourite one which had grown completely ripe, protected in the heat of his helixes. His sister smiling at him as she lit the very first candles of the refugee camp. He remembered her being very, very positive. Sometimes he felt that the light in her eyes provided for the hope missing in the people. Leading him to believe in the whites, she taught him the appreciation of the obscurity, as well.
He opened his eyes, holding in his hand the power of his imagination, looking to fulfil his sister's hopes. Finger by finger, he emitted the radiance he remembered seeing in his sister's visions. Turn by turn, he lit the path, somewhere hoping, his imagination would bring her back to him. After all, she taught him his invention, the imagination that was the only magic he'd witnessed. "
|Light Harvest by Boy_Wonder on Flickr|
This was a part of Kanika's Astonishing August.
Structures exam tomorrow.