The real Magic
Again. My head is pressed down. I don't open my eyes, because of the fear of their faces. I can feel the cold floor of the toilet's floor. Theres a certain smell which makes my heart beat faster. Also this taste which shares the same familarity as this smell.
Metallic.. bitter... and a little bit salty. I know what this is. Do I like it? Not a bit. I would like to nip again on a butterbeer, whilst looking around in the Hog's Head and trying to understand the impressions of the people around me. Seeing into their, just to get little glance at the real magic, which Wizards and Muggles possess. But no one has the same magic. It's so versatile. So beautyful. So reassuring. But I am the only one who sees the magic. The people of my school are only focused on the colour of the crest on our chests. Scarlet and gold and everyone smiles at you, so that you're able to be brave and daring whilst facing your problems. Yellow and black and everyone aknwoledges you doings. They think you are hardworking, stubborn, they start respect you for these traits. Blue and bronze and they will be aware of your intelligence, in such a degrees that they won't see your wrong doings or false decisions. But then emerald green and silver. Those People who wear these colours see themselves as ambitious, cunning and resourceful. But how are they seen by the others. The see devious and conceited creatures who don't deserve good treatment. They are bad people who would betraye their own family to save themselves or just to have a few advantages. Those who see themselves as the greatests are actualy alone. They are on an island where they tell the would be great. But they are being watched by others. Their lonelines is getting ignored. The opinions one themselves help them to create the immage of a real emerald green and silver coloured person. But what happens with the people who can't create this immage. These people are not a part of them . They are lonely in the lonelyness. But the the lonelyness torments them part of it. I am not a part of the lonelyness. I can not see myself as vicious, smart or great. Wearing an uniform with an emerald green and silver coloured crest, I am hated by everyone and there is no way change this. When the eyes of others meet mine. Their magic meets mine. I feel that beuty which takes all the pain. But after a second, after the emerald greem and silver, the beauty changes to contempt and I feel cold. Cold as the ground I my head is pressed on. I hear voices saying:"Damn Mate, he is starting to breath less. We have gone to far. Let's go away!"
Now they're gone. I can open my eyes. In front of me is this scarlet puddle in which I can see the mirrage of the bathroom but most importantly myself. I can see my eyes in a scarlet colour. What does that mean?