Magic

by Debbie Dai-chan

There is something I have to admit . . . I do believe.

Magic

By Debbie (Dai-chan)

I find it quite interesting that some people say if you believe hard enough, something will happen.

Like what? I don't know for sure. People say that if you believe in God and you believe it hard enough, maybe there is a God out there watching and caring for you. Same thing if you believe in the devil, which is creepy, I have to tell you, for who wants to believe in a kind of demon that lurks in the shadows while you sleep and haunt your dreams, or tempts you to do something horribly wrong that you would never, ever do it with a sane mind? I would say I admit that I believe in the devil in a way. No, no, I don't worship him; I'm not that bad, for God's sake! I always see him as a fallen angel, a beautiful angel with all the goodness shining in his eyes and all of a sudden, he hankered after the greatness of God and lost everything, the proof that even goodness can turn bad.

What do I really believe in? Maybe I would say magic. Not that kind of 'godmothers with pixie dust to make everything better'. The magic I believe in is the magic that we hold in our hearts, tucked and hidden safely inside our minds so no one would ever steal it from us. The magic is like your own secrets; no one will ever know about them and the secrets will be at the most valuable when hidden. But sometimes, I think people had forgotten about their magic. Because the magic is hidden for so long, people begin to forget that they ever have magic of their own. That's when they become to desire for something that they already have but don't know that. That makes me feel sad. What can you do to help them believe in magic if they lost their magic? Believe me, it's hard. Really hard.

I do have times that I wonder if all bad things are attracted to me to keep me disheartened. Everybody does have those times, and sometimes they think it always happen to them and only them. I should have stopped and think that bad things mean to happen, but I hate to have them showing up at my door and grinning with nuisance that shows they are living for keeping me miserable. I often shut myself from anybody whenever I feel down; I can describe my actions like a door slamming in people's faces and, with a pleading voice, saying to leave me alone. I find it easy, so easy, to shut everything away and focus on my misfortunes. Maybe it's because I'm afraid. Everybody is afraid to let go their fears, maybe to remember that they are not perfect. I'm afraid to let them know about my problems because they could choose not to care. It would make it worse, you know?

But I'm getting off the point. I want to explain about if you believe hard enough, you will get something. How could that be possible? I mean, if you do believe really hard, I mean, believe with your sincere heart and wish more than anything else, you would definitely get it. So that means there must be magic out there. Or inside you. How would you know if there is magic? Well, you just believe.

It's weird because I did get something that I believed in. You will not believe me if I tell you what happened, but maybe, just maybe it will make you think twice before sneer at a child and his/her overactive imagination or a psycho who blabbers about seeing ghosts and realize that maybe there is something out there worthwhile to believe in.

I always believe in angels. Like I said before in one of my fictions, I believe in angels that come out of anywhere, like snow angels, cloud angels, water angels, even night angels. Especially night angels because they are like guardian angels that stood beside me while I sleep and give pleasant dreams and fight off demons who dared to haunt me. I always think night angels as people with bat wings, wings as black as the night itself with stars decorating their black clothing like jewelry. Their skin would be pale as the moon, almost glowing with an inner light. Their eyes would be golden, plucked from the sun's body and rolled into orbs, like I believe that day angels' eyes would be black like night, showing that no one can be a whole thing, but a part of everything. But the golden eyes would glow with dark light that always soothed over me like a warm blanket so I would sleep in peace.

Night angels can be any size, from tiny pixies I once imagined to giants that seemed a part of the mountain. I liked to think my night angel was small, just small enough to sit on my lap and fold his bat wings around his round body and let me hold him like a doll. He told me that when I sleep, I had my arms around myself like I was wishing to hug someone and keep me safe, so he changed his body into one of the plushy dolls and silently slid in my arms and I would hug him and feel safe. His body was all over with beautiful, soft feathers that were the lustrous color of blue and black. I loved to stroke the softness, and he liked the feel so one time, he decided to leave a long feather from his body on my bed so I will stroke it during the day and remember of him.

Sure, you would say it's a fantasy, but what if he is real? I often wish that he is real, here to protect me like he always did in my dreams. I wish I could remember the feel of his feathers and the look of his cheerful, almost mischievous eyes that reminded me that he believed in me. I want to believe in him, but how? I barely begin to realize that magic is real and it takes me time to accept the fact. But oh, would it be wonderful if he is real!

Then it happened. Yes, I'm serious, deadly serious. I'm never being that serious before in my life. I swear to God, whom I do believe in, that magic is real and my night angel is real. I can't tell you when it happened; you won't believe me, anyway. It would happen in my past, it would happen in the future, it would even happen right now during my merry time when I have to get stories out of my mind on paper. But it did happen. It surprised me that it happened, but it must have happened because I wished.

I think it's a strange sight when you see an egg coming out from the computer. Wouldn't you think? I was typing down one of my stories that were buzzing around in the consciousness and it just had to get out. At a point, I began to realize that there was a faint outline in the center of the screen. I didn't notice that because I was engrossed with my story, but strangely enough, something nagged in the back of my mind, saying "Look, look! He is coming! He is coming!" It was too weird to describe, but somehow, I moved back from my computer and waited for the outline to clear up.

An egg. Of all the things to come out a computer screen, it had to be an egg. And a strange-looking one at that. It was huge for a normal egg, and I thought it was an ostrich egg from the size, and it was painted like an Easter egg! It was dark blue with black hearts stamped all over. Do you remember how the balloon feels like when you have your hand on it and expand it as you blow? It felt like stretching rubber, a bit tough and peculiar to the touch. It was like when the egg came out, except that it had the look of expanding rubber. I watched as the black and blue egg came to rest on the keyboard. For a moment, I wondered what I should do, but eventually, I responded with a simple touch on it.

The touch . . . there was no way to describe it, except that there was an electric heat coming out and running up my arm, warming me and touching my mind as well. It was strange, but somehow, I knew somewhere in me that I was changed. Completely changed. I didn't know what the change was, but something in me was changed. Also, the egg looked vaguely familiar for some purpose. Somehow, I should know what the egg was, but to be frank, I was too surprised to think. But the egg did look familiar.

Okay, the next thing was weird, I have to say. I would say that I think my touch on the egg caused it to move. I seriously doubted that I made it move; I could feel it moving under my finger. Like it was responding to my touch and liking it. I thought it had a mind of its own, and obviously, it did, when it suddenly came to a stand on its round end. I was frozen, eyes wide, and when the egg began to shiver, wobble, something like that, I moved back. I didn't scream out or fall off my chair in speechless shock. Something in the back of my mind told me to be calm. I don't know. I don't know. I told you there is no way to describe this, unless you already experienced this.

Then the egg cracked. I couldn't hear anything because I'm profoundly Deaf, but I swore that I did hear the crack. Or maybe I felt it. It was like a kind of popping of the bones and a click of  . . . maybe, a light switch in unison, only it was not. It began from at the nape of my neck, a weird click or popping or whatever, and crept up behind my eyes. It was like a headache, only it was not. I watched as the crack spread into two, then four, then ten, and then twenty as the egg fell into flakes. Then there came the smell. Whew! I knew that smell very well. It was the scent of smoking cigars that always made me sneeze and wetting my eyes from the horrible smell. My nose wrinkled in displeasure, but I didn't try to get the broken egg out of the apartment so it won't fill the awful smell in the rooms.

What happened next scared me out of the willies. I looked closer, braving the smell, and I saw two red eyes looking back. I screamed. Luckily, I was alone, or my roommates would have run in my room and asked questions of concern. I scared whatever was in the egg; the red eyes disappeared, and then I saw greyish-blue smoke coming out. The smoke was truly thick; you couldn't see anything inside, even the source of a cigar. It came out from the egg slowly, as if the smoke was either scared of what was out there or just slothful. I saw the red eyes opening and looking at me. I didn't scream again, but I wasn't very happy, either. The smell was getting bothersome, and I wanted to get a fan and blow that smoke out of my house.

But I didn't. The red eyes were like eyes of a baby, a smoking baby, that is, but a cute one, anyway. The smoke seemed a body for the red eyes, and there was a line of a mouth grinning crookedly at me. I felt something warm inside my chest, and I wanted to reach out a hand and touch it, so I would feel the electric warmth. I couldn't get close because of the smell, and somehow, the baby felt my revulsion and did something. I didn't know how it did that, but the smell was suddenly gone. In place, the new scent was sweet, like the scents of cinnamon apples and fresh-cut tulips mixed together. They were my favorite scents, and I was surprised that the smoke baby knew that. It floated like smoke, of course, from what it looked like, and it came close to my face. With a stubby arm, it touched my face, and I believed that it wanted to feel my warmth like when I touched the egg; it felt my warmth as I felt its warmth.

The smoke baby (I didn't know if it had a name or anything) was very curious, I noticed that, when it studied around my room, touching my stuff and eventually, I had to shoo it away from one of my roommates' stuff. I doubted she would like to have a strange thing touching her stuff. It flew out into the kitchen, and I was panicked because that thing ate everything in sight! I shouted indistinctly and pulled the boxes and cans out of the smoke baby's greedy hands. But it managed to eat the crackers and breads, which were a lot. I was upset and worried at the same time because I had no clue of what happened and what that thing was. As I putted away the cans in the cardboard and grabbed on the smoke baby before it could eat anything more, I noticed something interesting. The smoke baby appeared to have a bit of light glowing inside the body. It was a soft golden light like a candle flame, and it got brighter and bigger. Soon, the light enveloped the smoke baby, and I noticed that the baby had a happy, eager smile on, as if it knew something fascinating.

Then it changed. No, I'm not kidding you. It changed. It didn't change in size, but it changed in texture and looks. It was no longer smoke, but fire. Fire. Fire. Hold on for a minute, darling, and let me tell you. Can you imagine holding a ball of pure orange fire in your hands for a few minutes before you realize that you were actually holding fire? You will not know that experience like I did. I was numbly standing in the kitchen, staring at something made of fire with brighter gold eyes and an impish mouth full of fangs in my bare hands before I screamed in panic and threw the fireball away. The fireball still can fly, but I kept on screaming for a moment until I realized my hands were not burned. Huh? I felt nothing at all, no burnings of fire, no charred fingers, no nothing. I only felt the same electric warmth, but nothing more.

It took me one more minute wondering about what in the blazing hells was going on before I noticed the fireball was eating everything again.

It must be my day.

After chasing after the fireball and yelling for it to stop eating my cheerios, I finally cleaned up the kitchen (The fire ball was also helping out) and stood in the living room, staring at the floating fireball. Something in my mind told me that I should know what was going on, but I had no idea. However, the fireball looked familiar, like I had seen it before somewhere. But where? That was bothersome! I couldn't figure out what was that thing, and so I did something that you might not ask in a situation, but I thought it was the sensible thing to ask.

I asked it what it was. I didn't voice it; I signed it, my hands flying in front of my face, and awaited the fireball's answer. The fireball looked puzzled, or I thought so from the expression in the flames, but it didn't reply in answer. Instead, it giggled and flew back in the kitchen. Good thing that I understood its hunger, and I stopped it before it could mess my kitchen. I talked to it with my hands, saying that I will get something for it to eat, but it had to tell me what or who it was. Somehow, the fireball understood and waited in patience as I got out an apple. I kept it behind my back, and I could see that the fireball was thinking for a way to fool me to get the apple. It was smart, but intelligent? I couldn't tell. But I wasn't that easy to be fooled.

I again asked him the same question. It appeared to pout, its eyes darting at my back, but it did respond. It opened its mouth to say something, but I shook my head, couldn't hear its words. I pointed to my ears and again shook my head. The fireball cocked its head in puzzlement, and then it must realize that I was Deaf. Again, it opened its mouth, and I found that it was talking in my head. Its voice felt like strong heat radiating from fire, along with the feel of wood. It was too weird because I somehow felt its voice inside my mind. Like it was talking via telepathy. I wasn't sure if that was telepathy, but it did talk in my mind.

First, I can't tell you what it said because the first words it told me were that I don't tell anything about it. It was not ready to reveal itself. Then it told me what it was, and I was totally numbed at that. That word . . . there was no way that it was real. Half of my mind was hissing, "It is not real. It is not real," while the other half seemed to cheer, "It is real after all! It is real after all!" I was too confused to say anything and I sat down on the couch, gawking at it with flabbergasted amazement.

Then the cunning fireball grabbed on my apple and wolfed it down. I saw the same golden light coming out and covering the fireball like it did to the smoke baby. Somehow, I knew what would happen, and I didn't do anything, but watched as the fireball changed. It did get a bit bigger, but not that much. Everything about it was changed except for its eyes, which remained a beautiful golden color, full of mischief. I noticed that the thing was no longer an 'it', but now a 'he'. He grew bat wings, lightly covered with blue-black feathers that shimmered in the lamplight. His body was covered with the feathers, too, and I suddenly wanted to reach and touch the softness. He grew fangs, like a vampire, they appeared, but they didn't scare me. He looked so familiar that I recognized him from my dreams.

He looked like my night angel.

With movements of his wings, he gracefully glided in a circle around my head and came to settle on my lap. I kept on staring at him until he frowned back in displeasure. Then he spoke in my head, like the fireball did, except that his voice was more sharp and full of laughter.

'Are you staring at me like that all day, Deborah?'

I blinked with shock, not that he did speak, but that he said my name. How the heck he knew my name? And he said my full name! I don't like that name! I prefer Debbie. I told him that with a frown of my own. He laughed in delight and replied that he knew that. That was why he wanted me to stop staring at him. Not very much was happening after that. I asked so many questions and he did his best to answer them all. I did enjoy my day at all because I now believed.

I have to say that it was indeed interesting that if you believe in something hard enough, you will get it. Sometimes I was the one who told them that. But often, I see the words, the belief in people's conversations and behaviors that showed they would try and believe in something, only if they had the faith. I don't think it is an act of faith. I think you just have to believe. I don't mean you have to, but you can if you just try. I can't tell you if what recently happened to me was real. It could happen, or maybe it already happened, and I didn't tell you because I know you won't believe me. I guess that at a time in my life, I often realize that there is someone out there in the world who would believe what I recently told you. Maybe that someone was you. Maybe that someone was anybody. Who knows? That's why I decide to tell you, the reader, so I might find that someone who believed in me. If you do believe . . . well, the world would be a better place to live, right?

Oh, by the way, my night angel agreed to let me tell you his name. Maybe that name seems familiar, but maybe not. He agreed that maybe even people who do believe needs something to believe in.

His name is Demidevimon.

Never the End