Chapter One, Crazy Antics
"No. No. And no once more." I argued, feeling like the mature one in the debate of My Parents versus Myself, round one.
"But it's an honor to be accepted! We went to the very same school and gained an amazing experience." My mother said, trying to convince me peacefully about one of those life-changing topics.
"But I don't want to turn out like you!" I blurted out truthfully, regretting how harsh I sounded.
"Why don't you want to go?" My father asked, always avoiding arguments with an endless string of questions.
"Lets see, my friends are here, my future is here. oh and did I mention my life is here?" I sarcastically acted out thinking carefully to find each reason, knowing I was dangerously close to crossing the line.
Next thing I know I'm sitting in my room grouchily with the lights off, the typical punishment for a rebelling kid. I muttered as I let myself sink into my bed, watching the ceiling patterns alter under the illusions of my tired eyes. Why did that blooming school have to bother sending a letter? You'd expect magical folk knew when to leave a kid be, but of course they have to have some revolting-smelling bird fly straight into the kitchen, ruin my newly baked batch of cookies, and relive itself on the cookies as well. It cost the rest of my allowance to buy the ingredients to make those home-recipe treats, and they were for a friend's birthday too! Of course my parents didn't care a squat for the cookies, they were smiling with one of those 'I'm so proud I could cry' looks in their eyes while I looked like I could puke.
The letter invited me to this school called Hogwarts. First off, what kind of name is that for a school? It's named after a pig's watery blisters! And the students can't be far off from creepy if they are one ounce like my parents, they insist on dragging wizardry life upon me, traveling constantly with floo powder, insisting I read about the history of wizardry and Quidditch. What none sense isn't it? I'm perfectly content here, as a muggle, with my muggle friends, my acceptable yet pestering muggle teachers, and wearing my casual camouflage pants and spiked collars. Imagine me, at some school of witches and wizards, wearing a spiked collar, walking around with my neon green short-cut hair and my trusty boots stomping every step of the way. There is no way I'm getting dragged into this whirlpool of idiotic acts. Wizardry folk are so quirky; they don't even bother to learn about normal stuff like phones and television. Picture life without a television! What would I do? Stare at some moving photograph all my life?
Thoughts continued to twirl in my vast mind, one right after the other. How was I supposed to tell my friends that my parents were forcing me to learn how to wave a wand and fly on a broomstick?
"No. No. And no once more." I argued, feeling like the mature one in the debate of My Parents versus Myself, round one.
"But it's an honor to be accepted! We went to the very same school and gained an amazing experience." My mother said, trying to convince me peacefully about one of those life-changing topics.
"But I don't want to turn out like you!" I blurted out truthfully, regretting how harsh I sounded.
"Why don't you want to go?" My father asked, always avoiding arguments with an endless string of questions.
"Lets see, my friends are here, my future is here. oh and did I mention my life is here?" I sarcastically acted out thinking carefully to find each reason, knowing I was dangerously close to crossing the line.
Next thing I know I'm sitting in my room grouchily with the lights off, the typical punishment for a rebelling kid. I muttered as I let myself sink into my bed, watching the ceiling patterns alter under the illusions of my tired eyes. Why did that blooming school have to bother sending a letter? You'd expect magical folk knew when to leave a kid be, but of course they have to have some revolting-smelling bird fly straight into the kitchen, ruin my newly baked batch of cookies, and relive itself on the cookies as well. It cost the rest of my allowance to buy the ingredients to make those home-recipe treats, and they were for a friend's birthday too! Of course my parents didn't care a squat for the cookies, they were smiling with one of those 'I'm so proud I could cry' looks in their eyes while I looked like I could puke.
The letter invited me to this school called Hogwarts. First off, what kind of name is that for a school? It's named after a pig's watery blisters! And the students can't be far off from creepy if they are one ounce like my parents, they insist on dragging wizardry life upon me, traveling constantly with floo powder, insisting I read about the history of wizardry and Quidditch. What none sense isn't it? I'm perfectly content here, as a muggle, with my muggle friends, my acceptable yet pestering muggle teachers, and wearing my casual camouflage pants and spiked collars. Imagine me, at some school of witches and wizards, wearing a spiked collar, walking around with my neon green short-cut hair and my trusty boots stomping every step of the way. There is no way I'm getting dragged into this whirlpool of idiotic acts. Wizardry folk are so quirky; they don't even bother to learn about normal stuff like phones and television. Picture life without a television! What would I do? Stare at some moving photograph all my life?
Thoughts continued to twirl in my vast mind, one right after the other. How was I supposed to tell my friends that my parents were forcing me to learn how to wave a wand and fly on a broomstick?