A/N: Let it be noted by one and all that I do not own Wizardry, the Young Wizards series, it's not-so-basic concepts or author. Anyone who tells you differently is a liar. I do however own a few lovely acres of swamp land that a kind gentleman sold me recently. He told me that's where the real Brooklyn Bridge is. I believe him, because he had a nice hat.
Now on to the story
What follows are the entries made by an anonymous Advisory wizard, into a small bound book . Most of it's contents had been torn out, leaving only this scrap to begin with
hide them away. Somewhere safe. Whatever I become, I want to be able to remember what I once was.
I'll hide my old self. For as long as there is Time left.
But I won't stop writing.
I feel sick. Horribly sick and achy. And the news hasn't been helping me. It's a sad little world ours. Wars threatening over some countries, erupting over others. Big wars, little wars. I watched two people get into a fight today. It started out as arguing, then became yelling, and then an all out fist-flying brawl. All because the dirt on one side of a fence and trickled down in the wind to the other side, for lack of a retaining wall next to the fence. A fist fight. Over dirt. I watched it, feeling like I was back in high school, or junior high.
If I were still that age, high school, younger, I could do something. I don't know what. But I could stop this fight. I could stop the bigger ones too. Not by myself of course. But I could have helped.
I dreamt of a rolling storm clouds, that had lightening flashed in them, blindingly white, at times, ti seemed red. It was just a storm. Just weather, but in my dream, I thought they were supposed to be something else. Dogs. Dogs made out of storms.
I feel as though my insides have been removed, leaving a gaping hole. Something is missing.
But I don't know what.
I miss it, and I want it back.
I've been going to work. Just like my mother and the rest of my family always wanted. I go to work every single day that I can. I come home. I pay my bills. I watch the news. prepare to settle down, into the routine of life. I am a normal, responsible, adult. Just like they always wanted me to be.
I remember the fights I used to get into with them. An a horrible argument. I had done something, I don't remember what, but it was approved of. It was stupid, my mother had said, it was pointless, childish, illogical. "You have to learn to be responsible." she'd said. I had answered. " I am being responsible. I am responsible. " I had meant it then too. I was young. I thought it was my job to save the world and that I was going to save it. I wasn't the only one. There were others. Together we saved the world. We were superheroes, or something like that. At least we worked the same way. Secret identities as "mild-mannered" adults and kids.