I guess I should have known all along – the truth was staring me in the face. But then again, maybe my absence of knowledge was acceptable. After all, it's not like there was an eye-catching, dramatic sign with a red-nosed clown jumping up and down, screaming for me to notice it. It was those little things, pointing out that there was something different about me. Something abnormal.
I still remember those times when Mom and Dad would lock me in the cellar because I was being "bad". Back in those days, Lily and I would stick together, going everywhere and doing everything together. Mom and Dad adored Lily, just like they still do now. But there was something about me that just wasn't good enough for them. Maybe, it was because I wasn't pretty or smart enough. Maybe, it was my split personality. Or maybe, it was that bad luck that I caused. I remember when I was five. My parents loved Lily and I almost equally. They cherished us, and held on to every word we said. Things changed. Terrible things started to happen within the family. These memories still scare me. They happened to everything I despised. They were so odd and, back in those days, so frequent.
The family cat, for example. His name was Ginger, and he was presented to Lily and me on our 6th birthday. He was completely black, with a pair of pale-blue eyes. There was a certain air about him, as he strutted along the hallways of our 3-storeyed house. He acted as if he was a king. At first, I was absolutely amazed by him. I fed him daily, patted him every chance I had, and played with him. Soon, however, it became clear that he did not enjoy my company. Every time my boisterous 6-year-old self would bounce near him, he'd strut away and instead, curl up next to Lily. Maybe it was because she was gentler and stroked him the right way. Perhaps it was because she whispered in his ears, almost as if he was her closest friend. It was so long ago, yet I still remember that cold feeling he gave me. As if I was unwanted and unloved.
One day, Ginger went a step too far. As I opened a can of his favorite cat food, he knocked it over, and then darted towards me. As I screamed in shock and horror, he scratched every bare millimeter of skin. All afternoon, I plotted my revenge – but by night, it was obvious that my revenge would be of no use. News came that Ginger, as he went out for his evening stroll, had been hit by a truck. While the rest of the family mourned, I did a silent victory dance in my head. After all these years, I believed my own lies that it was simply coincidence. Yet, thinking again, trucks rarely visited our neighborhood. And it was always thought that Ginger had sharp reflexes.
Ginger wasn't the only one who met such horrible fate. My kindergarten teacher broke her leg the day after she asked whether I was a boy or a girl. Those big boys in our neighborhood all gained chickenpox after they laughed at Lily and I, though it was obvious that they had once had chickenpox before. My doctor suddenly gained scurvy a week after he gave me a shot...
BANG. A scrawny-looking barn owl interrupted my train of thoughts as it literally flew straight into the crystal clear window. It seemed horribly shocked, and almost immediately started falling to the ground. I gasped, frozen stiff, though my burning heart was moved to rescue it. It needed no rescue – it quickly recovered, started flapping its wings, and perched itself this time on my windowsill. I edged towards the closed window as gently as I could, in fear of scaring it away. As I neared, I realized that there was a scroll of parchment tied to its leg. Astonished at the peculiar sight, I opened the window, my fingers reaching out to touch the parchment. Suddenly, the owl lifted one leg and stared at me expectantly. Surely that piece of parchment couldn't be for me? Gently, I untied the parchment from the owl's leg. It ruffled its feathers, and looked at me encouragingly.
Petunia Evans
The bedroom on the left
3rd Floor
Evans residence
I quickly scanned the Elizabethan-like handwriting, and then unrolled the scroll.
Dear Petunia Evans,
It has come to our attention that you have reached the age of 11. During this time, all sorcerers and sorceresses are to be enrolled in a wizarding school. You have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please contact through owl post, thus confirming your enrollment.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o
Suddenly, as I looked upon the slightly crumpled parchment, it all became clear. Fate and coincidence was not to be blamed for those past childhood events. They had come from the childish, slightly wicked dreams of a 5-year-old girl.
Fear and anxiety suddenly gripped my stomach as I realized that I had managed to cause so much pain. Yet slowly, my spirit escaped Fear's tight grasp, and it soared as it realized the significance of this letter. It fulfilled all my dreams and wishes: it proved that I was special, and that I was wanted. It meant that plain as I was, I had powers and abilities that many did not possess. That letter contained the wonders of my future. As I looked down at it, a smile formed on my face, and I thought to myself, 'I've found it. It's right here, in my hands. I've finally found my escape.'
