fiction for your brain

Here is a vignette; a vignette is a small look into a single moment and a short (Very short) piece of fiction. Flash fiction! If you read the last one, things will make more sense.

Ezra had surmised that with age, and training, he could rule the world with an iron fist. He could do whatever he had desired and even more. His abilities could go further beyond simple house chores and memory manipulation. He had once guessed that with effort and trying, Ezra could be more powerful than the characters he had seen in movies and on TV. He could be a mixture of Darth Vader and the Wicked Witch of the West. He could have the malice of Maleficent and the White Witch. With his background in magic, he could look up to Lord Voldemort and Saruman. But Ezra knew deep inside of himself that he had and was a good soul and he’d never have a reason to harm anyone with what he could do. But it was always going to be in the back of his mind for safekeeping.

Ezra guessed when he was younger that brooms had no magic in them whatsoever. When Harry Potter played Quidditch and when the Sanderson sisters rode vacuums and mops into battle, were they the ones who provided the magic, or was it buried within the core of a common Swiffer WetJet? In the present day, he would have Googled why witches rode brooms, but he would have a difficult time explaining it to whoever looked at his computer.

His roommates had fallen asleep somewhere far before Ezra did. Homework had gotten more quantitative and finals were upon them for the winter. Mason was sleeping on the living room couch and Mason was sprawled out over textbooks on the kitchen table; Owen was the only one out of them to actually make it to his bed when he grew tired. Why Ezra wasn’t asleep left him confused, but he didn’t mind it. He thrived when he was alone. But tonight, he wanted to try something that he had been stuck on for a while now; could he cause their cheap, plastic broom to fly?

Sneaking around his friends, he pulled the bent broom from its place behind the garbage can and closed the door without so much as a sound. Ezra had bundled up in a peacoat and a tightly tied scarf. His hair hung freely as it blew around with short bursts of wind. He had stepped out from his doorstep and into the parking lot, relishing the crunch of snow under his feet. Like he had seen in all the movies, Ezra slipped the broom between his legs and thought of how he would try to start. Would he press off of the ground like Superman or just let himself rise? Ezra gave a slight jump and he caught himself in mid-air, holding his legs tight so he didn’t fall off. He looked down at the ground around him and saw that he was a good foot away from the snow-covered pavement.

Inside, Ezra was screaming with joy and a feeling of pride in himself. He was flying and it was because he had caused it. He was in control and gave a slight push forward as he moved through the lot. He took himself higher, his feet level with the tops of the cars. And then with gusto, he zoomed up and forward, feeling the air rush around him as he went faster. He tightened his grip around the plastic handle of the broom as he moved faster and faster. He’d scream in excitement, but he didn’t want to risk being seen. From where he was, Ezra could see the entire neighborhood he lived in, the campus, and the buildings deeper into the city. He was higher than the dormitories, but he was higher than most anything in the entire cityscape. In the center of town, he was even higher than the brightly lit Christmas tree. He sat on his broom, holding himself in position and he held his hand out in the air; he’d manifested fire in his palm and watched the flame dance until he put it out by closing his fingers into a fist.

Ezra flew back home and wouldn’t stop smiling after his feet touched down. He unlocked the door with just a wave of his hand and he had replaced the broom, his roommates all still sleeping. He unwrapped from his outerwear and slipped into a pair of joggers and a loose tee and put himself to bed. This night wasn’t like any other, but he’d treat it as such and remember what he could do.



Author: chancet1014

I'm a student. I'm a cashier. I'm a writer. I'm a rambler.

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