The Tale of Fortinbras

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Posted 10/30/2007 8:09 PM by Fortinbras CoH. 327 reads. Share:

    What was that?  Am I awake?  Screaming?  Who's screaming?  I throw the covers off and run to my bedroom door.
    "Mom?"
    No answer.  Probably just the wind.  The floor is cold beneath my feet and I squint into the darkess and think I see a shape move.  Then stillness.
    "Who's there?"
    It must be four in the morning and my hand starts to shake as I hear a response to my querry.
    "No one of consequence, boy."
     The voice is kind, but there is a bitterness in the words.  Then it speaks again.
    "My story is ending.  Yours is only beginning."
    I try to move.  Nothing.  Am I being held here still against my will or has fear drained me of any movement?
    "Here.  The choice is yours, now.  My time here is at an end."
    Only darkness follows.

    I wake up.  It's graduation day.  Thank god, no more high school.  I hate high school.  So many personalities trying to be heard make for a sizable headache.
    Speaking of.  Yowza.  What happened to my head last night?  It feels like Statesman beat me over the skull with a bat.  I look around my room, and a glimmer catches my eye.  
    Beside my bed, on the floor, are two items I'd never seen before:  A rather large broadsword, and a delicate but sturdy bow.
    Then I see the note.
    

Posted 10/25/2007 8:34 AM by Fortinbras CoH. 265 reads. Share:

I hate Harry Potter.

The thought comes to my mind as I lay in bed, just finishing the final chapter of the 7th book.  Such a small minded view of the magical world.  To think that all of those magicians can just 'hide' from the society at large doesn't say much for the intelligence of your everyday Paragon citizen.

As I turn the final page, I wonder if The Circle of Thorns have thumbed through, as I have, disdainfully laughing at how a small boy could save the race of man from such powerful magics.  Or if the ghosts of Croatoa have guffawed at Nearly Headless Nick's antics as he perpetuates the notion of the 'friendly ghost.'  Or, if Eochai settles in under a tree, book in hand, while his toothless grin pierces the foggy moor.

Well, one things for sure, if I'm ever going to grow up to be a hero, I'll have to SEARCH for my magic.  But where?

I have no special abilities, or powers, as our boy Harry had.  No scar marks my forehead and destines ME for great deeds.

Maybe, Harry Potter isn't the model from which my hero is cast.  Might I have to look elsewhere?

As I fall asleep, and think about the coming day, I recall a quote I read somewhere...

We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.