Meanderings and Musings

With my morning routine complete, I headed to the kitchen area. My dad greeted me while moving around whatever was in the pan. “Good morning, sleepy head! I’m cooking the sausage right now, so sit down and I’ll hand it over in just a moment.”

I nodded and replied, “Gotcha. I’ll sit at the counter.” Before I sat at the counter, I took a peek into the pan. As expected, there were six sausages in the pan, each one shuffling and rolling around to achieve the perfect level of cooked. As I sat down, a small _ding! _went off and the sausage flipped into a plate. My dad picked the plate up, put a piece of buttered toast on it, and placed the plate in front of me and said, “Your breakfast, young Mistress. Please, is it to your liking?”

“You’re insufferable, Dad,” I giggled. After taking a bite, I provided an addendum. “These are pretty good, though. Thanks, Dad.”

Knowing that “pretty good” was anywhere from to pretty good to absolutely amazing for me, he beamed, glad to make a meal that I liked, not that it was hard.

For one, he had a literal cooking magic that made him the best chef around, no matter what. Those sausages would be perfect, even if he had taken a nap when he put them on the pan. And besides that, I wasn’t really a picky person. For most things, edible=tasty. Back then, I couldn’t afford to be picky, anyways.

I scraped the plate clean of every last crunchy toast crumb and every last drop of sausage grease. When I was done, I got up and cleaned my plate before putting it away.

Once the plate was put away, I grabbed my wallet, keys, and my Tablet. Putting those in my bag, I hollered, “I’m heading out!” Then, I took a step outside, closed the door, and took a breath of air, which immediately led to me **** on a bug. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Following my stellar first breath of outside air, I began a leisurely stroll throughout the city. With no clear destination, a walk can lead to some interesting scenarios.

So I did that. I walked. And walked. And walked. After a rather pleasant stroll, I found myself thinking. About what? Who knows? The thoughts in my head were the fleeting kind, the kind that existed for but a moment. Eventually, my thoughts drifted from the atmosphere around me, to the mana vibrating around me, and finally came to a rest upon my lifelong handicap.

The world I lived in was populated by, powered by, and run by magic. Everyone and everything had magic. Things without magic had specific magic-deadening properties. So why was I without magic? There were stories of “late-bloomers” whose magic developed without showing until they were older than the average “First Release” age, 14. However, the oldest recorded late-bloomer gained his magic at 16. I was 19, almost a full year after the average “Second Release”, or Awakening. And yet, I had no magic. Stranger still, I had a far keener mana and magic sense than most, even though mana sight only occurs once magic has awoken. So I was basically a walking anomaly with a handicap unique to one being in existence: me.

My thoughts and lamentations were soon interrupted, however.