A Defense of My Life, by Jonathan Bicara - 1

Cloaked by cool darkness, we gazed out at our apartment complex. In spite of the late hour, the lights were blazing. Police scurried around, some questioning our neighbors, others carrying our belongings to a waiting truck.

David's whisper startled me. It was the first time he had spoken since I told him my story. "Well, I guess we better get on our way. They'll know by now that we're not dead."

We started to retreat into the gloom. I paused for a moment, looking back over my shoulder, and saw the girl from the police station. She was talking to a policeman near a cruiser outside the apartment complex. Straining my ears, I picked up bits of the conversation. "Not from D'arville. . . "

"A witch is a witch."

" . . . just learning . . ."

". . . lizard grow into a dragon . . ."

I turned away, looking for David. He was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, I panicked. I was wanted, hunted by the law. Police were rifling through my belongings, questioning my neighbors, discussing me on the street, and I was alone. Something pale moved in the darkness. It glided toward me. I gasped, gathering my breath to scream, but a hand clamped over my mouth.
Continue reading "The Nature of Things, Part 7"

I really can't say what happened next. I heard shrieking metal and shattering glass. I smelled burning rubber and billowing dust. I saw flashes of light. At one moment, my body seemed to float. At others, I felt the seatbelt biting into my waist and chest. I couldn't say which sensation was first, or which one was last. They're all a jumbled blur.

The car sat squarely on all four wheels, a considerable distance away from where the semi had crashed through the guard rail. All of the windows were gone, splintered and scattered over the road. The driver lay face down, flung from the spinning car, akimbo like a rag doll on the floor.

David sat beside me, staring ahead, paying no attention to the small cuts on his face. Something seemed to snap; he turned, looked at me, and said, "Did you see? There was no driver." He didn't wait for an answer, just unbuckled himself, and began kicking fiercely at the door. "We have to get out of here."

About that time, I noticed that I still had a headache. "What's going on?" My voice sounded strange, even to my ears.

"We have to go. We have to get out of here. Hurry up." He braced himself, and kicked at the door with all his strength. It sheared away from the car with the screech of tortured metal, and fell onto the pavement. I watched, fascinated, as it rocked back and forth. "Come on." David's snatching hands unbuckled my seatbelt and dragged me out of the car. He started to hurry away. When I didn't follow, he turned back, grabbed my hand, and tugged me behind him. Moments later, we were running down the road. Continue reading "The Nature of Things, Part 6"

"Who's this?"

The voice seemed to come from somewhere above me. It seemed foggy, like early morning after a restless night.

"Claims he's the other's roommate. Don't know if that's true. He's a witch though. Not a very good one. He tried to break his friend out, and collapsed midway through the spell. Started hallucinating and talking to himself. Something about killing"

"Hmm. Well, put him in the car, too. Two birds with one stone, you know?"

I felt strong hands grab both of my arms, and soon, my feet bumped over the threshold as they dragged me to the car. Sitting in the car, my thoughts began to clear. I opened my eyes, and instantly regretted it. At the sight of sunlight, my headache became nearly unbearable. I closed my eyes again, gasping, but the pain didn't subside. It throbbed in time with my heart, and pulsing lights seemed to dance before my closed eyes.

I heard the front passenger door open, and felt the car settle slightly as someone got in. Grimacing, I forced my eyes open. I was surprised to see a pretty girl about my own age sitting in the front seat, looking back at me.

"Good morning, sunshine," she said, smiling.
Continue reading "The Nature of Things, Part 5"

I'm not usually the type to skip classes. My parents sacrificed a lot to give me the opportunity to attend school, and I've always felt like I owed it to them to attend my classes. Somehow, though, classes seemed unimportant to me that day. I called police stations all over town looking for David. None of them would tell me anything. I searched the newspapers. His name was never mentioned. I even visited a paranoid friend who spent most of his time listening to police scanners, but he could tell me nothing.

David's warning words about witches dying young ran endlessly through my brain. I was guilty. It was my fault. If not for me, no one would have known. And now, he was the victim of that rabid violence that we reserve for the things that we fear most.

When night fell, I found myself sitting in my car, rocking back and forth, unaware of how I had gotten there, or what I intended to do. I started the car, and sat there in the darkness, listening to the sound of the engine. When the idea first came to mind, I dismissed it immediately. I couldn't do that! But it poked and prodded at me until I could no longer ignore it. I began forming a picture in my brain, and as I formed it, I tried, in some strange, inexpressible way, to form it into a request, and to pass that request to the air that surrounded me.

The voice startled me. I can't say that I heard it, or even that I felt it. I simply knew what it said, and that the whispering was the voice of the wind. "Why?"
Continue reading "The Nature of Things, Part 4"

"OK, so, someday, I'm going to learn all about why the Universe is a she, and I'm going to learn about my 'mission,' but right now, I still don't get the whole partnership with the elements thing. Can we go back to that?"

"Yeah. Look, I'm sorry that this is so disjointed. In my mind this all went more smoothly."

"Don't worry about it."

He sighed, and muttered to himself as he walked around the living room. "OK, so . . . let's see. How about if I explain . . . yeah. That will work." He turned toward me. "Here's how it works. When you do magic, you're imagining something, and then asking the elements to do it for you. That's all." He stood there looking very pleased with himself, waiting for me to respond.

"I'm asking the elements to do something for me?"

"Yes, exactly."

"So . . . well . . . how do I . . . what do I . . . I don't get it."

"It's really not that complicated. Think of something that you want to happen, anything, but make it be something in this room."
Continue reading "The Nature of Things, Part 3"

"Tonight?"

"No, I've got a date tonight."

"Tonight?"

"No, I've got a test tomorrow. I need to study."

"Tonight?"

"No, I'm going out with some friends tonight."

After about a week of excuses, I could tell that he was avoiding me. I wondered how he would react if I kept bugging him. Would he give in, or would he just get mad? These are things that I should have known. It still surprises me how little I knew him.

Finally, he relented. Once again, I asked, "Tonight?"

This time, he shook his head. "Why is this so important to you? Why don't you just give it up?"

"I uh, I don't know. It just feels important."
Continue reading "The Nature of Things, Part 2"

He took one look at my scowling face and outstretched arm, and laughed, heartily. "It's about truth, you know. Truth, and respect." He paused for a moment. "Well I suppose that truth and fear work, too, but those who use fear, are usually used by their fear. Truth, though, that's the most important part. That's the part with the power. You don't need the arm waving and the muttering mumbo jumbo." He glanced at the pitcher on the counter and it shattered, spraying shards of glass all over the kitchen. "The arm waving and muttering are for the audience, nothing else. They make weaklings look more impressive. Truth is," he said, glancing at the broken glass, and watching as it gathered itself back up, and assembled itself into a pitcher again, "it's really all about truth and respect." That's when we both noticed that there were still some pieces of glass on the floor, and the pitcher was missing its spout.

"Truth is," I said, grinning, "you're not as good as you think you are." We both laughed as he picked up the broom and started sweeping the remaining shards together.

"See, magic is--"

"Hold, on," I said, cutting him off mid-sentence. "When did you become an expert? I've never seen you use magic at all, and you've been my roommate through three years of college."

"That's the way it's supposed to be. You don't use real magic to make flashes and bangs. You use it to get things done. You use it to get in touch. You use it to, well, I can't think of another sentence that starts with the phrase 'You use it to get.' If I could, it would make this whole spiel of mine more memorable, but yeah, you know what I mean. Magic isn't a show. It's . . . it's just magic, and I don't even like that word. Calling it magic makes it sound mysterious, but really, it's simple. Nothing mysterious about it. Nothing to whisper about in darkened rooms. Nothing to write home to your mom about." Continue reading "The Nature of Things"