A short story (with some inspiration taken from Harry Potter so credit to J.K Rowling for that)
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The last day of your life began just as any other.
Your job consists of one thing and one thing only. You blast away the rocks on the side of the mine so that you can create a tunnel wide enough for your master to escape through. You have done this job your whole life. It is all you remember.
Your master is…malevolent, to say the least. A shudder runs down your spine at the mere thought of him. Every day you spend underneath his reign is another day where you long for nothing more than to no longer be a slave to the human embodiment of chaos and darkness. You long for a life outside the mines. Your eyes want nothing more than strain against the harsh, yet gentle light of the sun. Your long to take in a breath that doesn’t coat your lungs in hot, dark ash. Your feet long to feel the grass in between your toes.
Your nights are filled with restless dreams of a life where you are no longer a slave. You dream dreams where you are free of pain and sorrow. You crave a life that you have never known more than you ever thought possible. Every time you wake up from one of those dreams, you feel the complete and utter sense of hopelessness settle even further in the depths of your stomach. It feels as if it is eating away at your soul, one day at a time.
Every day that you are forced to wake up and descend even further into the pit of your own personal hell, you say a prayer. You wish for a life different than your own. You wish that, somehow, you can be saved from the life you were born into.
And, to your surprise, that wish finally comes through.
It is on the last day of your life that you are granted your final wish.
The last day of your life begins just as any other. You wake up from another dream of a life you can only hope for and make your way to the mines. You climb down the ladder, making the perilous descent quickly and efficiently. Once you are at the point where you last left off, you finally pull out your wand.
It’s a long black wand made of ash and dragon heartstring. It doesn’t bend much, but does its job well. You are not sure if the wand is even yours at all. It is the wand you were given when you were old enough to be sent to the mines and the only one you have ever been allowed to see.
The only spell you were ever taught to do was the spell that would directly help with the job you were assigned. You mutter that all too familiar spell, bitterly thankful for the meager excuse to use your magic at all.
“Bombarda.” You shield your eyes with hands heavier than the lead and rocks you are working to blast away. You wait for the inevitable shower of dust and ash to fall down onto your face and arms, but it never comes. Slowly, you lower your arms. You are shocked to see that the dust from the explosion of the rocks has suspended in time around you.
Your wand is glowing. The red light of the spell has turned into a soft, pale green glow that pulses, almost as if it has a heartbeat. The breath dies in your throat. You have heard of this.
There is a myth. A myth that used to travel among the other wizards and witches that are forced to blast away their own tunnels all around you.
The myth states that when a witch or wizard is so hopeless or lost that the wand of the caster can tell. It states that, in certain conditions, that the wand is able to recognize when the caster needs something so desperately that their entire being aches for it. In the cases that the wand is able to become sentient and see this, it takes the deepest and most desperate wish of the caster, and grants it.
You feel an utter sense of peace at the realization that your wand has discovered what you needed most. You squeeze your eyes shut as the pulsing light of your wand glows ever brighter. There are tears of relief somehow forcing their way out of your tightly closed eyes. As your wand grew almost unbearably hot against your chest, you sent a silent thank you to it.
Your wand had finally granted your wish.
You were finally free.
~
(Hey everyone! This short story idea came to me when I was assigned to take a photoset for my photography class and come up with a story to go with it. I took four photos of mybest friend and used those to show (sort of) what my story was about.)
