Fiction: Magic (202 words)

14 Jan

See, markings of magic burn up through the skin, more like bruise that never leave, sometimes permanently red, sometimes black, sometimes a purple blue, seared into the user’s wrist.  They show up small but clear somewhere around four or five years old, and as young as they are, the users’ instinct is to cover and protect them.  No one should seem them, no one should know them.

And that instinct is a good one—because these markings should be closely guarded. Those symbols, letters, characters, whatever it is that shows up there, they are crucial.  These letters say more about a user than the user could even now about themselves.  They cut to the very core of the magic in their souls.  And with those markings, a well-trained user can do a nearly limitless number of things.  So, you don’t share them, not unless you really trust someone.  Some users go their entire lives without sharing the markings on their wrists.  They get married, have kids, dedicate their lives to another human being, and still never show them in inside of their wrists.  It’s kind of a big deal.

So–No, it’s not a tattoo.  And I can’t show you.  At least, not yet.

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Posted by on January 14, 2015 in Stories


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