Parable

1:2 Why was I sad?

I was drifting back and forth into consciousness and subconsciousness and I was thinking about many things that were set off in my mind that day I was in magic school for the first time as an extracurricular activity, around me were these same forest dust particles that came after I evaporated the monster out of existence. The thing had set for him, and it made him kind of dissipate. I still don't know where it is, but I am sure that most certainly it exists somewhere where I can be after from it for the time being. I am thinking of many other things that make me want to cross my mind out and give me some sort of relief, but at the same time, I reminisce about something that is weirdly destroying my mental state. My walk mostly consisted of me going back and forth and thinking since I woke up from a long sleep (because I was knocked out, so technically not asleep). I felt extremely dizzy and I felt like a migraine was about to set in. I combated this by thinking about some cool stuff that made my vibes more arranged and in order. I looked at the trees that were shaking like whistles through someone's cupped mouth. The more and more I think of silent things, I feel more ignorant like I am missing part of a bigger picture until I realized the reason why my brain was hurting like was the fact that I am remembering things that are transporting me into the past. Usually, with amnesiacs, they can't remember anything at all, even if their lives depended on it. my story was a lot weirder and wilder than usual, where I can remember, unlike some amnesiacs that are just sitting ducks in most situations. When their wives or sons scream out their name, they can't remember much at all, because the idea is now a lost memory and lost memories don't recuperate. That's what I thought at first, that just because I can't remember, I have the excuse of living a completely different life, but I remember, oh I remember. I got most of my whiffs from general things that would remind me. I remember days in my classes where bullies would harass me. I remember things that I used to do in class and things that I used to have, but the more I look at it, the more inconsistencies with my memory start to etch. Our minds like to play games and create random things if you can't remember others. I was asking myself questions and got little to no answers, even when I searched most of my life trying to get a solution (most of my life as in, some of it, I don't remember that either).so when I remember specific memories, they float in my mind like a balloon, that balloon holds a secret and if it pops, the secret is out, and the paradox is discontinued for good. Here, I had many inconsistencies. I remember some of it as if it were yesterday; magic was the very specific thing I remembered. It was something that I treasured and kept in my heart because I was proud of it, not a single aspect of it felt dull or boring, ostentatious and glamorous is what I thought when it came to its beauty and fiery and war-like is what I thought of when I saw its offensive capabilities. Things that I was happy about were the things I remember, no wonder, it sounds like one of those cliched plot devices that people use to make the character not remember anything so it can be relevant to the plot. Here was something that I remembered, it was a cumbersome day and everyone was sitting in the class minding their own business, the bells rang like fire bells if the city was on fire, and everyone got out of their seat and rushed out of class like an angry stampede of people looking to kill an outcast that had laid foot in their city ( I would describe them as buffalos as well). And this is where most of the story starts, in an extracurricular class that they called magic. It was relatively unknown at the time that magic was now practiced heavily in many areas, but now the school thinks that giving us a teacher that barely knows a thing about magic and letting him teach us, it was a disappointment, to say the least, but this is where the story began, in this dull, boring, ridden, and ugly class that they called "The Douche's Hipster Magic Club." It doesn't even have a ring to it.

I was ready to set my scene in the class, everyone was kinda pissed, or let's just say not in the best of moods in that specific day, since the level of malic has felt a lot more apparent, the hollowness of all of these things made me more of a sociopath, willing to experiment on my classmates to see how far I could take some of my ideas.