The Runaway Trickster

Chapter One: My Home

It was a slow day in the tiny, family-owned café. I was bringing over espresso to the last customer of the day. The jittery man, who had already had a few too many coffee cups, asked in a comedic manner if he needed to call the police about a child labor situation.

"No, it's volunteer work," I humored.

As soon as I ended my sentence, I tripped on the air. I tried to catch myself using the counter, but I wasn't able to grab the counter fast enough. I fell right next to a notecard that was taped to the cupboard. The notecard was a memento in my parent's relationship since it was the reason they had first met. The coffee cup laid empty on the floor. I looked back up at the notecard, and it was drenched with coffee. I immediately tried to save it in any way I could. I removed it from the cupboard and attempted to use my shirt to soak up the coffee. The writing was now smudged and intelligible. I tried to dry the notecard by using one of my father's magic tricks. The trick made a giant gust of wind weave through the café, knocking over chairs, slamming doors, and shattering coffee cups. The jittery man was horrified. He sprinted out of the store, screaming that he didn't want the coffee anymore.

I couldn't believe I had ruined the memory of my father and mother's first meeting. They had cherished that notecard ever since they met. My mother had once left the note in our old home while we were moving. She told the truck driver to turn around that way we could go back and get it. I wasn't able to say anything to my father or mother. I thought that I was going to get grounded or have to work the cleaning shift after the café closed for a week. I rushed right out of the café area, ran upstairs, and barged into my room. I shut the door behind me and threw myself onto my bed.

My father came to talk to me in my room after the store closed. He explained to me that he was not upset about the notecard, but he explained to me that he was upset about me using my powers in front of a human being. I knew what I did was wrong, but I refused to admit that to him.

"You use your powers in front of mom all the time," I retorted.

"That is different, your mother already knows about we have these powers, and she understands," my father stated.

My father was correct, as he always was. He constantly had a perfect sense of reason. No one else was as correct as he was. His actions, his words, his control, he treasured his traits being impeccable.

"Your lying. You know it's not any different," I said.

"I am sorry you think that I would lie to you, even though you know I wouldn't."

My father always had to be right. He despised being wrong. No one, except for him, was ever correct. He had to be excellent at everything he did, and so did his kids. I could have punched through the wall if my father wasn't there to stop me.

"You need to rest. Please, for both of our sakes, go to sleep without breaking anything."

I knew I wasn't going to sleep that night. It was the night I would train in the field four miles away from my home. My father wouldn't teach me everything he knew, so I knew I had to figure it out myself. I was planning on practicing with fire and wind, testing if I could make anything comparable to a sphere of flame.

As soon as he left the room, I had teleported into the field. I prepared to start my late training by clearing the area with the only trick my father taught me entirely, the mastery of wind. The ground rumbled as leaves, sticks, and grass crashed through the sky. As the final leaf glided through the air, I used the breeze to hoist myself from the ground. I looked directly at the now cleaned spot and encircled it with a ring of flames. It was not what I was planning on, but it taught me a unique use of wind. I put myself at the center of the ring of flames, satisfied my work. As I watched the fire fade out, I began to see my father through the dying flame.

"You have the same fascination of watching the world burn around you as I did, don't you?"

"I was only practicing the tricks you taught me."

"An open field is no place for flames, considering you could have scorched the entire valley. You must be more careful with where you practice."

"You're not upset about what I was doing? I thought you would be angry, and that's why I kept it secret."

"Oh please, your father is magical, you can't keep a secret from me for too long."

"How long have you known?"

"twenty-seven days, five hours, fifty-six minutes, and twenty-nine seconds. I like to be precise, as you know."

I went home with my father after that. He seemed happy with my choice to train instead of relying entirely on his teachings. It was as if he wanted me to disobey him. It was such an alien concept to me since he actively made me follow his every rule. He told me that it was a good thing that I was practicing, and he said that he would show me his training arena the next day. I did not get to see the training grounds that day, but I got to experience something much more exciting than visiting my father's training grounds. I got to learn about something else of my father's that he was hiding from me, his brother.