Folklore.
It has become a magical thing of historic fairy tales that have a one out of a million chance at being real. Yet, still a chance.
Magic is real. As are magical beings.
And Adam Letharne refused to believe otherwise.
"Lucinda Nocturne is a young witch that dwells in Rosemary Forest. She practices an old witchcraft of only herbs and healing. She's not the type to lay a hex or evil spell on a being. She's kind of a good witch, I guess," a lad, of merely 13 years of age, began to profess to a grungy band of other boys around his own age.
"She grew up in a perfect, harmonious community but she strayed from it, for everyone was just too full of love and nothing was ever wrong-"
A couple of the boys snickered and shook their heads as if their friend was a mental space cadet. It is the title Adam was known for. 'Airhead' were their exact words.
Adam lowered his head and quieted his spirit. They didn't listen anyway.
"Adam, stop making up stories. The girls won't even look at us if you're 'round. Plus, it makes no sense. Who wouldn't want to live in a world where nothing was wrong?"
James, a shaggy haired, charming red head slung his shoulder over his friend's shoulder as they left their spot on the grass, trailing up to their ominous school.
Adam Letharne, a mysterious boy full of ideas, imagination, and vivid dreams.
His dark appearance proved him as a troubled boy.
Black curly hair, dark eyes, light sky blue eyes, pale skin. Not a bad complexion, yet his eccentric imagination created him to become quite unapproachable in conversing.
Adam, tugged up the steps while connected to his friend's side, daydreaming about a young witch, Lucinda Nocturne.
Her hair was sleek, jet black and her eyes like lavender. Soft glowing, pale skin, and pink fresh lips.
Her complexion was full of life, however cold.
As if she was waiting, longing for something to warm her soul-
Slam!
Adam had looked up just in time to run into his history teacher, Ms. Arisonc.
"Oh?" Was a sudden yet calm reaction to Adam's silly embarrassment. Looking dead ahead from his position, he stared straight into the breasts of his history teacher. Her blouse nearly popping at the seams.
The brunette turned to find a dumbfounded, red faced Adam, still stumbling for words. Glancing from her bosom to her eyes, and then cast to the floor.
"I'm so, so sorry, ma'am. I wasn't paying attention." Adam jumbled as he quickly picked up a single pen that had rolled off her clipboard and stack of books.
"Thank you, Adam," She took the pen from his outstretched hand, running it quickly through her short length hair, "It's alright. Just maybe daydream after school. Wouldn't want those nasty werewolves to get you before class now would we?" She smiled sweetly.
Adam blushed. The terrifying nightmare he had right in the middle of class about werewolves and ghouls. He didn't know if he'd ever live that moment down, even though it had been almost two months since.
"Yes ma'am." He bowed his head and slipped past, quickly heading for his locker. The immediate image of his classroom daydreams only enflamed his cheeks.
Many believed Adam to be deluded and psychotic for believing in such beings with such passion, that and his constant heavy sexual urgings.
His imagination was his only true friend, and his imaginary friend.
"So Lucy is a hot chick you dreamt up... Is that who you jack off to 'cause you can't get none?" Laughed Ray, the middle school pill junkie, literally 12.
Nudging Adam a little harsher than play.
"You're such a shithead!" He laughed jeering.
Adam shrugged. That was pretty much the extent of the bullying and attention. Just a moment of words and other than that he was invisible.
He didn't mind.
Adam was normal that he had divorced parents, the broken family claimed abandonment and abuse. Adam was too young to remember anything. All he was told was dad was evil and mom was dead.
His mother passed away two years ago.
A wonderful woman with an exciting personality and beautiful mind.
His inspiration for life was his mother.
He looked like her.
Black hair, pale skin.
His mother was the perfect person, but leukemia was a bitch.
She understood his need for imagination, his need for knowledge and proof that magic existed.
"You know, I once had a gnome as a best friend," She cooed as she played with his hair as he quietly cried in her lap. That day he was laughed at for still believing that Santa Clause existed. He was 10.
"A gnome?" He looked up.
"Yes, and everyone would laugh because every time I showed him to someone he'd remain stone and no one believed me."
"Why wouldn't he save you from the horror of embarrassment and prove them wrong?" Adam had pouted, angry at magic and it's unloyalty.
Rolling over, turning his back towards his mother.
She placed a hand on his shoulder lovingly, tugging him to turn back over.
The nightstand lamp illuminated the room, however dull. His mother looked younger, yet you could see how thin she was growing.
"Because he had anxiety and when people don't believe they freak out when they suddenly see something against their belief. They say it's evil, or demon possessed. They burn and break it and forget about it." She softly explained with a playful smile.
"So he wanted to save his own arse instead of his friend's reputation? People could think you're crazy and lock you up!"
"Watch what you say! My my, we shouldn't say foul things at people just because they're scared. The gnome wasn't just protecting himself but his family. Sometimes it's better to let the friend take pain in the saving of others. Even though it's hard."
Adam sighed, "Thank you for talking seriously to me, Mom and not just saying I'm crazy."
"Oh Adam. Some of the luckiest, most amazing people, are the craziest." She smiled and messed up his hair, tickling his side with her free hand.
Adam missed those serious talks of magic. Missed his mom.
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"Adam! Wait!" James yelled behind, desperate to stop his friend.
"Leave me alone!" Adam nearly sobbed, wiping away the trash on his arm.
"Mate!" James stopped at the edge of the school's yard where James' mother honked at him, announcing he was late and had to go.
Adam continued running, ignoring his friend.
His black backpack jingled with his equipment from school and personal items as he sprinted down the neat lanes full of blossoming trees.
The beach lay only to the left as he ran down in the sand, his converse sinking and collecting damp sand to his rubber ends.
Adam collapsed. He wasn't athletic and to run without pause for a half a mile was impressive for him. Took him a good while, as he wasn't fast but he didn't stop, so he took that as an achievement.
He grabbed a handful of rocks and began throwing them forcefully into the ocean's waves, heavy hot tears pouring from his face.
Then once he ran out, he pulled a lazy drift wood angrily from the shore and wrote in bold large letters into the sand,
'FUCK THE WORLD'
Finally, he sat down and listened to the ocean, as the constant sounds relaxed him.
Sniffing, he pulled out a notebook with a fountain pen from his backpack, now laid by his side and began writing.
They called him gay or faggot, transsexual.
It was insulting since he was straight, just as it is insulting to be called something you're not.
'Lucinda ran in the dark thicket of the Rosemary forest,' Adam began writing, 'She knew the exact path of the never ending maze of the grand woods full of pine. The bogs, the angry bats, the quick sand.'
Adam wrote her story, from the time she was born to her 23rd birthday.
Everything held such detail. She wasn't just a story, she was his creation, friend, and whole obsession.
To Adam, a lonely boy with no one to understand, created someone to. Created a friend.
"Adam!" A deep, searching voice echoed off the empty beach, "Adam!"
Adam looked over his shoulder and saw a tall toned man in his early 20's.
"Adam..." The man frowned, walking down into the sand.
Adam watched him approach him with red eyes, just sniffing, holding his notebook still on his lap.
The man stopped only a couple feet behind Adam, hands now in his pockets. Glancing from the empty ocean to the boy, he spoke gently, "Wanna go home?"