Mages And Dragons

I'm Not Like The Rest..

People thought I was weird. But, maybe they just don’t know the truth, let alone handle it. How can I live like this? Being called names I can’t repeat and been kicked around for fun and amusement. I had to go somewhere. Somewhere. Up there, in the sky. Where no one can find me. I can go to a flying school. That’s it. A flying school that has certain people like me. What was I thinking?

I’m not just any ordinary girl with ordinary parents or go to an ordinary school. Some say I’m “gifted”. Some say I’m a creep. But I call myself a witch. You know a person who can make people float in the air and make things disappear? That kind of witch. I don’t know how I was born like this. My parents were both normal, human-beings. That is, until I saw them howling at the moon. That’s right, they’re werewolves. But, they never told me. They wanted me to be normal. I really don’t know how I got into my being a witch position. Maybe my parents adopted me or something. Who knows? Anyways, this whole flying school is probably one of the things I’ll never let go of. Because that school tried to kill me for my blood.

It all started when I was walking to school, trying not to use my powers on anyone. My brown hair was getting long and in my face. Today, I was wearing my steel blue sneakers, red polo shirt and some baggy jeans. I never liked dressing up like the popular girls in my school. They look down on me. They always have looked down on me. Anyways, as I was walking to school, a group of guys started walking towards me. Not just any guys, though. The bad ones that like to hurt people, regardless of their gender. They just do it to make fun of people.

“Hey, look! It’s the creep!” the leader said, staring into my orange eyes (oh yeah, I forgot to say that I was born with orange cat eyes. I really don’t know where all this comes from). The kids at Jerry T. High School always call me creep. My real name is Kyra.

“Leave me alone. I’m just going to school,” I said to the leader. The boy wasn’t half bad looking. His ivy-green eyes seemed to hold some kind of sad emotion behind his tree-bark skin, black hair, and heavy attitude.

“Oh, we aren’t here to make you cry. We just need some money. Can we have some?” The leader’s name was Kevin, the one talking to me now.

“Since, you asked so nicely... No,” I said sternly, pushing the guys away. They just stood there, as if it was the first time someone stood up to them.

“Hey, no one talks to me like that!” Kevin yelled.

“I just did!” I called back. I decided to keep them busy. I waved my right hand in a circular motion and as fast as you can say 'creep', Kevin and his group of evil friends were floating, screaming and yelling their heads off to get down. That should keep them busy. I thought as I walked in silence to school, hoping no one else would have to suffer what Kevin and his friends had to.

It's not my fault I had to use my powers. They're just plain annoying. I hated using my powers. It decreased my chance of a friend. In my school, I'm a lone wolf. But, I guess I can handle it. After all, you work better when you're alone. Anyways, I walked to my locker, number 72, and put in my combination. It never works, so I hid my hand and busted the lock. Of course, I always have to get a new one. The vice principal said if I bust another lock, I have to go to detention and then my parents have to pay a pretty big fine. But, my parents wouldn't care. They would just eat them alive and I'll have no worries. Oh well. I busted my locker for the 8 millionth time, when some tall, black haired, easy on the eyes starts walking my way. You'd probably guess that I had a crush on him. Hah. Not really. Every girl in the whole school has a gigantic crush on him. I'm not a follower, just a bystander. The guy, by the name of Roy, walks to me. I looked behind to check if he's looking at someone else. He wasn't. Roy was about my height, possibly getting taller in a few years, and eyes the color of the ocean on a warm summer day. If I guessed his nationality, I'd say Puerto Rican or Armenian, judging by his perfect, oh so perfect tan. The kind of tans you'd see on surfer models or people who'd been to the beach every hour of every day without getting a single burn. His athletic build made him seem just a few inches taller. You could punch him in the gut and your hand could probably shatter into dust with his seemingly stone hard pack.Don't think of this the other way, I'm not into him. He's out of my league socially. Completely out of my league.

"Hey" He goes.

"What's up?" I ask, as if I know him as a really good friend. This was probably the first time I've talked to someone in school, and not in a threatening way where I punch him in the face. Maybe my day is turning around. Maybe.