Urasti's Book: Reminiscences of a Magician

Chapter I: The Beginning

Prologue

You know, the thing about wonders is, there must be a story to recall them. And every single detail must be honoured/respect for the story to make sense and feel real. However, what do we do when there are no marvellous things? No wonders whatsoever? Is it worth the effort of compiling a story attentive up to the tiniest of facts? This is for you to decide. The following story is to be regarded as out of a particular space and time. This story is part of me, you, Merlyn, Urasti and many other unrecognized magicians.

Chapter I: The Beginning

Urasti's eyes opened, the sun was gleaming all over the room since he had forgotten to draw the curtains the night before. It was 11 am in the morning; based on what he got on the quick glimpse he took on his watch before waking up. He knew that the complaints were about to come. In a fast jump, he got into his shorts and went downstairs. "Too calm" he thought while preparing his breakfast. He sat with his French toasts and coffee ready for a tranquil day when out of a sudden the torture began.

-Martin, you have to help me with the cleaning today- shouted Claire- And do not make plans for the afternoon; you have to take care of the house. Your father and I are going to a restaurant for our anniversary

Martin was his real name, instead Urasti was a nickname he made up from two words he and his best friend thought described him. After a while, he got used to it and kept it for himself, like a reminder of his childhood, of the promises he had made to himself. Urasti took a sip of his coffee, and Claire, his mother, entered to the kitchen. -Did you listen to me?

-Yes, unfortunately there is no way out of the mermaid's voice-. Said Urasti while he left the cup, yawning and rubbing his eyes

-Hilarious- she said with an ironic voice-, now hurry, the day started 3 hours ago.

Urasti finished his meal and followed his mother to the laundry room, which actually was more like a bath-laundry room. He began grouping clothes by its color, not paying much attention to what he was doing. Claire noticed that. – Do you feel good? She asked

-Yes just a little bit tired- he replied closing the bag with the red clothes.

- Tired of doing what- Claire began- Wait a couple of years when you have to assume real responsibilities, you will know what is good.

Urasti did not say anything. If he had learnt something over the years, was that he did not want to give his parents an opportunity to start an argument. He would end up quarreling with them on their different views about life, and finally he would have to surrender, for his parents sustained the family and "while he lived under their roof, he had to follow their rules". These situations had been occurring with more frequency the last time and Urasti was sick of it. That kind of comment had become the starter of every single conversation after he graduated from high school.

-Have you decided what are you going to do next year? Asked Claire the same time she was hanging the wet clothes.

- I told you yesterday, I don't know- replied Urasti, while counting to ten- Could you please stop it? I'm not really in the mood today.

-Fine, but you better make up your mind soon, either you work or study – Said Claire- I'm not raising tramps here.

Urasti was about to make a joke about the final comment, but he skipped. Instead, he left the laundry room and headed to his own room. He loved his room. To him that was the only place in the house he could call home. It was not that he disliked his house; but his room had his own touch. Even though his parents had a good taste for decoration, they managed to make it mainstream, while his room kept that quirky aspect he had printed to it over the years. His room was the only room on the 2nd floor, so in fact, it was almost separate from the rest of the house and the only connection between both floors, was the varnished dark oak snail stair his father bought to match the parquet.

Hanging from Urasti's bedroom walls, were ancient Egypt and Greece gods. He always felt attracted to the way myths were narrated, always imbued in feats and defiance between gods and humans. Some rosaries were hanging too, presents from her grandmother who always wanted him to be devoted to virgin Mary. Apart from that, there was no big deal about his room. In the right corner, a little desk with a library on its side that contained table games, books and a piggy laid ; in the left corner, he only had his bed and night table. Urasti sat on his bed and picked up the book he was reading the night before. It was the myth about Prometheus stealing the fire from Hephaestus and giving them to the humans, what was supposed to bring to humans the possibility of growing as a civilization. He found it amazing, how a semi-god tricked the gods using their flaws against them.

He kept on reading about Persephone and Hercules when his mother called him to prepare everything for the lunch. Downstairs he went, and smelled deeply. He loved guessing what his mother was preparing just by its scent. "Rice and chicken" whispered Urasti while entering to the kitchen.

-Your father's to stay late today so it's just the two of us- said Claire while stirring the rice's water to which she had just added some vegetables broth.

Urasti prepared everything while Claire served Urasti a generous ration. They both ate in silence, since Albert, Urasti's father, was the one who always talked and brought the news at that time of the day. After that, Urasti took a nap. He overslept and woke up when his mother called him.

-Martin, we're leaving- and the spring of the lock's mechanism shrieked- There's some food in the refrigerator.

Urasti straightened and woke up. "Great, It is 8 PM, another day fully wasted" He thought with annoyance for not setting up his alarm clock. Urasti looked outside the window, the night was arriving with a springy warm temperature and the wind blew calmly. "Well, it is not that bad"