Author’s notes before we begin: I will probably delete this later. This is a first draft, and is not fandom related in any way. However, I was feeling real sorry for myself today, and in order to counter this, I have decided to copy paste my Google Docs file onto the most public text-based platform I am on. I have not reviewed this text before posting, so if there’s misspellings or plot holes, that’s just kinda how it is for now.
Maybe this will become a series: Posting Irrelevant First Drafts Until I Stop Feeling Sorry For Myself!
And now, let us begin.
~
My name is Magic. I am 14 years old, my pronouns are she/her, and I’ve always been told I have a beautiful voice.
Six years before I was born, there was a war between my country, Heroniess, and the neighboring country of Giendew. It lasted five years, and the Heroniess government hired wizards at top academies to help them win. One of their objectives was to find a way to make soldiers that were not people, and were hard to kill with traditional weapons. So the necromancer Malifius suggested expanding on his recent successful attempt at reanimating a cooked steak, and soon, the Giendew armies were shocked to discover that their opponents were animate food. Giendew started their own experiments, and soon, it was colloquially dubbed “The Food War.”
It ended in compromise, and the surviving food soldiers were sent out to make their way in the world post-war. And then, one year later, I was born.
“Stay safe, Okay?” Dad said as I got in the minivan.
“Okay,” I said, a little bit embarrassed, but not much.
“Have fun!” Dad said. I waved and pulled the door closed.
Everyone inside was laughing and showing things to each other. I sat down in the back next to A, who was saving me a seat.
“Hey,” she said. She was hunched over trying not to bump her head on the ceiling. After all, she was a 6’11” orc in a car made for humans.
“At least I’m not in a halfling car,” she said.
“Hey!” Said Corey Jamjar. They punched A’s shoulder playfully.
“Quiet!” Shouted the chaperone in the driver’s seat.
“Sorry,” Corey said.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, the chaperone turned on the radio. It was an old halfling romance tune.
“Oh, I like this one!” I said. A tried her best to bob her cramped shoulders. Corey smiled.
You are my heart…
My heart like a meadow
Warm as a Sunday pie…
And tasty as one too!
The flowers and the breeze
The wine and the cheese
My heart belongs to you!
The minivan pulled up to the school. The winter dance was technically a school event, but anyone was allowed in. The chaperone opened the doors and we all shuffled out of the car. She led us in through the gym entrance, and it was stunning. The whole room was lit icy blue, with snowflake-patterned streamers and balloons flanking the wall like security guards.
“Coool,” Corey said.
“Pun intended or not intended?” I asked.
“I’ll leave that up to you,” Corey replied. “Care for this dance?”
“I want to get food first,” I said. “I didn’t eat dinner at home, so I’m pretty hungry.”
“Fair enough.” They turned to A. “Care for this dance?”
“Why not,” A said.
I made my way over to the snack table. I got some punch and a slice of pizza, and was about to go find a place to sit when a person-sized prize pumpkin rolled up to me.
“Miss Peters!” I exclaimed. “Hi!”
“Hi there, Miss Magic!” Miss Peters said. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I said, and shrugged. “I was just about to go find a place to sit.”
“Oh, well if I’m keeping you I’ll go,” she said pleasantly, and rolled away.
Miss Peters was my history teacher. She was always very nice, and treated her students like equals, to the extent that a teacher can treat their student like an equal. She always acted a bit strange when discussing “The Food War.” I could figure why.
I sat down on the steps to the stage. For the dance, they had taken out the usual bleachers and brought in the stage they used for theater performances, except they had taken out the backstage curtains, so there were some boxes of random props and costumes strewn about the back of the stage. I had no idea how they got it in there.
There was an elf boy sitting a bit higher on the steps next to me.
“Hi there,” I said.
“Hi,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Magic,” I replied. “What’s yours?”
“Cerric,” he said. “Care to dance?”
“Sorry, I’m not sure if I like boys like that,” I said, taking a bite of my pizza.
“As friends?” He suggested awkwardly.
“We just met,” I pointed out. “But sure.”
I set my plate down, and we both made our way to the dance floor. We started a more slow, human-inspired couples dance, but quickly realized that it did not fit the music at all. We stared at each other awkwardly, not knowing each other well enough to figure out what type of dance would be more fitting.
Then, Corey and A danced past us, their moves dramatic and perfectly timed. We laughed, and adopted a similar style, albeit toned down a bit. We ended up with a lot of missed timing and accidentally stepping on each other, but we had a great time. After the song ended, Corey and A emerged from the crowd.
“I’m parched from all that dancing,” Corey said, and then turned to Cerric. “Who’s he?”
“This is Cerric,” I explained. “We just met.”
“Hi,” Cerric said.
“Oh, cool,” Corey said. “So, wanna get punch?”
“Sounds good,” I said.
I retrieved my plate from the steps of the stage, and the four of us hung out by the punch bowl and talked. Apparently Cerric was homeschooled, and lived just outside of town in the forest. His parents cared a lot about tradition, and he understood, but sometimes he just wanted to hang out with the kids in town and not be constantly watched over.
“I get that,” A said. “My mom cares a lot about heritage and culture and understanding your roots. And I’m grateful for all the stuff she’s taught me, and I love my culture. But sometimes she gets a bit overbearing. So you have to find a balance between not forgetting your culture while also not getting trapped in the past.”
A little while into our discussion, the music stopped, and Miss Peters was lifted up onstage.
“Before a very special performance from the school band, I’d like to invite any students or other attendees who would like to give a small performance onto the stage!”
So that’s what the stage was for.
“You should sing something, Magic,” A said.
“Ooh, yeah!” Corey said. “You have such a nice singing voice.”
“I’d like to hear it,” Cerric said.
“Okayyy,” I said, walking over to the stage. I walked up the steps and stood onstage.
“Ladies, gentlemen, non-binaries, and others,” Miss Peters said. “Please welcome to the stage Miss Magic Manigault!”
I leaned over, picked up the microphone laying in front of her, and she rolled off to the back corner of the stage, carefully maneuvering around boxes of props.
It was at this point I realized I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know what I was going to sing, and everyone was watching.
So I gathered my strength, and just sang what first came to mind:
You are my heart…
My heart like a meadow
Warm as a Sunday pie…
And tasty as one too!
The flowers and the breeze
The wine and the cheese
My heart belongs to you!
The crowd erupted into applause. Corey, A, and Cerric were especially enthusiastic, with Corey jumping up and down, A pumping her fist in the air, and all of them cheering and shouting. I smiled, filled with warmth.
Miss Peters rolled back to the front of the stage, and I set the microphone down in front of her, my hands still shaking with adrenaline.
”A big thank you to our young performer Miss Magic!” She said. I walked off of the stage and back to my friends.
“You were so good!!” A said, pulling me into an awkward side hug.
“That was amazing!” Cerric said.
My friends smothered me with praise. A few other kids came up to me to compliment my singing.
It felt great.
“And now, let us welcome a very special performance from the Tabel Middle School band!” Miss Peters announced.
“Alright,” Corey said as the band entered the stage. “Let’s get back to dancing!”
We danced and enjoyed the band, and when it ended, we all cheered.
“That was cool!” A said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m gonna use the bathroom real quick.”
“Okay,” A said.
As I was leaving the bathroom, a medium-sized rice cake rolled up to me.
“Hello!” The rice cake said.
“Oh, hi,” I said, confused as to why someone I had never met was approaching me outside of the bathroom.
“You know, your singing is really something.”
“Oh, thanks!”
“I think you could make a career out of that. Few people have such talent at such a young age, and even fewer are given the resources to really shine.” He paused. “I’m William Lundberg, and I think with my help you could be a star. Here, take one of my cards.”
He was wearing a tie wrapped tightly around his middle like a belt, and a few business cards were tucked into his tie-belt. I bent down and took one.
“Take your time,” he said. “I just want you to consider it, okay?”
I nodded in acknowledgment and he rolled away. I put the card in my pocket and returned to my friends on the dance floor, and we continued to dance the night away.