Mitchel sat in his favorite spot beside the river. He hung his head low as he tossed bits of whatever he could grab into the water. The late spring sun was near its high point, and the river crashed over boulders and logs with a fury that matched his own.
Why couldn’t he do spells and tricks like everyone else? Today was basic stuff any kinderen could pull off. But for him, it was a total disaster. If he could only control what his father, grandfather and both the great grandfathers said was his ancestral given gift for magic!
And, Anya! Sweet, beautiful Anya, who made him ache from his head to his toes. She just had to be there to see what a stupid mislukking he was. He picked up a sizable rock from the water’s edge and flung it as hard as he could.
The rock smashed against a boulder, exploding in a brilliant flash of pink and green. The river’s water rose into the vacuum of the explosion, and the heat of the sun evaporated the water into a brilliant, sparkling mist, reflecting all colors of the rainbow. But it also left the river’s rocks and fish exposed. The fish flipped and flopped as they tried making their way into whatever puddle remained. Mitchel watched in despair. Then a gargantuan tree that was split length-wise by the explosion, began to creak loudly as it slowly fell. It hit the ground with a mighty WHOAMP!, clobbering a family of raccoon, killing every one of the creatures.
“AAAAAHHHHHl!” Mitchel yelled. He dropped his head into his hands, frantically searching his memory for a remedy spell; any remedy spell. None came to mind. He grabbed another nearby rock and again threw it as hard as he could. The monster trees around the felled one exploded into flame, setting off a forest fire. Mitchel burst into tears.
“The answer is simple, of course,” a voice from out of nowhere stated. Mitchel looked this way and that for the source of the voice, but saw nothing.
The forest fire snuffed out. The voice spoke again.
“Stop throwing rocks.”