By Amber Averay
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Magic
I sat in the darkened cupboard, ears straining for any sounds beyond the doors. Nobody had noticed I was missing, and that suited me perfectly: might as well utilise an invisibility I’d long been marked with. It used to annoy me, when I was young and stupid, but I’d soon learned it was so much easier to do things when nobody recalled your face, or memorised your name, or even acknowledged your existence. I’d seen others fade away due to neglectful disinterest, yet I embraced it as a means to thrive. Whereas others seemed to just disappear from memory, I refused to ignore the opportunities such indifference created.
So I’d spent the previous few weeks planning, my schemes forming as I slid into my bunk of a night, flesh bubbling over the bones of the project as I slept until a fully realised notion was ready to act upon. I’d spent much of the previous days surreptitiously gathering the items I required and placing them where they would be most beneficial to me. Hiding in plain sight, much as I myself did. There was a freedom to being one of the Unseen. Unknown. Unwanted. It made life interesting. I could hear things not intended for me; witness actions not meant for ‘other’ eyes.
So now I crouched in the darkness, legs cramping, ears twitching, eyes rapidly blinking and yet blinded by the shadows as I waited. And when I was certain nobody was about I eased open the cupboard door and unfolded my lanky legs, creeping into the light like a bear first emerging from a long hibernation. In my pockets I’d tucked lighter fluid and a box of matches, and now fingered them contentedly as I limped down the empty corridor. The rows of shut lockers stood like sentinels, offering a guard of honour for a warrior’s final journey, a soldier’s last mission.
It was early in the day, everyone would be about their business. In the common rooms, the work stations, the kitchens they would be bustling, chatting, concentrating, and not in the least aware that I wasn’t among them. I giggled like a naughty schoolboy – which I suppose I might have been! – and in my excitement almost began an eager scuttle through the puddles of light pouring through the windows. I forced myself to slow down and in no time at all – and at the same time, after an age – I was at my first destination.
The twigs and sticks were clumped to the side of the weathered stone steps, and in moments I’d arranged them in the doorway, sprayed the lighter fluid over them, and struck the match. The wood ignited with a pleasing whoosh, and I breathed in the acrid smoke before shutting the door and jamming it closed. Then I gimped to every ground floor exit and repeated the process, sniggering at my brilliance for last night I’d sneaked out of bed and disabled all the fire alarms. Even at bed-check my absence had gone unnoticed!
When the last of the fires was lit, I admired the beauty of the flickering flames gnawing on the wood, appetite whetted by the lighter fluid, and when the blaze was well established I closed and jammed this door too, and loped across the courtyard to where the long drive wove through columns of evergreens. Behind me the black smoke was already pouring from upper windows, thin weedy screams of fear penetrating the roar of hungry flames. Everyone here would soon disappear, become as invisible and forgotten as I was. And I would vanish again too – begin anew; build a fresh life, a bright new existence. Like magic.
For that was my gift: to be present, yet transparent. Included, and excluded. Together, but separate. And I would start again…and end it all once more, if necessary.
Like I said: it was my superpower.
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