(I wrote this essay for my English class. Enjoy.)
A wizard is a curious creature. He (or she) lives in humble abodes: a small sock, or under large rocks. They can shrink and extend themselves at their own will, and therefore their habitats vary. They often procure from their alchemical pouches small snacks such as lukewarm cider and dense cabbage heads. They are herbivorous in diet and are very peaceful; they flee from all battles, and they never battle their own kind. Most people who encounter them count themselves lucky. They are illegal to kill. Their population is unknown because they’re so elusive. One man who encountered a wizard in the state of Illinois claimed that it followed him as he hiked and watched as he set up camp. It even lit his fire pit for him, and then it ran off into the woods.
There are a few known cases of wizards having been killed. Their pouches were examined by environmentalists and naturalists, and they were found to have small, unimportant items in them. One was found to have a family heirloom that belonged to a town resident, which had been missing for some twenty-three years. Did the wizard know it was being cruel, keeping such a valuable item from a person? Or was it simply an act of naivety?
I recently began studying cases of wizards, because I believe I’ve recently come into contact with one. I discovered for myself what wizards are like.
A small trail leading into the woods from my grandparents’ house is one of my favorite places in the whole world. It leads back to a small grove of sorts, and I often lay there and sleep, or read. The grass grows thickly and I look up at the sky and dream.
I wandered out there one night, and before laying down, I had seen something in my peripheral vision, something moving around in a small thicket.
It was a wizard, I could tell. I had seen a flash of shiny blue, peppered with reflective silver stars. Looking closer, I could make out a beard in the bramble. A wizard!
It poked out from behind its tree and stared me in the face. Although humanlike in appearance, I knew better. We were of two different kinds. It made me wonder what in the world I meant to it, and even what it meant to me. It scampered off, and a small “pop” sounded – the fabled sound of its abrupt teleportation.
I wonder what it means to be a wizard; to be so animalistic, to be so casually primitive. The ways of a wizard are not of our own. They have mastered an art of which we have yet to dabble in: that of magic, of wonder. We tend to overlook such things, proclaiming the dominance of logic and reason.
I should have grabbed its hand, disappeared to wherever it went. I should have stroked its beard and listened to its calm, chirping language. It would teach me what it means to be an animal, to fend for yourself, to follow a strict, natural code.
To live like a wizard.
aestheism, not atheism.