The Owl

"That'll be fourty pounds, honey," the cashier said to me as she helped me to put things in my plastic bags.

"There you go," I said handing her the money.

"Thank you, have a safe trip back,".

This evening the sky was gloomy as ever, and cold like never before. I'm sensing something bad's gonna happen, like rain. Or maybe another thunderstorm. I sped up my walk trying to go home as fast as I can and try to avoid the rain. The plastic bag felt heavy to me and I keep on consistently switching hands from my left hand, then to my right hand, and then back to the left.

I was about a block away from my house until I hear the flap of wings of a bird going pass to my ears. I jumped at little because I didn't expect a big bird was flying close to me. I stopped a bit to see that the bird was a white owl. Strange, I thought owl moves at night. And I'm pretty sure the owl is carrying a letter on his beak.

A messenger owl? That's weird. I've heard of messenger pigeons, but not an owl.

I looked at the owl as it was flying away in awe. How cool would it be to have one. But then, we have mobile phones. Why use something like an owl.

Security?

Maybe the owl was sending a message from an important figure to an important male or female. Something so secret that nobody is allowed to see even the messenger himself. A letter between the sender and the receiver.

That's cool. I thought.

I finally arrived at my doorstep. I walked in and took out my shoes and replace it with my slippers. I walked to the kitchen and dropped my groceries on the table. Then I walked to the living room to see how my Mom's doing.

Like always, in the TV, not watching TV, but streaming for drama movies or watch soap-operas.

I gave her a sigh and said, "The groceries are at the table,".

She nodded not giving up her focus on the TV. I sighed again and went upstairs to my room. My room was messy. Filled with papers and books. They're my father's. My father is an author, creating ficitonal books like these, containing facts that connects to his ficitonal world. They're very interesting and looked super real that I thought that they were real once. Until of course, I tried looking for one of the things in the book but to no avail. I did not find it.

My father used to tell me things about his fictional story, until he suddenly disappear from my life. I wonder where he is now. Is he living happily, or did he leave the world without us knowing it.

I grabbed a book, The History of Harry Potter, I'm guessing that's his fictional main character, and read through it once more. I've finished it, six times, but the book seems like it is always giving me a surprise. And making me feel like that someday, maybe I'll be this Harry Potter character.

I smiled and stopped reading at page 152 of the book. I placed the book down on the floor and lay down in my bed. I thought about my dad's story: The boy, Harry Potter, his friends, his journey, the world. They feel so real and so interesting. And the most important thing, magic.

Magic exists, but only to wizards. People like me, called a Muggle, wont have the ability to behold such powers. Only those a blood of wizards, could have the power.

I stared at the ceiling, imagining what sort of adventures and powers I'd have if I were to be a wizard. And not a muggle.