A young explorer travels around the world in search of magic in a world that demands magic does not exist.
The young explorer travels across mountains, deserts, any insurmountable challenge, simply to reach their goal and find magic, any magic.
The search goes on. Months. Years. The explorer is not so young anymore. And their hope is fading, not fast, but fast enough to cause doubt.
One fateful day, the explorer travels to a spot of the world long forgotten by, if not all, then most. And there they find their magic. Be it a genie's lamp, a pixie's hollow, a great fairy, a god, none but they know, but the story they tell is that they met a grand being. And after a bout of formalities and excitement, they asked a question.
"Would you grant a wish for me?"
And the grand being was impressed by the tenacity of the explorer, who had found the most remote of remote, who had found this place after millennia of it being hidden. And the grand being saw the passion in their eyes, the fulfillment of finally being so close to the goal they had ached to reach. And the grand being relented, "I cannot promise anything, but I will try."
And the explorer responded. "Can you change me?"
"From what, to what, for what? Would you like your youth back, that you had spent trying to find me? Would you like wounds healed that you had gained over your journey?"
"No. No, I'm afraid it's nothing as simple as that."
"Then...?"
"I would..." The explorer hesitates. "I would want to change a part of me. A barrier that I worry I cannot cross on my own. I have sought you out for years because I fear what would happen, what could happen, and what hasn't happened yet."
"I believe I understand you, and I believe I can help. But if I am to help you, you must know that everything comes with a consequence."
The being continued. "I am no trickster, as many would like to believe, so I will not turn you into a newt, nor will I cause something horrible and drastic to happen to you. But if I do this, it will rob you of your journey. And I fear that will make it seem unearned, and it will leave you dissatisfied for the rest of your days. Would you accept me taking your journey from you, to help you reach your goal?"
And the explorer pondered for a moment. And when they were ready, they responded. "I have lived for years. I have experienced turmoil due to the parts of me I could not change. Strife. Struggles. To one such as you, I am not sure if it compares, but this is all I have known. And I have fought to find you, this is my journey."
"But," the being retorted, "was the journey to change yourself, all this time? You fought, to your hardest, simply to find something you didn't know existed. Was the journey to find me, or to prove you had the strength to do what you had to do?"
The explorer hesitates.
"I have been here, hiding away for...much longer than your cities have stood. But I have seen what has been accomplished. Medicines that those who walked this planet mere centuries ago couldn't have dreamed of."
"So then," the explorer says, shaking, head turned down, "what huge joke is it that I haven't access to the medicines I need?"
The explorer continues, tears forming. "What divine joke is it that, though these medicines exist, I need to fight to prove that I have these problems in the first place? A fight I cannot put up on my own. A fight against a system stacked against me."
The being hesitates for a moment.
"And what a joke it is," the explorer, wheeling around, unrelentingly goes on, "that the challenges and difficulties can be so easily solved by these medicines, that they are held for reasons I am not told, and then go on to research, only to find no good reason! What a great laugh it is that I have to worry that people will think of me differently, that I am at risk of being looked down upon, or worse yet, attacked for how I am!"
And the explorer looks back to see the being's reaction.
But there is no being there.
And there is no explorer.
The fantasy fades.
And I get up, and go to my computer. And I start typing.
"There's a flaw in there, you know." A voice rings in my head, persistent. "In the story, you portray the explorer to be alone. Now that's not very fair, is it? You have people in your life who want to help you, who are willing to help you."
"And what good is it if I cannot help myself? I don't have a lot of money. I just started a new job after not having one for months. I can't do the things I want to do because I'm always so far in my own head," I think back to myself.
"And what good is your head if you do not allow yourself to use it?"
And I struggle to come up with a more meaningful end.
But the struggle, I tell myself, the struggle is the best part. It shows you want to keep going. That you haven't given up yet. That because - not in spite of you having to, no - because you fight, things will get better.
I promise.
I promise.
And I hit post.
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Basic rules for analysing fiction, an incomprehensive list jotted down in a hurry:
The protagonist isn’t always right
The protagonist isn’t always good
The protagonist isn’t always written to be relatable or likeable
The narrator isn’t always right
The narrator isn’t always good
The narrator isn’t always telling the truth
The narrator isn’t always the author
The protagonist’s moral compass, the narrator’s moral compass and the author’s moral compass are three entirely different things that only occasionally overlap
Pay attention to what characters do and not just what they say
Pay special attention when what the characters do is at odds with what they say
A lot of the time the curtains are blue for a reason. If they aren’t, you should read better books
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