gratitude

previous part here: https://jordynsaelor.com/2025/07/03/afterward/

all parts here: https://jordynsaelor.com/cant-catch-me-now/

***

Unfortunately,

magic school sucked.

I had classes

from when I woke up

‘til when I went to bed

with some breaks for meals

that only a few spiky-clawed goblins and I seemed to take

in the huge cafeteria

but it was hardly enough time

to do all the “home”work they gave,

and Coach Purturbelly was kind enough

to help me find my way around the first few days

but then she seemed to disappear

as if I wouldn’t have any more questions

like

why is everyone in all my classes at least twice my size

and how am I supposed to work with a magic hat

that covers up my whole head and shoulders,

and how am I supposed to do the brain-reading spells

that all seem to require you to fly above your target,

and how do I make my mouth say the magic syllables

the fire-faced people are making

without fire in my mouth,

and most importantly

is anyone going to teach me to read

this language

every single assignment is in?

I could understand

most things people said

but nothing that was written

and that

plus the sleep thing

meant I didn’t bother turning any assignments in

and the teachers

often gave me odd looks

when I left class

carrying a bunch of papers in my arms

that never returned to their inboxes.

Although

they were already giving me

odd looks

just for existing

in a desk

too tall for me

or standing in the corner of the room

while everyone else flew around–

but the assignments

were the first thing

to make me worry

I could get kicked out

almost right after I’d arrived.

Though

as the days dragged on

without me seeing sun

or feeling wind

or reading any books

or even seeing dragons (maybe those weren’t even real,

just made up by my hometown

or made up by fire-face people and leather-wing people and clawed-finger people),

the stale food began tasting less divine

and I felt

less free

less safe

and I kept having to remind myself

to be grateful,

to recite to myself

each time I fell asleep:

at least it’s better,

here.

At least I’ve got no rashes,

here.

At least I have a bed,

here,

instead of a dusty floor.

At least no one wonders about my lack of hands,

here,

at least, not anymore than they wonder about the rest of me,

here,

sleeping

and following the one route I know through the halls

day after day,

listening to lectures on magic

I’ve yet to figure out how to perform.

At least I’m safer,

here.

But that

was only true

before

the bullying.

***

Check out my book Graveyard of Lullabies: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1612128