Green Eyes
Magic. Oh how I miss magic. I know now what Zillah meant when he said I shouldn't use my magic here. These people from the future wouldn't understand, they'd panic. My voice can't muster the spellwords, anyways, even when I try hard to think of them and bring them to life. Patrick, my dear friend, procured me a set of fire poi. He had seen my entranced stare at a couple of street performers, and presented them knowing somehow that they would make me happy. I'd often sit in my cardboard shanty and hold them, feeling the leather grip, the linked chain, and the coarse fabric that was used as a wick. I'm not sure how Patrick found them, or could afford them for that matter, but they were the one thing I carried with me everywhere. At night, I'd find a secluded place and swing them about, tensing and stretching out muscles I'd forgotten existed. Swinging them around into curlicues, sweeps, and twists was the closest to magic I could muster. It was o