She fished two more coins from her pocket and tossed them in to see which would vaporize quickest. Oddly enough, the bigger coin disappeared fastest. She thought she caught a whiff almost like static electricity or a dry day beneath rain-filled clouds. She searched her pockets for something else to toss. A pen and some crumbled paper went in. These burned up in a flash.
Calea looked around. The teacher was engaged in conversation with Laurie, a particular favorite. Satisfied, Calea took the ribbon out of her hair, knelt down, and dangled the red strip over the magic. Slowly, she lowered it. The end crumpled on the surface as if on a table, but only for a second. Then the magic engulfed the end, tugging it softly like a fish on a pole. With a little jerk, Caea pulled, but the length that had entered the magic was gone. She started to lower it again, reaching her arm through the space between the railing, letting the magic eat away at the ribbon, bit by bit….
“Calea!” The voice was pitched an octave higher than usual. In a flash, the teacher was forcefully dragging Calea from edge. “You idiot girl! You horrible brat! You could have died! Stand up! I said, stand up!”
Calea did so in the shock of the moment, though she later regretted not delaying and getting up at her own leisure. A deep fear had taken hold of her, ignited by the panic in the teacher’s voice. Tears came unbidden to her eyes, and the shame of them, in front of so many, made her want to cry harder.
“What did I tell you? What did I say?” The teacher was screaming. “You do not play with magic. People have lost arms. They’ve died.”
“I didn’t die.” Calea was regaining her composure, but she hated herself for breaking down in front of the class. “I was being careful.”
The teacher laughed in her face. “Careful? You? I want you to go back through security and wait for us. Now.”
Calea wiped the last vestige of tears from her face. “No. I want to stay.”
“It’s not up for debate.” She extended her arm and pointed. “Go.”
Calea just looked at her, then turned away, returning to her place along the guardrail. The teacher grabbed her hard on her bony shoulder. She pulled away viciously, breaking into a run. She headed toward the far end of the platform. She didn’t have a plan; she was angry and hurt and wanted to frustrate the teacher. Let them talk about her antics, as long as they didn’t talk about her crying.
A few of the kids blocked her path. They didn’t really know what they were doing. They had been farthest away and heading to the commotion when Calea made her escape. She dodged around them, slammed into the fence. She enjoyed the hard, unforgiving pain.
She’d reached the far corner, and in the corner was a small gate that opened to allow tools and probes easier access to the magic. It was normally latched securely and locked. It jarred beneath Calea’s impact with the fence. Something came loose. Calea had almost regained her balance when the door swung open.
She teetered on the edge. She could see the expressions on her classmates’ faces. She seemed to remain precariously perched for a long time. Part of her tried to stop her fall; part of her watched the events unfold with crystal clarity. She was falling and she would fall and she would land in the magic and she would die.
And she did fall. She landed hard on the magic. It knocked the breath out of her. Her thoughts were slow, but she reacted quickly, trying to stand and grab the edge of the platform. Her limbs wouldn’t react. She couldn’t get traction. It was like trying to push off air.
Then her arm began to sink below the surface.
Calea screamed. She stopped thinking. Afterward, she couldn’t remember anything except pain–not just fire and burning, but pulling, sucking, ripping. Her body was being torn apart at the most basic level. Her classmates reported later that she had managed to get to her knees, but her arm was being devoured. By this time, it had sunk up to the elbow. Then her foot slipped in.
Her classmates turned away. Her shrieks forced them to recoil. A few were crying; at least one vomited. They said it lasted a long, long time, but the clock said otherwise. Her teacher watched in horror, unable to move or speak or offer help.
Then the screams changed pitch. The agony drained away. A desperate, battered moan remained.
Calea knelt upon the magic, twisted, her right arm sunken to the shoulder, her left leg gone nearly to the hip, but her descent had stopped. She managed in a weak voice: “Help me.”
Her teacher rushed forward, throwing herself down on her belly. “Give me your hand.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
Calea’s body trembled from effort. Slowly, she lifted her unaffected arm. Her hand was clenched in a fist. Her teacher lowered herself farther out. “Give me your hand.”
“I can’t. I can’t.”
“You have to, Calea. Give me your hand.”
“I can’t let go. It’ll eat me.”
“Laurie!” The teacher yelled. “Get help!”
A few minutes later, a guard hung suspended over the magic, his legs firmly secured on the deck by another, as he reached out and grabbed Calea’s wrist. With effort, they pulled her up. Stumps remained where limbs had been, cauterized. Calea remained rigid, sitting oddly on towels brought to clean up the blood that didn’t come. They brought out a stretcher and began to lay her on it.
“No,” she said.
“Calea, you’re in shock. You need to be taken to a doctor.”
“I have to let go.” She scooted off the stretcher, half crawling. When one of the guards moved to stop her, she screamed, “Don’t!”
“Calea, what are you doing?” asked the teacher. Calea continued to scoot-crawl to the edge. “Calea?”
Calea extended her clenched hand through the fence and opened it. A ball of shimmering colors sat on her palm, vibrating. She turned her hand over, and it fell to rejoin the rest of the magic.
Calea’s body relaxed. Then her head smacked hard against the floor as she passed out.
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