My Cardboard Balcony

I Want To Be A Sorcerer by Belinda Roddie I want to be a sorcerer. Could you begin to imagine how great that'd be? I'd have a thousand books of spells and brews, and I'd achieve a total mastery of everything magic - each jinx and hex, special elixirs for love, life, and death, and with each wave of my wand, I would vex the most logical of minds, every breath drawn in at the sight of my flowing robes, my pointy hat, and my ability to turn a cow into a bird or probe a human into flying past the trees, across the sky. Is it too much to ask to be a wizard, or too hard a task?

The light from the frosted window was translucent, creating a harsh glow of outside energy against my bed. As I tried to wake up fully, I could feel an awkward weight against my bones. The illness, I knew, was getting worse. I wasn't quite sure if I'd be able to walk without a cane, maybe even two. It was getting more apparent that I would need a wheelchair. The doctors hadn't known what to make of my ailment. No diagnoses seemed to cut it. It simply seemed, they said, that I was like Atlas, and the weight of the world was literally pushing me into submission.