Probably Unsafe

Prompt: You can control the probability of things around you. When something will start, who will win, etc. You change the probability of getting an A on your test. When you get it back, you see there’s an F, with a note reading “Don’t try your magic on me.” Credit: Writing.prompt.s

Response:

A grin scorched its way across my face. I knew it. My eyes were alight with mischief as they studied the F and the note on the bottom of the paper:

Don’t try your magic on me.

“Charleen, you coming?” My friend’s voice made me flinch. Haley stood beside me with her backpack on and a notebook or two in her arms. The rest of the class was already piling out the door. Mr. Olsen was still at his desk, seemingly writing on something.

“Go on ahead. I’ll see you after school, ‘kay?” I said to her with a less destructive smile. There was a fraction of a frown and she glanced at my paper, where my arm rested over the note on the bottom.

Understanding hit her at the letter F, and she helf mouthed, half whispered, “Okay,” and left the room.

We were alone. Silence filled the room for a few seconds to ensure that. Mr. Olsen was still writing on his desk and I narrowed my eyes. My heart was pounding. Who would speak first?

“Don’t get cocky, and you’ll do better in life.” The words came without eye contact.

My electric grin returned. “You can do it too.”

He didnt answer. He kept writing and writing until he finally stood up. He walked past me to put a book back on the shelf at the other end of the room. “Don’t. Get cocky.”

My chair shook and broke from beneath me. In the sudden instance, I tried to change the probability of harm, but I couldnt figure out what specifically to change, and ended up scraping myself against the wood of the chair’s legs.

He hummed and still didn’t look my way. “Do you know the difference between homogenous and heterogenous, Ms. Leesen?”

“Not entirely,” I groaned, standing up and rubbing my leg. “Should I?”

“It was on the test,” he answered. Finally he looked at me. “It means there are many other kinds of dangers and magics out there–people who would not be entirely happy to hear that you have something they don’t, and–Oh!” He rushed toward me, through the desks and chairs to stand just before me, over me. My ever-growing grin faltered into fear and I nearly tripped on the wreckage behind me.

“Don’t be so eager. These things will kill you the instant they learn of your possession. If you rely only on your probability manipulation and don’t strengthen other skills–like logic or physical reflexes–believe me, they will hardly waste a breath finishing you off.”

I gripped the desk that was beside mine and Mr. Olsen stood straight again, and said, “So, don’t be so cocky. You’re too obvious.” He turned away and started back to his desk.

I released the desk and let out my held breath. I grimaced. “A gift is always a curse.” Mr. Olsen was gathering his things at the front. My eyebrows sunk toward my eyes while he put his coat on. “Hey, what about you? I knew pretty fast that you could manipulate the probability of things. And–”

My word caught in my throat as my eyes started noticing things they hadn’t before. Scars and burns covered his face and hands–hand. One hand. His entire left arm was missing. He looked at me with eyes of warning. I wanted to scream. I felt sick. I fliched at the window when a bird flew by.

“I’ll send an order for them to replace your desk.” Mr. Olsen said.

When I looked back, I didn’t notice the scars or missing limb. He looked like he always looked, just like everyone else. I didn’t try to change it back.

His face gained a shadow of warmth. “Try to be more careful, Charleen.”