So yeah, I finished the 7th and final HP book and I was left with an empty feeling. I grew up with HP and it was the first *real* book I read by myself. And now the whole thing is over. I am kinda depressed. I am left with the same feeling that I got when I saw 28 Weeks Later, where something connected with me on some deep level where I don't want to leave even though the credits have already come and gone and the sweepers are clearing the theatre for some brainless summer comedy. I feel like I am normal and I hate it. I don't want to be a normal person with normal problems. I want to be a wizard off to kill a Dark Lord, or the sole survivor of a zombie outbreak. Whenever I came across the question "What superpower do you want?" in myspace surveys or personality quizzes I would always come up with some stock answer "I wanna fly" or "I wanna be like Spiderman". Before I thought nothing of it but now I realise just how boring and unoriginal these responses are and how they are exactly what I don't want to be. Now after finishing a new Harry Potter book for the very last time in the rest of my life I realise what "superpower" I want. I want to be able to transpose myself into works of art. And when I say works of art I do not mean just paintings, which is what immediatly comes to mind for most people, but books, films, paintings anything where the cold and routine Real World is supplanted by imagination and creativity. I want to walk through a Bob Ross painting and look at all the "happy little trees". I want to actually BE there when Harry meets Ron and Hermione. I want to be included in thier fictional circle of friends. I want to be something other then what I am, which is an average student at a prep school who will have an average life and die an average death. Many people think its weird but the thing I do to cheer myself up is imagine what would happen if I were to die some kind of tragic death. One second among the living, the next soaring through darkness to find the light at the end of the tunnel. I imagine peoples reactions. My friends, my family and my enemies. Very rarely in these little fantasies of mine are their negative thoughts about me, except for once when I imagined somebody thinking "good riddance" and spitting on my grave. It was this fantasy that inspired me to try and patch up my broken relationship with him, and while we are not best of friends I no longer see him spitting on my grave and walking away. These fantasies allow me to become something more than average, a teen death. Something out of the ordinary and new. I will be sped off to new worlds, fresh, with the ability to be able to discover something again. I miss that child like sense of wonder where everything is new in the world and all the doors are closed, begging to be opened. Now it seems that all the doors in the hall way that is my life are open, but not inviting, just open. Revealing their secrets for all the world to see, and now the rooms behind them are no longer mine, they are the world's, with the world's burdens and the world's worries filling each room from floor to ceiling and obscuring any glint of hope, of discovery, behind a dark opaque veil. It is something that frightens me all the way to my core being. Once again I find myself wishing for a way out, something to rekindle the light that fills the face in the baby picture that rest here on my computer desk. I feel worn and jaded from a mere 16 years of living. And I wish for that light again, to take me back to the days when figuring out how to say the ABC's, how to write in cursive. Quiet little mundane things that are average, yet lift me out of my stupor and make the world seem new are the most important things anymore and God how I wish for them back.


P.S. For those that read this thank you for giving me the most special thing I can think of, an audience. An audience that listens to such ramblings and depressing twists and turns of my life makes me feel young again, that gleam of light in my eyes once again.