Darius and the Magic Wand

Whispery sounds of wings fluttering echoed through the dense forest as the owl came home to roost.  His head rotating, he scanned the darkness for prey.  The moon's comma shed just enough light to make his task easier.  He would eat his fill this night.  

The cries of whoot, whoot, pierced the stillness, the only sounds save for the chirping of the crickets.  Memory served him well.  He knew this area of the forest was dense with small creatures unknowingly scampering about oblivious to their impending fate.

Far off in the distance, the old farmhouse lay dark, its inhabitants long since retreated from the harsh realities of the farming life, the endless toil, the unreliable harvests mercilessly subjected to the fate of the weather.  The crumbled, weathered siding of the barn now only concealed the youngster who made his home among the owl and its young. 

Darius was unlike the others, the ones with the magic wands who could conjure up their wishes at will.  Life was easy for them, their smallest desires fulfilled by a simple wave of their baton-like symbols of the fantasy life they lived and breathed.  He, by contrast, had never mastered the magic, and became an outcast, banished to the woods to fend for himself.  He mourned the loss of his family who could no longer protect him from the scrutiny of the master wizards.

Children of the sorcerers were given until the age of ten to display their mastery of the basics of wizardry.  If, by that age, they showed no emerging talents, they were separated from the others and sent off to live by themselves.  Occasionally, their tricks emerged once they were on their own, but those were the rare occurrences and they were given a second chance.  It was imperative that the adults pass along their unique genes to their offspring to keep the colony alive.  Alas, Darius was what one could only call ordinary and was sent off with only the simplest of provisions along with his magic wand and the sorcerer's handbook to study in the outside chance that his powers would emerge later in life.

He studied during the daylight hours and practiced his skills, or lack thereof, in the silence of the forest with only the owls for his companions.   Night after night he uttered the chants, then waved his wand hoping for a miracle.  Night after night he was met with disappointment.  Until...

It was the evening of the gibbous moon, when it happened.  Darius chanted, circled his wand and the sky lit up with myriads of stars, piercing the clouds that threatened to conceal them.  Star after star popped up, pinpoints of light like fireflies in the heavens.  He chanted once again, waving his wand at the owl nestled in the rafters turning him into gold.  

Darius had found his powers.  He returned to his clan and was welcomed with open arms by his family.  He wrote in the big book of wisdom - "to each be given in his own time."