When I was born to Jared Houston and Sarah Houston, it was very evident from the early stages of childhood and onward that something was very wrong with me- in a weird, but extraordinary way. The thing was that I was a born magician that possessed magical powers. This had good effects on the world that surrounded me; but unfortunately, in likeness to the amount of good effects, there were bad effects. Sometimes, as a result of the good effects that came with these magical powers, I could heal anything or anyone that had some sort of wound, especially fatal ones, send psychological messages to other people, etc. It was one ordinary day in 4th grade that I discovered just how dangerous my special powers could be- as much as they were useful.
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I was in the lunchroom, devouring my very-much appreciated nourishments, and because of my age (which was only 9 years above null), I reached out to pick my boogers, which were on the verge of falling out of my nose, and soon disaster had struck. Lightning bolts shot out of my fingers, I was afraid that my phlegm was haunted, and one of the lights in the lunchroom fell. All the kids were safely directed out of the school, and fortunately everyone had evacuated safely, including me. When I evacuated from the school, I saw a teacher with a deep look of what looked like contemplation, and that was when I was interrogated. Any English speaker could tell from a distance that I wasn’t verbally gifted, and I wasn’t exactly a vocabularian. So when the teacher interrogated me, part of what he said was incomprehensible, so he had to dumb it down for me to be able to comprehend. Curse my vocabulary, I thought, as I was able to comprehend what the teacher had just said, and it was beyond what a 9-year old would be asked to do. The teacher told me I had to be locked up in an asylum, apparently because “I was an intelligent kid roaming free with magical
I was in the lunchroom, devouring my very-much appreciated nourishments, and because of my age (which was only 9 years above null), I reached out to pick my boogers, which were on the verge of falling out of my nose, and soon disaster had struck. Lightning bolts shot out of my fingers, I was afraid that my phlegm was haunted, and one of the lights in the lunchroom fell. All the kids were safely directed out of the school, and fortunately everyone had evacuated safely, including me. When I evacuated from the school, I saw a teacher with a deep look of what looked like contemplation, and that was when I was interrogated. Any English speaker could tell from a distance that I wasn’t verbally gifted, and I wasn’t exactly a vocabularian. So when the teacher interrogated me, part of what he said was incomprehensible, so he had to dumb it down for me to be able to comprehend. Curse my vocabulary, I thought, as I was able to comprehend what the teacher had just said, and it was beyond what a 9-year old would be asked to do. The teacher told me I had to be locked up in an asylum, apparently because “I was an intelligent kid roaming free with magical