Magical Burst 1.1 (Par's)

Amidst the hustle and bustle of a local mall filled with Saturday's crowds, the self-proclaimed "Bartleby the Observer" hops unseen out of an unassuming bathroom.  As the otherworldy messenger slips away to parts unknown, the once-supernatural water closet slowly returns to reality, as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened within.  Dorothy sits slumped against the wall, physically and emotionally drained, mind as confused as ever.  She is fortunate, or perhaps UNfortunate, that no one knocks on the door of the bathroom to pull her out of her daze.  Though the number of questions she has seems to multiply every second, her conscious mind for the moment cannot seem to grasp any of them and give them form.
Five, ten minutes pass by before she removes herself from the room, finding the closed walls oppressive and the fantastical memories chilling.  She drifts through the crowds, out the doors, and across the parking lot as if in a dream, not entirely certain where she's going, what she's doing, or even what she's thinking about.
But the hands...  She cannot forget about her hands.  She is constantly looking at them, clenching and unclenching them, even digging her dull, unpainted fingernails into them until the grooves they make look so red that they're about to bleed.  No matter how much she tries to dismiss what she's seen, she cannot deny what she felt.  The way the numbness spread across her fingers until they ceased to exist...  It HAPPENED.  It happened and it was very, very, frighteningly, REAL.  Which means...
"...Oh God, they were telling the truth!  They, they were...  and I, blew them off..."  Dorothy shuffles her feet back and forth indecisively, looking back at the mall she's already walked a quarter-mile away from.  Dare she go back?  Dare she go back and confront the two girls she treated like actors in an elaborate hoax?  The very thought fills her with embarrassment and misgivings.  What would they say to her?  Would they think SHE was playing a joke on THEM?  Dorothy knows she's horrible at trying to tell people what she really thinks; she'd never be able to convince them after what she did...
But she starts walking back anyways, at more than an average pace.  As much as she doesn’t want to, as many misgivings as she has about it and as much as her stomach churns, she knows that she must.
“Because it’s REAL,” she whispers to herself as she walks, the sound of her own voice comforting her more than a mere ethereal thought in her head.  “The hands… the hands were real.  That, frog-thing, was real…  MAGIC is REAL.  Even, even if…  Even if it’s not what I think it is…  it’s real.  And I… I gotta know.  I gotta know what they were talking about.  Gahh, what were they talking about again?  Superheroes?  Some, what’s it called, magna?  Don’t really know what that’s about, but…  No, Dorry, stop.  Stop.  Don’t get ahead of yourself.  That’s how it happens, remember?  You build yourself up, and it never turns out the way you want it to in the end…”
Dorothy returns to the crowded mall, the chatter of the hundreds of other people just as oppressive as the weight she feels on her soul right now.  She looks for the coffee shop, for the table where she was dragged by the other two.  If they’re still there…  Already she starts sweating with nervousness.  What will she say?  Should she try and be more forceful?  No, no, she should be demure and respectful; acknowledge that she was the one who ran off all in a huff.  Except, no, because then we’re right back where we started, and she didn’t like that in the first place…
Her fretting is of little consequence; try as she might, she can’t find the pair of her classmates anywhere near the food court anymore.  She had hoped that maybe…  But no, of course not, it’s been more than half an hour.  They wouldn’t stick around, not after how she ran away like that.  Her emotions and expectations have come to a head, only to fail to find an outlet once again…
Her mood is as distressed as the first time she left the mall when she now leaves it a second time.  Tangible questions are forming inside her head now, of their own free will.  Why does magic exist?  Why has no one ever reported it on the news?  What can magic do?  What exactly was that creature talking about when it mentioned demons…?  Dorothy won’t admit it to herself, but she’s curious now, curious in a way that she told herself it’s dangerous to get.  Curiosity builds expectations, expectations build hope, and hope dies hard in her experience.  She tells herself over and over again, those last words of that frog-creature.  “If you fail, you will be devoured.”  A steep price for an easy mistake, an INEVITABLE mistake in her opinion.  And yet…  the curiosity remains.
Walking down the street, Dorothy looks distractedly to the left and to the right, at all the potential paths she could take around the city.  She wants to TALK to someone about this, another soul that she could spill her thoughts and feelings to.  But with a topic like magic… who would listen?  She mentally lists off her disparagingly short list of options, then sighs, almost wishing she had a rock or a can to kick down the sidewalk.
“I blew it again…  Dad, Christi… nobody’d understand the way I need them to.  I need to talk to one of THEM.  Diana’s in Lit Club with me, but club meeting’s not ‘till Monday, oh God how am I going to get through the weekend like this?  Alone with myself, no answers…  I’ll go crazy!  I should, I should call her house right now, maybe get her cell…  No, n-no, I… it’d make me sound all creepy and clingy.  And what even would I say to her?  It’d, it’s easier if I wait, probably… bring it up after Lit Club or something…
“Oh no, of course it’d be too easy for me to just forget about it, no, they had to make SURE I couldn’t forget it.  For the love of God, why?  Why me, why like this?  No clarity, no explanation, just some frog-whatever-it-is that could eat me as far as I know and a bunch of girls thinking they’re, like, superheroes I guess?  It wouldn’t happen any other way, of course; no, that’d be too fair.  The world’s just gotta make sure that something amazing like magic’s gonna happen in the strangest, least helpful way…”
Despite the fantastical nature of this magical proposition, Dorothy’s attitude deviates very little from what it usually is whenever she contemplates trying something new and different.  A mixture of curiosity and reserve, hope and dismay.  What would fill millions of girls her age with wonder and glee only brings an uneasy feeling to her stomach.  Magic is REAL… and yet it’s doesn’t feel “magical” at all.  So what if wizards and sorceresses are real?  So what if a human could shoot fire from their hands or turn lead into gold?  To Dorothy, it’s no different than gymnasts performing somersaults, or artists painting masterpieces.  Equally as amazing, and just as equally out of her league.  It’s easy to give someone a magic wand; doesn’t mean they’ll be any good at USING it.
And yet… she can’t give it up.  As much as she wants to forget about it all and let those other girls chase some strange fantasy to their heart’s content, she can’t extinguish that simple hope.  The hope that this is the ONE.  The ONE thing that she won’t be a failure at.  For magic to not only exist but to fall right at her feet like this may be nothing short of an act of God, telling her that THIS is her time.
Or, it’s a coincidence that will only lead to failure, disappointment, and death.
She’ll have to wait until Monday to see which one.