The Warrior of colors

Date: 8/30/2018

I was part of a platoon. We fought off evil creatures. We were also a part of a school. Our building used to look like Hogwarts, but it was torn down and now it was built like a lego fortress but with real stone. I could change my hair color at will. It started out hard to do. All the warrior class females had deep blue hair. But I loved a girl with red hair and my hair slowly turned to match. I forced it all the way. After that, with effort I could do many colors. A national crisis took place and our platoon, despite not being ordered, took off to help. We ran down the hill and we were on the street outside my house. We got on a school bus, our body armory back to clothing, and we started off on the trip. My close friend’s girlfriend kissed my dad. I separated them in a fit of rage. I had a crush on the guy I sat next to now. I wanted him to kiss my cheek. But the bus stopped on a tall hill overlooking far off mountains and dry dusty ground surrounding us. The slope went up higher to our left, lower on our right. A boy was being bullied by his dad. I wondered why they included this scene in the book. I wondered how English teachers would analyze this part. It was near the end of the book. I was in, but not a part of the book. I stood up for the boy, sort of, his brother had come on the trip but he was broken, and he looked like a bright yellow dog/bunny peep. But he had a shifting face. It was sad. We arrived at the manor where we were needed. Only a few of us escaped the bus. Something attacked it. We entered the manor filled with people and pretended to blend in. My friend panicked and called herself Rosaline, the name of the runaway companion of the handicap daughter who lives there. We had to change our appearances. I turned my hair to a light blonde and with all my focus I was able to curl my hair. At first it turned horrendously frizzy and messy and my hat was horrible. The mansion was very late Victorian so I had to fit in. I focused with all my might, lookin in a mirror, and my hair formed perfect curls and my hat even changed into a smaller yet elegant hat. Rosaline And I entered the church part of the manor. It was on the third floor and it was huge. We walked to find a seat among the crowds but before the show could start we spotted one of the bus members who had gone rouge. He was looking for us. He wanted to kill us. We fled down the side stairs until we reached an exit and we fled outside. We were on the top of a dry dead grass hill with few shrubs that over looked miles of land. We gazed over it for a few seconds before another rouge, a girl with pink hair who I had angered by turning my hair pink, ran out and shoved my friend over the edge of the quart into a large cylindrical vat of glue like mud and dry bits of wild grasses. She was engulfed. I hit the pink girl hard with the flat of my hand and she shot away: teleported somewhere else. I used telekinesis to pull my friend out of the vat. She was stiff and almost zombie like. She couldn’t process logic. I pulled her towards a coal shoot and, with me holding her slightly off the metal, we shot down into the basement. (It was my basement from home but enlarged with more things in it. I didn’t notice that though.) There was also a young half elf down there who had also been trapped in some sort of semi casing. He was weak and could barely move. My fiend was dead set to protect him. But she wasn’t listening to logic. The mud didn’t just suppress movement but also thoughts. Even free will. In it, all she wanted to do was wait. Wait to be collected. I had to leave her to go get help. I begged her to wash off the mud but she stayed still, the boy held protectively nearly her, but only by instinct. I slipped through the plastic curtain that separated that section of the basement from the rest and slipped out the door. A gasp escaped my throat. The rouge guy had found me. He was crazy. His hair was frizzled white, it stuck up like he had been electrocuted, and his eyes bugged as he cackled. He tried to stab me with a plastic scoop. I dodged and pushed him away from me as I ran up a thin flight of stairs behind me. I had two plastic scoops in my hands. I brandished then like knives. A door burst open, I turned to attack with my scoops. It was a friend. The rest of the platoon was here, still in normal clothes. They looked like teenagers now. I felt bad. Bad that they were fighting, dying, loosing so much so soon. I kept running, dodging fancily dresses guests. I knew pink girl was close. I saw, using my senses, that my friend had finally broken the will of the mud and had washed it off herself and the small boy. Their power was no longer being sapped from their bodies. I felt safe. I was stabbed. I don’t know who, but it was in my back and that’s all that I remember. Except one last scene, where I was on the bus again, about to round the top of the hill. And the boy I was sitting next to, a different one than las time but also the same, leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I leaned into it. Normal and blue haired as always.