Post by jilliankromley on Dec 29, 2007 15:25:08 GMT -5
Nightmares Lead to Dream Jobs
Jillian woke up screaming. She was sitting upright in her bed, sweat glistening all over her body. Her chest heaved up and down in a mix of exasperation and terror. How she hated nightmares, especially when they centered on the days when she used. Of course, she was mentally referring to when she used magic, the days of her schooling at Hogwarts, the days that now haunted her sleeping and waking moments. The woman felt around blindly for the blankets that had fallen off in her tossing and turning. She shivered; the air was cool in the room, almost feeling like a window was open.
A horn suddenly blared from outside. What was going on? She lived in a quiet subdivision in Britain’s most Muggle-filled region. Fumbling to turn the lamp on next to her bed, she accidentally knocked a glass of water to the floor. The glass shattered with a crisp cracking sound that was barely muffled by the water spilling from its now broken container. The horn was stilling blaring, almost like there had been an accident.
Tears rapidly came to the front of her eyes. In her rush to see what the problem was elsewhere, she had forgotten about the glass and stepped right into it. She fumbled once more for the lamp on the table next to her bed. This time the light came on without further mishap. “Damnit,” she mumbled under her breath, carefully stepping around the shattered mess and hoping none of the shards had embedded themselves in her feet.
“What’s going on?” Mrs. Gromwell asked in a panic as she spotted her young neighbor coming outside. A crowd from the subdivision had circled around Jillian’s front yard like the woman’s residence was the source of the noise.
Jillian looked out at them all, completely confused. Why was everyone in her yard? “I don’t know,” she answered Mrs. Gromwell, walking up to the older woman who had been like her mother these past few years.
“Do you mind turning your car alarm off?” one of the men in the circle asked rather rudely, nodding his head at the garage.
“Car?” she was baffled. She didn’t own a car.
“Yes, Miss Kromley, the car that is blaring its horn in your garage,” another man shouted, stepping forward to open the manual garage door.
What happened next was still a blur to Jillian, even now as she reflected back on the events of the night before.
There, parked perfectly in the garage was a car. The event itself was not really that spectacular. Jillian had a touch of an obsession with straight lines or perfect curves, so the car being parked directly in the center of the space was almost a requirement. It was a Volkswagen Bug, a very retro car by nature. The color was lime green, a very 1970s color. Everyone out in the yard and street now had a hard time believing this noisemaker was not the young woman’s.
However, it was not technically the car making the noise. The horn’s blaring was coming from the car, but it was the dead man’s head slammed down on the steering wheel that was actually making the noise.
Jillian rushed forward to see why there was a dead man in her garage. There were no signs of foul play, to the human eye. The woman, however, was not human; she was a witch, and there were several tell-tell signs to her open eyes. Well, the first sign came to her open nose because magic tends to leave a burned smell when it kills someone. Secondly, magic tends to follow those around who carry wands, and this dead wizard had one clutched in his hand.
“Call the police,” the man who had opened the door called out.
Wonderful. The police were on their way. How was she ever going to explain this to Muggles?
Luckily, the Ministry of Magic made it to the scene first, saving Jillian an even worse headache. It was horrid enough to find a dead wizard in her garage and then realize who had to be responsible for the murder. She did not need the stress of explaining the magical mishap to the normal police. Of course, she had decided when the Aurors arrived that she was not even going to ponder how they had received the tip off so quickly. After all, they showed up just as the helpful neighbor had suggested calling the police.
That had all been yesterday.
Today, she was standing in front of the Iberian Ministry of Magic’s building in Triangle Tunnel. Her hand was partially outstretched as if reaching for the door. She inhaled the stale air deeply and exhaled it very slowly. It appeared she was actually going through with this. It appeared she was actually going to stand up and face the cause of her nightmares.
The door opened almost as if by magic, though she was barely pulling on the handle.
This was it.
She was registering to join the fight against evil in the peninsula.
Jillian woke up screaming. She was sitting upright in her bed, sweat glistening all over her body. Her chest heaved up and down in a mix of exasperation and terror. How she hated nightmares, especially when they centered on the days when she used. Of course, she was mentally referring to when she used magic, the days of her schooling at Hogwarts, the days that now haunted her sleeping and waking moments. The woman felt around blindly for the blankets that had fallen off in her tossing and turning. She shivered; the air was cool in the room, almost feeling like a window was open.
A horn suddenly blared from outside. What was going on? She lived in a quiet subdivision in Britain’s most Muggle-filled region. Fumbling to turn the lamp on next to her bed, she accidentally knocked a glass of water to the floor. The glass shattered with a crisp cracking sound that was barely muffled by the water spilling from its now broken container. The horn was stilling blaring, almost like there had been an accident.
Tears rapidly came to the front of her eyes. In her rush to see what the problem was elsewhere, she had forgotten about the glass and stepped right into it. She fumbled once more for the lamp on the table next to her bed. This time the light came on without further mishap. “Damnit,” she mumbled under her breath, carefully stepping around the shattered mess and hoping none of the shards had embedded themselves in her feet.
“What’s going on?” Mrs. Gromwell asked in a panic as she spotted her young neighbor coming outside. A crowd from the subdivision had circled around Jillian’s front yard like the woman’s residence was the source of the noise.
Jillian looked out at them all, completely confused. Why was everyone in her yard? “I don’t know,” she answered Mrs. Gromwell, walking up to the older woman who had been like her mother these past few years.
“Do you mind turning your car alarm off?” one of the men in the circle asked rather rudely, nodding his head at the garage.
“Car?” she was baffled. She didn’t own a car.
“Yes, Miss Kromley, the car that is blaring its horn in your garage,” another man shouted, stepping forward to open the manual garage door.
What happened next was still a blur to Jillian, even now as she reflected back on the events of the night before.
There, parked perfectly in the garage was a car. The event itself was not really that spectacular. Jillian had a touch of an obsession with straight lines or perfect curves, so the car being parked directly in the center of the space was almost a requirement. It was a Volkswagen Bug, a very retro car by nature. The color was lime green, a very 1970s color. Everyone out in the yard and street now had a hard time believing this noisemaker was not the young woman’s.
However, it was not technically the car making the noise. The horn’s blaring was coming from the car, but it was the dead man’s head slammed down on the steering wheel that was actually making the noise.
Jillian rushed forward to see why there was a dead man in her garage. There were no signs of foul play, to the human eye. The woman, however, was not human; she was a witch, and there were several tell-tell signs to her open eyes. Well, the first sign came to her open nose because magic tends to leave a burned smell when it kills someone. Secondly, magic tends to follow those around who carry wands, and this dead wizard had one clutched in his hand.
“Call the police,” the man who had opened the door called out.
Wonderful. The police were on their way. How was she ever going to explain this to Muggles?
Luckily, the Ministry of Magic made it to the scene first, saving Jillian an even worse headache. It was horrid enough to find a dead wizard in her garage and then realize who had to be responsible for the murder. She did not need the stress of explaining the magical mishap to the normal police. Of course, she had decided when the Aurors arrived that she was not even going to ponder how they had received the tip off so quickly. After all, they showed up just as the helpful neighbor had suggested calling the police.
That had all been yesterday.
Today, she was standing in front of the Iberian Ministry of Magic’s building in Triangle Tunnel. Her hand was partially outstretched as if reaching for the door. She inhaled the stale air deeply and exhaled it very slowly. It appeared she was actually going through with this. It appeared she was actually going to stand up and face the cause of her nightmares.
The door opened almost as if by magic, though she was barely pulling on the handle.
This was it.
She was registering to join the fight against evil in the peninsula.