Bishop's eyes scanned the letter over and over again; he had received it last night. It was a curious letter, written in a beautifully penned script. He almost didn't want to believe that it was true, and the teacher who had written it. Ivory Illusion, the name sounded mysterious as though hiding in a thick veil of mist. With a soft sigh he placed the paper back on the coffee table his feet rested upon. His shoulders sank a bit and he laid back in the smooth leather chair. Do I go? To this school of Illusions...then again what did illusion truly mean? False or misleading. I only have an hour to decide before the coach arrives.
He chuckled at the seeming parody as his eyes returned to the innocent letter. A shadow fell over his face and his eyes seemed far away, trapped in thoughts. He sat that way, the hood from his jacket draw over his face, for a half an hour. When the large golden clock that hung near the mantel piece, chimed the hour, he had made up his mind. I will go to this school of Illusions and meet this Ivory Illusion. What else do I have to do but read and rot away in my classes? Yes and if it is all a joke, I will chuckle and drag myself back to the confines of this place. I will be all the wiser.
Bishop stood and placed his hood back on his shoulders, his feet carrying his lean frame to his tiny room. The only furnishings to fill the dark green room were a cot and a neat cherry wood desk. For three pitiful years he had called this tiny hovel a home. No longer. His nose picked up the ever present smell of pine and sawdust hanging in the air when he entered. All his clothes already rested his leather pack, set for any occasion he needed to leave unexpectedly. His uncle had taught him that. Expect the unexpected and never be caught unaware. Bishop nodded, words of golden wisdom. As for essentials, those rested on a small white sill nested close to the window.
His steel colored eyes scanned the outside, it was a depressing view but he had come to like it and if there were something to miss about this place it would be the disheartening view. Placing his essentials in his bag, Bishop moved calmly to his desk and retrieved all of his papers, notes, pens, and pencils. Lastly his hand rested on a deer skin journal that his uncle had sent him. The cover was decorated in gold and silver leaf, shaped and weaved into the shape of a majestic horse galloping across the plains. This would never leave him on his journeys.
A buzz from his pocket reminded Bishop of his cell phone, pulling it out he notice the alarm. 10 minutes till the couch arrived. His face was still as he replaced the device in his pocket and traveled down the four flights of stairs to reach the ground floor. Sure he could have taken the elevator, but he felt as though that was cheating. He had to make his own way and blaze his own trail.
He stepped outside and leaned against the aging brick building, listening. A small whine echoed from an engine as it neared the sidewalk's curb. And so it begins, leaving nothing but the winds at my back. Bishop sighed and blinked a few more times, he was stepping off into the unknown but he felt it was fitting.
"I'm always up for a challenge," he whispered stepping onto the couch, taking a seat at the far back.