Could it be, she is a victim of her reputation, by becoming what they think of her in a rebellion to what they think of her?
Then she got out her wand, shook it in a circle and cast a spell on him!
“Oh no, what have ya done?” shouted the man, now beginning to float.
“Ah ha! I have cast the floating spell on you, you are floating!”
“I can bloomin’ see that I'm floatin’ but what I wanna know is, why ya making me?”
The young witch took time to ponder, as the man felt comfortable without the strain on his lower back. She wondered to herself, why does the name witch have a negative connotation, yet wizards are a symbol of wisdom. Could it be, she is a victim of her reputation, by becoming what they think of her in a rebellion to what they think of her? She placed the man back on to the wooden floorboards, so gently that although they were old floorboards, they did not make a squeak.
“I am sorry,” says the witch.
“Its ok me darlin’ I didn’t much mind it, me back as been givin me troubles and I—”
“Okay that enough,” said the witch, pushing her wand in his direction saying something short and sharp, causing the man to blow up, covering the room with what used to be his insides. Even covering the witch.
“No!” she said to herself, “I am not what I am because they think it, they think I am what I am because that is who I am.”
She then got on her broom, opened the window. Well, she tried to, she couldn’t work out the latchet. It was all slimy and hard to grip cause of the lard from the fat man she blew up.
“Oh bugger,” she said to herself, not seeing the irony, that she needed help from a man to escape the room where she had just killed one.
She tried to think of a spell that could help. She tried one and saw the light from the moon reaching the room turn blue.
“Oh bugger, that’s the turn moon blue spell, fucking hell I wasn’t concentrating the week we did latches at the Coven.”
And that’s true, she wasn’t, that was the week she got her period for the first time. She did not want to tell anyone even though she was in a school full of females who all have the same experience. But, at different times, and its all a bit private and personal and scary.
Steps spoke and told the witch someone was coming. The door opened. A man with a giant moustache and a top hat looks at the scene. Looks to the witch who still has the broom between her legs although she is standing on the ground.
“What have ya done ya feral mongrel, what's all this then? blood? bleedin’ blood?”
The witch remained calm, she had no reason not to be, she had so much power.
“Who’s this? is it Gary?” asked the moustache wearing man.
“Yes,” she replied,
“Why did ya blow him up?”
“Because that is what I do. I am a witch.”
“Ohhhh,” he waled, “Noooo. What? Not Gary. Gary was such a nice and jolly man. All that strength you have, and you used it to kill Gary? I could have killed Gary. Anyone could have killed Gary. Jesus, the way he eats and the way he drinks, Gary was killing Gary!”
She felt a bit stupid. Like he was right. Could her pride kill another man to protect a lie she wants to be true?
“I am sorry,” she confessed.
“Look,” said the man through his moustache, his moustache bouncing as if it was a cat on someone’s lap, “I know it must be hard. and I know, you can just blow me up right now if you wanted to. and I could try and pull out my pistol and shoot you in the noggin. But what is that going to do? You will just keep killing to keep the story alive. The notion. And I will be treated like a legend, for killing a frightened lady.”
“I am not scared!” she shouted to hide her fear.
“No, no, don’t take it like that. I am just saying. We need to take a step back and try and resolve the philosophy of the situation. We need to both be willing to give up a piece of ourselves to create something new.”
“What is it that you want?” asked the witch, who kept her caution.
“Can you just try and use that power, that wand, for good?”
“What is good?” she replied.
“That’s a question we all have to figure out, and we aren’t always going to be right, but I'm telling you, I know Gary, and killing him was not good. So if you cant see that, then you have lost your moral compass.”
“I am sorry for killing Gary.”
“I am glad to hear it, it wont bring him back, but it might keep the next one alive.”
“Sometimes, I just get so lost. I get angry. I was taken from my parents at eight years old for something I didn’t ask for; these powers. Now in the eyes of the world I am a freak, I am sorry Gary,” cried the witch, as she stroked the wall with Gary’s blood on it, as if he had become the room.
The moustache man walked closer with his stature showing compassion. He opened his arms offering a hug and the witch took it. The last man she hugged was her father, before they found out about her powers. It felt like being home again, especially when she felt a knife enter her back. The man squeezed her with his left arm and stabbed her with his right arm. Reaching for some form of saviour entered her mind as her mind left her body, there she died, in the arms that reminded her of her fathers, briefly human and killed for it. By one.
The man dropped her as a crowd rushed to the door.
“I don’t know how you do it Bill?” one asked in adoration.
With a smile that lifted that gigantic moustache, he spoke through the blue light of the moon,
“Witches are still women, boys! Dumb as dogshit.”
As the story ends you hear a man from the steps say, “Geez, is that Gary?”
