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Two-Faced Witches

A Cauldron Brews: It Is Time to Stir the Pot

By E.L. MartinPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 10 min read
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Two-Faced Witches
Photo by Александр Раскольников on Unsplash

I overhear a gossip-filled conversation about the fates of another woman by other women themselves, and am filled with anxiety. "Cackling" or "clucking" I call it. Like witches around the cauldron; plotting their victim's demise, discussing their various flaws, criticizing their every decision and move. The witches' motives never change, though I do not understand them. Things have been said about me also; that, I know first-hand. I am a constant subject of interest, but sometimes the things said about other people are far more scary and threatening.

To their subjects of interest, I leave a meagre warning as you are not present to defend yourselves and you enter this world unknowingly, unwittingly; much as I did. You have yet to learn the fate in store for you. My hope is that you are cognizant enough to manage and change your fate at a different and better pace. I too walked into this cage unaware. I will not be present to guide you, but hope that there is one among you to place your trust and faith in. Some of my confidants were taken from me by circumstance, and some were fortunate to leave of their own devices and accord. I looked at them with glistened eyes, wide expression, and hoped that one day I would make my escape just as they did. Some of us must make our escape in order to give those remaining hope. Perhaps my own tale of self-management in those affairs will assist you in your journey as well as my warning for handling the witches.

I established my place as a madwoman. The witches discussed my various quirks in detail down to the expressions on my face when I spoke. I found I said too much even when I murmured little. The coven probed me at periodic daily intervals, "To whom are you speaking? Is it me? Is there something I should know?" Thus my responses remained, "Oh, I was talking to myself. Please ignore me." The witches cackled and clucked once more at my peculiar behavior. "She speaks to herself and even answers!" they declared with delight. After all, it is cheery to mock others for your own benefit and sanity if you are a witch.

The witches continued eavesdropping for they feared being left out of juicy and delicate information. Information is delicious to witches. If I provided such information, it would be used against me. Instead, I discovered a way to use their jesting for my benefit. I decided to feed their desire for entertainment by providing fuel for jesting. I gave inanimate objects personalities all their own. I received better feedback and conversation from them than I did the witches. The witches continued to ask to whom I was talking, and I answered "the voices in my head" ,"no one," or referenced one of my object-persons. They cackled more with delight and discussed my unfortunate insanity. I smirked on the inside. Let the witches think I'm crazy. It will be my saving grace. Distraction was the only way I knew to divert their attention and control inevitable persecution.

By Mahbod Akhzami on Unsplash

The witches restlessly and continuously searched for victims to throw into their self-made brew. Some victims are rotational; they'll come back to them eventually. They feast on intelligence they can extract from their next mark, and dine on others' miseries. Witches hope to inflict misery if only to bring a little spontaneity to their otherwise dissatisfactory lives. Perhaps in making others miserable, they'll convert them into their sorcery like some strange occult induction or evangelism. Their goal they believe is holy, after all. It makes them feel good to assume such despite being vile, gluttonous creatures.

Newcomers have three choices when entering the coven. They may choose to become a sheep, scapegoat, or in rare circumstances, another witch. In my confinement, I was originally a sheep which made life tolerable. This tolerance faded when I became a sacrificial lamb. Any bleating would fail me or increase the frequency of blood-letting ceremonies. Potions were concocted to increase the witches' strength and decrease my own. Hot liquid was forced down my throat and the potions I drank burned as fire. Prickles tingled and spread across my forearms, stomach, and legs. My blood pressure and heart rhythms increased. My soft, bountiful, woolen coat soon turned to silvered wire. The continual pain from my treatments would soon increase my consciousness and awareness. Soon, my sheepish nature would transform me into a different type of creature; a scapegoat.

By Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

Initially, I bleated softly as it was somewhat familiar to my prior nature and the witches' pretended to treat me as a lamb for a time. Soon, however, I realized the small begging bleats for mercy only further increased the witches' vigor. Evermore zealously they lashed, and soon I endured silently. I was cornered and subdued. Inside, my goatish head was creating a plan. Goats are destructive beings even if it is not their initial intention. Hunger, thirst, and curiosity behoove goats. It was in this form my mentality began to change.

By SHOT on Unsplash

"No more questions, no more bleats, no more arguing, now more discrete." I chimed and mocked the witches as I searched for their pot. It was their actions that caused this. I remembered a land where I ate fresh grass and thought freely. "The grass was truly green there, wasn't it?" I nodded to myself providing the only assurance I would receive in my containment. I recalled my prior life before I became their "pet". It seemed so long ago, but I could still taste its sweetened notes. How foolish I was for coming here when I was told that this grass is better. Instead, it affected me as poison.

The witches told me, "This is delicious. You will not find better feed in all the land, especially this land. You should be grateful to us for giving you such food."

"Why is this food, so bitter?" I asked, "And why is it the color of ash?"

"Tis not the quality of the grass, but instead your taste buds. We must change them. Only the divine can dine on the best, and you must do your time before you become as one of us." they returned.

I chewed until my teeth turned black, and my face was as dark as soot. My eyes had darkened to shadows, and my skin was pale-reflecting. My feet were worn and callused. My health grew poor and weak. I soon discovered that it was not the grains I was fed on which the witches dined. Alas, souls and spirits were the witches' true fodder, and they were all-consuming beings.

By Steinar Engeland on Unsplash

While the witches performed enchantment ceremonies with the new recruits, I crept to their kettle. Slime and bile spewed from a cauldron of lies and gossip. The smell was unpleasant to the nose, and called out to me for refreshment. I heard their creation's cry and understood that it was as equally dissatisfied as I. I added my fresh ingredients in secret; perspective, passion, love, kindness, and dreams. Upon my pouring, the cauldron bubbled and its contents arose. Just then, a green flash of light shone brightly!

By v2osk on Unsplash

My hooves transformed into hands, dexterous hands, unlike I had seen in ages. My stomach and mind were able to digest beneficial nourishment instead of merely sustain on rations of poison. My nails and hair glistened. Within the light's reflection, I saw my hair had notes of strawberry from the world from whence I came. Despite the sprinkles of white and silver, it was me I once more became. My heart beat normally and grew stronger. I was free to run, roam, and wander as long as I took my first step through the portal in front of me. The portal itself peered at me with kindness and thanks. It was no longer a mere creation of evil, but a gateway to something beyond its own understanding.

The witches came running and beheld the flash of green light before them.

I turned to them briefly and declared, "Had you been kinder, maybe I could have stayed. Had you provided nutrition and enrichment, maybe I would have stayed. I am not one of you! I am no longer a cooking element for your oven, an ingredient for your brew, or a meal for your dining! I am not a domesticated beast created for your torment and scavenging. I remember who I am. Thus, I must go."

The green light devoured their eyes as they peered toward me full of jealousy and spite. They cursed my success and cast spells against me, but I no longer believed in such spells. Their spells only affect the enchanted, and the enchanted are only enchanted based on their belief or fear. As I stood before them, I had neither. Their toxicity could not reach me, and I entered the portal with a smile.

By Joshua Rondeau on Unsplash

The witches' den will crumble around them. My actions and portal have shaken their dwelling like an earthquake. A sheep or goat as meek as I somehow escaped their fold. Surely, it was I that was mistaken. No, they let me get away, and I am the fool for venturing into the unknown without their protection. This is what they will tell themselves. Shreds of my theoretical presence will remain behind, enough for them to blame and victimize, but my spirit, body, and soul has left them. Their negative energy will be their demise.

A coven full of only witches will not survive. They cannot dine on each other, and they will be lost and searching for their next meal. I have found that witches are pitiful creatures indeed, but I do not offer them my sympathy. Their spirits sympathize with no one. Any sympathy given to a witch will be taken as an offering, and the donor will become a sacrifice. I am no longer a hostage.

As I exit the green gateway, I am in greener pastures. It was not where I originated that I returned, but it is as close as I can come with the experiences and knowledge that I have gained. My heart is human and my mind is now healthy. My body is following suit.

Degradation of the body because of age is a normal thing. It is something that pays tribute to the life you led showing scars and laugh lines alike. Stagnation of the mind, soul, and spirit is another thing entirely. Witches are born out of stagnation, pride, boredom, disgust, jealousy, complacency, and dissatisfaction. Witches are possessed by negative qualities and prey on others so as to lighten their own burdens. It is a matter of choice and decision as to whether one becomes a witch. Though it may be an easier path, it is also one of self-damnation. It is something I shall refuse time and time again.

By Jose Martinez on Unsplash

Misery breeds misery, and kindness breeds kindness indeed. Your spirit and passion may be used against you and discussed by witches, but your passion should remain passionate. There is nothing wrong with passions despite the criticisms it may give you from others. Follow your dreams and veer away from the ingredients that make a witch. Remember where you come from and who you are if you must endure the company of a witch for any reason. Do not let the witches instruct you otherwise as is their desire.

You will not be an innocent lamb or a scapegoat now that you are armored with knowledge. Without the ingredients for misery, you will not become a witch. If you always stay true to yourself, you may even avoid the metamorphosis in which I underwent, and eat the sweet grains of life regardless of the witches you encounter. That is my hope and wish for you. Greener pastures do exist.

By Guido Hofmann on Unsplash

Fable
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About the Creator

E.L. Martin

Powered by Nature, Humanity, Humor, Food, Lifestyle, Fiction, and Culture; Oh, and a questionable amount of coffee.

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