Posted in Life and After

Fly High

I was out, of course, while he called. I can’t exactly give flying lessons inside a cozy classroom.

He could have just left the message on the answering machine. But no! He had to call me 13 unlucky times before losing it and blasting his cellphone off with his wand.

He’s like, “Why don’t you carry your cellphone with you?”

Sure, I can carry it. But he should try answering calls while riding a broom driven by a shrieking first-timer trying to avoid birds, trees, humans and electrically-charged clouds.

There is no foothold. I almost drop myself ten times a day while holding a broom with both my hands. I don’t have enough hands to hold a cell phone too.

But does he understand? No! Instead, he blames me for ignoring him. Love sucks…

Posted in Love, Twisted Tales

The Apple of Discord: The Mother

The moment I saw him riding on his stead through my village, I fell in love. He was all I ever wanted–tall, handsome and regal, and a just King. I was sure he would love me too. I’m the most beautiful woman the world had ever seen. He had just lost his wife during childbirth. I could see his pain in the lines of his forehead. I wanted to smooth them out so he would be happy again.

That night, I cooked the love potion with all my heart and sent it to him in the food offering the next day. Being the King, he was obliged to accept it, which he did and after the first morsel, he sent me the marriage proposal. I was over the moon, riding the clouds, flying on the wind as I walked down the aisle and up to him where he stood holding a tiny girl in his arms, Snowdrop.

My steps faltered. She’d always be between us, reminding him of his past, never truly letting him move on. But his warm smile fell on me like sunshine. My breath was stuck in my throat. I took our marriage vows in that moment of insanity. Three days later, he woke up changed. The effect of the love potion had vaned. He was remorseful for having forgotten his first wife so soon. He wouldn’t allow me close. He drowned himself in alcohal while I waited in our bedchamber night after night for him to return. I tried creating the potion again, but failed miserably because even I could see, he’d never love me. His heart was too full of one woman to have room for another. A dead woman had bested me.

For years, I played governess to Snowdrop while he spent his days avoiding us. She reminded him of his first love. I reminded him of the failure to remember her. Everywhere I went, I heard whispers that the dead queen couldn’t hold a candle in front of me. That I was the most beautiful woman ever, yet even in her death, she has dwarfed me, forever, in love…

For years, I roamed the unending passages of this castle hiding from the pain of constant rejection, the whispering staff, the lusting courtiers and my own burning desire. He wouldn’t love me and I couldn’t love another. I was always on fire, and it consumed me until I wasn’t.

For years, I tried everything to lure him to me–sympathy, seduction, magic. I kept Snowdrop as far from him as possible, in the servant’s quarters hoping that, without the reminder, he would forget his past. But I received not a single drop of his affection, nor a child, heir to the throne and no future.

Once the king dies, which seems soon enough considering his failing health, the heir to the throne shall be the next male kin, Snowdop’s husband. I have tried to hide her in rags but she grows each day like a carnivorous flower, her alluring beauty trapping the affection of all those around her. Even at seven, the mirror calls her ‘the fairest of all’. Soon enough, princes from kingdoms around the world would line up for her hand. And with that would go my kingdom and my claim to beauty.

I have dealt with being the second-best all my life, but can I live with being a nobody?

Well, there is only one way to go from here…

Snowdrop has to die!

Posted in Life and After, Twisted Tales

The Apple of Discord: The Mirror

Expensive china lay splayed on the floor, broken in tiny pieces. I shiver. It could have been me. Being made of glass, it isn’t a good idea for me to tell the truth. People don’t like truth, especially middle-age women with identity crisis. Unfortunately, like all mirrors, it’s in my nature to reflect the facts, no matter the mental state of my owner. For example, right now, you have something green stuck in between your teeth–Spinach sandwich?

What’s worse, I have been magicked with the ability to see beyond the obvious. If he could get hold of me, Einstein would have used my knowledge to prove his concept of time being the fourth dimension of space (Yes, I can see through all the four dimesions of space. How else would I know about Einstein who will be born 1423 years later?). However, my current mistress for the past twenty-two years uses it for one question alone–any guesses?

Mirror mirror on the wall,

Who’s the fairest of them all?

Initially, I was excited to serve a woman of unsurpassable beauty. But after answering the same question for the nth time, it got old. So, I started creating short poetry about it, a different one everyday–

Too many out there are pretty, but never saw such a beauty…

None surpass, ohh my lass!

(If you think, this is bad poetry, try writing on the same subject for twenty-two years. Well, you get the drift.)

Even that began to grate on my nerves after a few years.

When she tricked the king into marry her after the passing of his first wife, I had hoped that she would get better things to do, what with being newly wed and a queen. But it seems that being a queen requires constant vigilance on the competition. So, the question became a daily query, almost like standing guard to keep stray dogs out. If you ask me, this whole idea of fairness is rather blown out of proportion to serve the herbs and cosmetics industry, but since she is so big on it, resigning to fate, I began giving a three word answer repeatedly, “You, my lady.” That seemed to satisfy her though.

Today, her step-daughter, Snowdrop, became seven years old. Yes, it is Snowdrop and not Snow White, as some famous storytellers with moving pictures would have you believe.

Snowdrop is named so because she is rather fair looking with skin white as snow, rosy cheeks, red lips and black hair. I think the queen is rather jealous because Snowdrop looks like the first queen. So, it was her birthday and I was deep in thought about how 7-year-olds would ask different questions from 37-year-olds when the queen asked the question again. I’m not sure where the rebellion came from but I dropped the bomb.

“With hair black as raven’s feather,

and skin white as snowfall,

Snowdrop is the fairest of all.”

That’s when the bombarding began. My mistress became the fabled bull in the china shop. As things flew around in the room and several hit the wall right next to me, the dread and excitement surged into me, rendering me immobile (Not that I can go anywhere anyway.). I wondered if I’ll survive today. A distant vision came up–meeting a certain Larry Page at his dorm’s wall, becoming the earth-shattering (or was it ground-breaking?) magic behind some Go-ogle, answering millions of questions each day as millions of faces peer intently at me…I sighed at the sight.

One flying suacer of the bonechina variety can put me out of commission and take away that beautiful future from me. I’d really like to say that I’d keep my trap shut from now on so that I’d have a better chance to stay ‘alive’ for the next sixteen centuries and reach that future. But I know myself. Now that I’m finally seeing some action, I can’t go back to the You-my-lady mode again.

Anyway, you’d think that after finding out that the next generation is ready to take over, she’d ask new questions–What is the best anti-wrinkle cream? How to remove dark shadows from beneath the eyes? What’s the best hair colour? Instead, I am answering the same question thrice a day as she mixes and applies different potions to her face to remove signs of aging…

Mirror mirror on the wall,

Who’s the fairest of them all?

I wish, I could lie.

Posted in Life and After

Mushroom Day

I had a good yield. Now, if only I could spot the right one.

This was the problem with magic mushrooms. They could camouflage as other mushrooms and spotting them would take a real witch–one that I clearly wasn’t.

So I had gone around the forest feeling around, trying to spot magic that wasn’t moving, and plucked any mushroom in the vicinity. The basket was now humming with magic, even though I wasn’t sure which one was ‘it’.

Anyway, it was essential that I got the recipe ready and right, for I was close to my 39th birthday, a day every witch dreaded…the day we started turning into old hags if left unattended. The recipe was fairly simple: Cook the Batwings and powdered Crow’s toenail with White Wine in a Dragon scale cauldron on the full moon night from Moonrise till Moonset. At moonset, pour in a Deer skull, sprinkle the magic mushroom, wait until it turns pink, and drink.

Everything else was easily available on The magic mushroom, however, had to be freshly picked by the witch herself, meaning me…

So, even by moonset, my cauldron ready and bubbling, I hadn’t spotted the correct mushroom out of my lot and decided to go with Plan B–poured the Wine in 17 deer skulls I had ordered from WitchSupplies (my apologies to any animal lovers, but my only other option was to call in another witch for help and admit I wasn’t a witch enough.)

Then I sprinkled one mushroom in each Wine. But they ALL turned pink!

Now I had only one option left. I drank ALL of them! It didn’t work, but if nothing else, it made me a very happily drunk witch for a week.

Now, since I am turning into an old hag anyway, I’m planning to use an abridged version of this recipe (white wine with magic mushrooms) every full moon at the same scale.

Any one else who’s game to take a shot?

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash