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2 entries this month
You Finally Know You are a Witch When...
15:54 Sep 09 2006
Times Read: 797
1. Your BOS has spots on the pages from spilled brews.
2. When cleaning house you have to specify. "Where is the broom? No, not the broom, where is the one to clean the floor with?"
3. Candle wax has dripped on your keyboard.
4. There are more jars of strange smelling plants in your cupboards than there are cereal boxes.
5. Friends know they can always give you candles and incense as a gift.
6. When watching old re-runs of Bewitched, you find you side with Samantha's mother Endora.
7. When travelling, stranger and stranger strangers tell you their problems.
8. You find yourself making corn dollies in the checkout line at the grocery store (well, I thought about it).
9. You ask for Halloween off, because it's a religious holiday.
10. You start answering the phone with "Merry Meet".
Perspephone's Side of the Story
15:50 Sep 09 2006
Times Read: 798
They thought I’d been abducted. Maybe it's best that’s what they believe.
How do you explain to the mother who has your entire life planned out, you weren't the lily-white daughter she had built all her hopes upon? When I saw her last I was a slender, young maiden with flowers in my hair. My cheeks would turn pink each time a boy so much as looked at me, my innocent sighs so charmingly executed.
Some days I still yearn for flowers, but wake up to find jet roses in my bed and at my feet. No longer the tender young thing, now I’m full, red and ripe. I have no use for sonnets or ribbons in my hair. I clothe myself in spider silk and shadow, and speak with the tongues of nightmares.
Mother would have had me wed to some milk-faced boy, who would follow me around blindly and paw at me when the lights were turned out. I cannot see myself sitting idly in the sunlight, fanning myself and drinking watered wine. I’m addicted to the darkness, where I can submerge myself in the night and drag my fingernails across Death’s shoulders.
She had always talked about grandchildren, and it never occurred to me to disagree. How do I explain to her I find the cries of the dead far more pleasing than the thought of a whining child at my breast? I know she would be astounded to know, here in this place, I have no need to bow my head. I am much more than a wife and the things I say are law.
Now that you have seen me and fulfilled your duty, return to her and if you wish, tell her I was afraid, that I begged him to release me and let me go back. Tell her I screamed when he held me down and forced me to submit. It’s for the best she doesn’t know my screams were not from fear.
By now, I’m sure she’s gone to Zeus begging for him to hasten my release. I’m pretty sure her cause is lost, you see, I swallowed much more than seeds that night. Mother will feel better if she thinks I grieve for those scattered blossoms, lost on Enna’s rolling hills. She must never know I have learned to love the taste of blood and I’m not going anywhere…
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