Witch Baby

“jump jump jump jump” the chanting had become fainter as she wavered on the edge of the cliff. the viciously smiling faces where behind her now, but the taunting voices seemed enough to push her towards the edge. even the wind seemed to want her to fall. its feather grasps pulled her ever so slightly. she wondered for just a second, could she fly? a stumble, and a miniscule avalanche of dirt plummets down the edge of the cliff. each grain split by the jagged rocks protruding from the cliff’s edge. “jumpjumpjumpjump” the words ran together, and she closed here eyes. they were surrounding her, the kids of the village. they trapped her with their malevolent glares. the poison of accusation upon their lips. their leader smiled, her lips red as blood. “w..w..w..wheres the baby’s mommy?” she mocked. here eyes were cold with no reflection. they looked dead. stepping forward, the leader held out her hand mockingly to the girl. the girl didnt see, her eyes where closed. “wheres your mother now?” witch baby could read their minds.one step closer. her heels rested on air. “witch baby, witch child, witch baby, witch child!” the crowd crooned. she fell. the leader’s pale face disappeared into the growing distance. and witch baby plummeted. the circle was silent, contented. they had done their job. they had ridden the village of a witch. a child witch at that. baby witch. one by one they took turns throwing rocks off the cliff. surely witch child was dead. but one can never be sure. witch baby was still falling as the stones whizzed past her head. she had hope her death would change the people. now their thoughs grew dim, but the same hatred existed. she had done nothing. the sharped fangs of the grey fog covered shore below seemed to close shut around the tiny sacrifice. “she is gone” whisperes of the crowd rang dull and flat on the dead air. “the witch baby is dead” now their emotions began to change. the carefree glee that had livend the crowd minutes before died. soon fears and dread replaced the contenment. “the witch baby is dead” the leader’s voice was monotone. witch baby never reached the rocks. the crowd would never find her broken bones scattered across the sand. the which child was not dead. but she was gone. the leader looked sullen. in the grey light, shadows appeared beneath her eyes, she had aged a century in a matter of seconds. witch baby watched from her perch. safe. high. in a twisting oak upon the cliff. the fall had indeed taken her spirit to another world, but very few know the truth. witch babies cannot die. witch baby watched from the shadows. the village that she had breathed life into. the grass that grew, greenest in the country. the flowers that bloomed fragrant and majestic. the trees. kings and queens of the wood. witch baby had done it all. and now she was no more. the leader left. one by one the members of the crowd peeled off, their heads bowed, hearts heavy. true, witch baby was indeed a witch. she had powers that they feared. powers that they envied. but they were powers that she only used to help the villiage. the very village that posted the proclamations of death to witches. the town that witch baby called home. witch baby smiled. sad. but a smile none the less. she was finally free. and she had tried. jumping lightly from the tree limb onto the fertile ground, witch baby dropped a single, silver tear. if any looked closely they would have seen the world, a steaming mass of greens and blues. a swirling concoction of lifes fluids in a massive pewter cauldron. i single rose bud blooming from the decaying trunk of a felled oak. they would have seen the world, through the eyes of a witch baby.

By Falyn

"the moon, she hangs like a cruel portrait, soft winds whisper the bidding of trees, as this tragedy starts with a shattered glass heart, and the midnightmare trampling of dreams..." ~CoF