Melanie Part 1: A Witch Story

I have been working on a series of shorts about my witch Melanie and I thought I would share the first story with you now. Writing for me is a virtual vomit of the voices in my head. Sounds gross, but honestly it allows my head to focus again once the voices are out. I hope you enjoy the story. If you do let me know and I will share some more of her story. :D

She sat holding her empty silver box. At one point it was filled with ingredients to sustain her mystic powerful potions. Now gently in her hands, as if any second it will fall to the floor and be lost forever, she held it open. She felt the powers she once held fluttering out of her forever. Her magic came from within, but she always believed it was the potions she possessed in her silver box that had a much greater magic then she ever could.

She wept as she looked at the empty silver box. She needed it to be filled again so that she could remain in this town, this place, and continue to help the people who needed her the most. The lost souls of this city came to her at all hours seeking guidance that only she could give. They would bring her offerings for her help, but she always refused. She gave of her powers freely. Well that is until now. Now her silver box was empty and she believed she was too. Tears filled her box where once all sorts of special magical ingredients sat. Her tears from within, where her magic always has been, one by one filling her silver box. She cried for all the souls who would remain lost. Those souls would now wander without her help.

She placed the box on the mantle above her small fire place. Her cauldron still simmering away without her magic mixed into the pot. She left it all and decided to go for a walk to get some perspective on her new life without magic. She grabbed her long red cloak, placed it around her shoulders, put the hood over her head and out she wandered into the misting night, into the dark and damp woods, and into her own minds reflections on her life. She needed to get out of this place where she has conjured up so many potions to help others. She couldn’t stand looking at that silver box one more moment.

Out on her stroll she struggled to not let her mind flutter back to the silver box. She wanted to just be alone in her thoughts. Her great great great-grandmother was the first witch to own that box. It has possessed many items for aiding the witches for generations in her family. When her mother gave it to her many moons ago she was told to be mindful of the box. To watch that it remains filled with items from the family line. Potions, bottles, oils, all mixed in vials sitting in that box when she received it. She was careful to add feathers, acorns, stones, and other items of this earth to use in her own potions. Now sadly it sat empty before her.

She was paying no attention to where she was walking and before she knew where she was she had arrived at the sacred place in the woods where she gathered items for her silver box so that it remained full at all times. She was in no mood to collect items, but she tripped over a minute stone that glistened in the mood light. She picked it up and decided to take it home in her pouch. Walking back to her cabin she imagined the stone could possible hold its own magical powers. Maybe though it was just a rock. Maybe magic did not exist anymore.

Upon returning to her cabin she placed her cloak back on its peg. Took off her wet shoes and looked directly at the silver box. She tried to avoid it but felt pulled into it. She slowly moved and it felt like she was gliding across the floor. She felt no heavy weight on her anymore. She opened the box and gasped. She was going to supplement her box with this beautiful glowing rock, but there was no room. The box had absorbed her tears and replenished itself. Her potions were full again. She added her last ingredient from the silver box into her cauldron and she knew she was ready then for the next lost soul. How could she have ever doubted that the magic was inside of her all the time, that she alone possessed what was needed to produce the potions she used to aid the lost souls of this town. She was filled once again with the magic for the lost souls and her silver box was illuminated from all the tears she shed for her magic.

Was it the witch believing again in magic or the tears she cried that refilled the silver box? Perhaps the silver box alone is the significant piece to this whole mystical mystery. We will never know.

Happy Monday-ing

Your resident poet/storyteller

Debbie

xo

 Photo by Pixabay, no my photo.