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| >> Static Item >> Short Story >> Fantasy >> ID #1836154 |   |
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A Writer’s Cramp (24 hours/1,000 words or less)
Write a story or poem that is titled, "The Forgotten" The Forgotten “Marguerite, I’m afraid we have to ask you to leave,” said Griscelda, the witch with the odd-shaped black/brown wart. The thing grew at the tip of her triangular-shaped chin and held three two-inch hairs that stuck out from the thickest part, hairs which seemed to wiggle each time she breathed. However, the impact of her words scalded any urge I had to stare. In fact, her words almost immobilized me. I blinked, stuttered, then turned to look at her, saw the fierceness of her beady, green eyes. I glanced about, checked the reaction of my other sister witches. They were all nodding their heads in agreement. “What do you mean? Why do I have to leave?” “You don’t fit. You've never fit in.” Gretta let out one of her loud, high-pitched witchly cackles. Its strident off-tone always turned my goose bumps into screaming cheerleaders. “You aren’t a worthy witch.” That comment came from Jenny, the oldest of the bunch. If Jenny agreed with Marguerite, my frog was duly cooked. “Meowwww,” said Thea’s aged black cat. Its tail lashed in vehement agreement. Its claws extended, each knife-like spear slightly yellowish-green like rancid scrambled eggs. I backed away from the cat, shot a second glance at each glaring set of eyes. “But why?” I tried again. "You're my coven. I belong." “Because you're a lousy witch,” Stormy said. Thea’s cat continued to advance. I backed further. Whenever I worked with my sister witches, my familiar had to spend her time up in the rafters, avoiding their two cats, one snake, one wolf, and a coyote. I noticed the snake slithering closer. The ragged-coated wolf suddenly growled at me. Thankfully, the coyote continued to scratch at his fleas in normal behavior. “Okay, okay. I’m out of here, but I still don’t know why.” Thea caught her cat. Stormy scooped up the cobra. “You broke the rules,” Thea said. “You substituted an old black grape for an eye of newt.” No argument about that. Caught, guilty as charged. I hung my head. “I know," I said. "I just couldn’t do it.” “Do what?” Mariah asked, her hand stroking her bristling wolf. “Kill. The newt. It was a young one, barely a teenager.” Griscelda’s wart wiggled in a manner that boded evil. “Squeak, squeak,” said Miss Squirrel, warning me it was time to depart. I looked up just in time to see that Jenny’s cat had crept up into the rafters and was one pounce away from grabbing my pet. Luckily Miss Squirrel saw it, too. She took a flying leap and landed on my back. Squirrel claws can stab into tree bark and cling, as well as climb. My back suddenly felt like a used dart board. I squawked loud enough to stop the coyote from scratching. It howled in complaint. The witches started to curse me. I grabbed my broom, waved the door open, took off. As I flew up into the sky, Miss Squirrel chattered loudly into my ear. “What?” I said repeatedly. “The forgotten,” she kept saying. I set us down in a nicely dark and haunted forest. “What are you talking about?” “The forgotten,” Miss Squirrel said again. “You’ve forgotten the forgotten.” I shook my head, tried to make sense out of her wordst. A scratchy paw slapped me on the cheek. Instantly I got her message. “The forgotten. Right. I’ll see if they’ll accept me.” Miss Squirrel nodded her head enthusiastically, then dashed onto my shoulder so I could take off. On the other side of Dracula’s castle sat an old-fashioned cottage with dainty pink petunias. I dropped down onto the path, set my broom against the wall, and knocked at the door. “Come in,” said four gnarly voices. “We’ve been expecting you, Marguerite.” The witch who’d spoken had a nose longer than most bananas. It was tilted upwards and had three lovely warts. The other witches were equally beautiful, one with sparse white hair all ratted and disheveled, one with eyes a fascinating shade of slime-green, and the last with teeth blackened like fireplace cinders. Intimidated, I stared at the floor. The witch with the lovely teeth reached out and hugged me. “We're so glad you came to join us,” she said. I shivered. What would they say when I told them the truth about me? The woman with the incredible nose stepped closer. “Our squirrels told us you were coming.” A tear fell from my eye. I so wanted to believe they’d accept me. I looked up and bravely told them my horrible secret. “I . . . I don’t do spells well. I can’t obtain bat wings, eye of newt . . . even dragon scales. I just can’t hurt anyone.” The witches cackled. “We know that. Squirrels chatter. Besides, that’s why we’re glad to accept you. We’re the forgotten ones, the witch vegetarians. We don’t believe in hurting anyone either.” "Which is why no one ever remembers we're here," said Slime-green. Joy flowed from my eye ducts. Perhaps my eyes reddened. My skin probably broke out in spots. In other words, I was at my most attractive, when suddenly a bat fluttered against the window. “May I come in?” said a deep, mysterious voice. The witches called out, and Count Dracula soared in. “Ah, a beautiful new witch." His eyes admired. I sighed, gave a hearty cackle. "Will you dance with me?” the Count asked. I didn’t have warts, white hair, black teeth, or a wondrously long nose, but Dracula's fanged smile fastened on me. I cackled again with delight. The night was dark, the sky moonless. Five witches and one vampire with bright red eyes and skin like moldy cheese danced about the room. We cackled, slurped, and partied with glee as our familiars -- five fuzzy, furry squirrels chittered, chattered, and chased each other from rafter to rafter. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 974 words ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
© Copyright 2011 Shaara (UN: shaara at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
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