Young Writers Society

I was burning.

A scream erupted from my lips and it felt like my blood was turning to fire. A strange scent filled my nose, sickly sweet. My arms glowed, resembling those fluoro glow-sticks. But through the pain there was an urge to do it again. It called to me, dark and seductive, hitting me like waves and seeming to pool around my feet like water. Or blood. Like that one night...

My agonised, fearful eyes turned on my schoolmates in the hope that someone would, could, help me. But they just stared in horror, like I was a freak. And I was. I knew what was happening, I’d read about it, heard about it. And the realisation was like a punch in the stomach. I was a witch. There had been witches for centuries now, they came out of nowhere and now they were everywhere you turned. They were doctors (ha ha, witchdoctor), lawyers, actors, singers and some were even teachers. But those that refused to live like normal humans were like monks or nuns, they called themselves the Sisters or the Brothers and they taught new witches and warlocks.

I got off the hard floor of the New Salem High School hallway, turned on my heels and bolted for the door, students parting before me like the Red Sea. I burst through the front doors and out onto the pavement, gasping for air through the sobs that tried to shatter my chest. The forever twilight sky was above me like a foreboding shadow. Ever since the sun burned out hundreds of years ago to be replaced by a glowing orb, the moon has been always visible, always full, always watching. The plants and wildlife had that eerie glow about them. The plants had to change, to adapt to the darkness and they learned how to glow.

I’d been talking...ok, fighting, with my boyfriend/ex boyfriend/friend/lab partner Seth, when I got agitated and stomped my foot. The entire row of lockers had burst open and their contents flew across the room, striking kids on their heads and crashing into walls.

And then the burning started. I’d heard it was painful, but it was pure agony.

I fell to my knees, a sob raking my body. The burning was still there, but it was background noise to me now, my mind was otherwise preoccupied. What would my parents say? Would they be like everyone else who had a witch in the family? Shun me? Send me away and keep it all behind closed doors? Would I suddenly not exist to them? My friend Jo’s cousin’s best friend’s brother had been a warlock and now his name wasn’t allowed to be spoken in their house. I didn’t want that to be me. I wanted my sister to be able to speak my name.

“Holy crap Lori, what the hell is going on?” Jo asked as she bounded down the stairs, her bag thudding against her back and her key rings jingling. Jo had pink and green streaks through her bleach blond hair, a piercing in her tongue and sarcastic blue eyes, but now they were full of fear.

“You saw what happened in there,” I said shakily, getting to my feet in an attempt to play it cool. I’m alright. I’m a witch, it’s all good. My life is over, whatever. Nothing I can’t handle. I’m Lorelei Blake. The witch.

“Doesn’t mean I know what’s going on. Gee-whiz, Lori, it looks like something exploded in there.”

“Something did,” I said bitterly. “Me.” the purple glow of a nearby plant gave Jo’s pale skin a strange hue, the whites of her eyes glistening violet.

“You’re not, y’know....” said Jo anxiously, skirting around the word. “One of...them are you?”

I...well... I...uh...” I stammered.

“Lori, what the hell?” Seth’s voice broke through mine as he came toward us. His stride was confident but agitated. “You do some crazy, psycho hocus-pocus crap and walk out on me?”

“‘Hocus-pocus crap.’ How eloquent,” I muttered, but they didn’t hear me.

“This is not about you Seth, not everything is,” Jo said icily. She didn’t approve of Seth; she didn’t want me dating him. Advice I should’ve taken. The two launched into an argument, swapping insults and profanities.

“Shut up Jo, I’m trying to talk to Lori,” with that, Seth turned to me and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me unwillingly into his arms. “I’m sorry Lori-babe. I didn’t mean to yell at you. You know I never do. I love you.”

“Pfft, yeah right Seth,” Jo rolled her eyes. “This is no time for your mushy, lovey-dovey stuff. This is serious. You saw what she did in there. She’s not normal.”

“How’s that for loyalty. You’re already labelling her a freak!”

“I didn’t say freak, you did.”

“Shut up!” I snapped. A force struck the two and blew them apart, sending them sprawling across the pavement. I stepped back uneasily. “I’m sorry.” I turned around and headed for the student parking lot, searching frantically for my baby, my vintage mustang. I yanked my keys from my pockets and my hands trembled as I unlocked the car door and slipped into the familiar driver’s seat. It wasn’t until I caught my reflection in the rear-view mirror that I realised I was crying. I hurriedly wiped away the tears with the backs of my hands. I pulled away with the sight of my semi-boyfriend and best friend staring after me in the rear-view mirror, a blend of sympathy, shame and horror on their faces.

Just keep driving.

Keep driving.

Don’t stop.

Stop and the tears will fall faster.

I pull up in front of the small, cottage-wannabe house on the outskirts of New Salem that I shared with my father, my twin sister Annabelle and Dad’s fiancée Lisa. I didn’t mind Lisa, I guess. She was like a piece of furniture, she was there and she stayed inconspicuous. She didn’t delve into my business and I pretended not to see her kissing my father.

I stepped out of the car and stumbled my way up to the door, my shoes making noise on the stepping stones that Lisa just had to have. Unlocking the door and, stepping through, I was instantly assaulted with memories. My mother’s painting hung on the walls, elegant and beautiful. Images of mermaids by waterfalls and other mythical creatures were scattered through the house like ghosts. It was another world and I could remember her telling me the stories behind her paintings, some were even inspired by me. She had taught me to paint. I was even good, really good, but my passion died with her that night.

“Hello?” I called, desiring a warm hug and comforting whispers.

“Shush!” came the reply. I turned the corner of the entranceway to see my sister slyly pulling a twenty from Lisa’s wallet while she dozed, a romance novel open on her chest. When she imagined the hero, did she see my father? Or did she imagine the action-figure-like foreign model on the cover? I didn’t think I wanted to know. I could hardly imagine my tall, lanky, bespectacled father striking anyone down or sweeping anyone off their feet.

“Hey Anna,” I muttered. The burning was now focused within my head and it was getting more intense. “Where’s Dad?”

“In his study I guess. Now if you don’t mind me, there’s a cute top with my name on it waiting for me somewhere,” she swept a golden lock of hair behind her ear and she tucked Lisa’s wallet back in the pocket of the sleeping woman’s jeans.

“No, don’t go Anna, please,” I pleaded, feeling weak.

“What’s wrong Lori?” Anna asked, looking worried. She and I were polar opposites. She was blonde, I was dark haired, like my mother. She liked pink, yellow and shopping; I liked purple, black and rock music. But we were closer than we were with anyone else.

“Everything,” I said, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. I blinked them back harshly. Don’t cry. Anna wrapped her arms around me and I sobbed into her golden hair. “Everything’s wrong Bells.” I felt her fingers stroking through my hair. She told me it’d be alright, just like I’d wanted, like I’d needed.

“What’s wrong Annabelle? Lorelei?” a drowsy voice asked. Lisa rose groggily from the couch, wiping sleep from her exhausted eyes. She was okay-looking, mousy brown hair and hazel eyes. But she wasn’t stunning like my mother had been.

“Get Dad,” Anna said firmly, almost demandingly. She wasn’t like me. She didn’t trust Lisa at all. She justified taking money from Lisa by saying that she probably took it from Dad in the first place. Lisa vanished from the room and Anna led me to the couch. I fell into the plush familiarity; it still smelled like my mother. There was the sound of murmuring voices in the next room and soon Lisa came back, Dad trailing behind her.

“What’s going on here girls? I was in the middle of writing. My deadline’s Monday so I should get back to work...” Dad was a feature columnist in the local newspaper while he worked on his own novel.

“Dad, Lisa, Anna...” I took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m a witch.”

“Ha ha Lori,” said Dad. “Very funny, we’re all laughing. Now excuse me, I have to go back to work.”

“Dad, I think she’s serious,” said Anna, her face paler than usual.

“Annabelle...” said Lisa, always agreeing with Dad. “This isn’t funny.”

“Lori, don’t joke about such things,” Dad said, furrowing his brow, an expression I was used to. Ever since my mother died, he wasn’t quite the same. He didn’t joke much at all anymore. Everything was work, work, work.

“I’m not joking Dad,” I said, feeling incredibly weak. The world seemed to spin around me. “I’m being serious.”

“What do we do?” Lisa asked Dad, her face distorted. “We can’t have a witch for a child! I’m Catholic!”

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re not your kids,” Annabelle said irritably. “Screw your religious background. Lori needs our support.”

“I need to get out of here,” I said in a tired voice. “I can’t have another repeat of today.”

“Today?” Dad asked. “What happened today?”

“Who cares?” Lisa asked. “She’s a witch! She can’t leave! We need to pray for her soul. Witches are pagans and I for one will not allow her afterlife to be tainted.”

“Daddy,” I whispered, the voice of his poor, frightened little girl shining through. He looked at me, into my eyes that reminded him painfully of my mother. “Let me go. I’ll just go to Jo’s.” Jo lived on the far outreaches of New Salem in a big, artsy house.

“Alright,” Dad whispered. “Alright.” With that, he took one last look at me before wandering, hunched over, back into his office.

We watched him go before Annabelle grabbed my keys that were still in my hand and she practically carried me out the door and into the passenger seat of my car. Once I was in the seat, my mind faded to black, unable to resist the pain any longer and I drifted into a memory-plagued sleep.