the witch

The Witch

Flash Fiction

She’s not there every day, but when she is, she doesn’t leave you alone.

She is not nice to you, she doesn’t love you, she doesn’t want to be your friend. She calls you names, slaps your fat, makes you question your hair, your nose, your lips — those little tiny features you hoped might one day be loved for their charm. She puts you under her spell and, despite all your usual defenses, she takes control of your body and all you can do is watch. 

The Parasite is in control. 

Her games are not for the feeble-minded: she curves your innocent fingers into a fist and beats your stomach, she makes you gag at the sight of yourself in the mirror, she takes scissors and razorblades and your own dull fingernails and pierces the flesh all over your body.

The Witch is in control now. She smiles in your face while you lay exhausted, weak, and bleeding.

The deed is done, the games have been played: she rests next to you now, holding your hand, knowing you’re defeated.

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