Good witch turned bad

I gazed solemnly at the lifeless body splayed on the cold hard ground. Thick red blood seeped out of the chest and immediately sank into the soil. From all indications – broken rib, mutilated ear and a fire-burned chest – it was obvious that this dead human before my feet put up a fight before meeting his untimely death.

Shaking my head sorrowfully, I pitied the poor creature.

Maybe I shouldn’t show any sort of remorse, considering the fact that I was the one who killed him. I personally landed the punch to his rib cage….with a ten kilogram sledgehammer. No one else but me produced the hot fire on my palm and threw towards his chest. He had writhed in agony, not seeming to decide whether to sob over the wounds inflicted on him or put out the fire consuming him.

I wanted to be a good witch, I thought gravely and squatted next to the corpse.

When did I get so evil?

Ah, I remember!

My mother.

My mother was the evilest witch to ever exist.. With a black robe, a pointy hat and a broomstick, she was the entire package – the epitome of witchcraft. Her long nose even had its own bulbous warts, from which pus-covered creatures arose when they accidentally burst. She was so evil; she managed to get the infamous nickname ‘The Evilest’ over the centuries. She wore the name with pride.

It suited her. She was so evil, when she first gave birth to me, she shoved me face-down into a tub of water to kill me. I happened to have inherited her magical powers, so I escaped unharmed.

My first birthday…I still recall it. My mother had been there with me. She’d baked her famous barf-scented mud-icing cake, topping it off with a burning goblin’s toe sticking, supposedly a candle.

The cake wasn’t that bad.

When I was two, I’d started figuring out how to use my powers. The moment I spilled some water unto the floor and accidentally turned it into a colorful butterfly while trying to magically clean it up, I immediately knew that I wanted to be a good witch. I realized that contrary to my mother’s attitude, I actually loved nice beautiful things.

I wanted to be good.

So for the next few days, I was happily transforming ever water droplet I came across into a pile of butterflies of every hue.

That is, until The Evilest caught me in the act. She’d frowned and given the speech about colorful stuff being not-so-evil. Then she changed the butterflies into blood-sucking vampire bats.

The age of five was the age I got my very own magic wand. Being the hyperactive, excited, spirited kid that I was, I went about having fun with it.

I changed a little ant I found in our backyard into a fluffy and cuddly puppy. I’d immediately named the mutt Cuddly. Having a wand meant I could make the dog appear and disappear at will, so I was able to hide it from my wicked mother for three days.

On the fourth day, she had seen the dog. Once again, I got another boring spiel about fluffy things being not-so-evil. She then went ahead to try to coax me into embracing my inner evil….then transformed my dog into a spider.

The long thin broomstick I got on my tenth birthday was capable of giving one mean ghastly and malicious laugh. She claimed that was supposed to help me work on laughing like an evil malevolent witch and not a happy girl.

She’d always called my soft bubbly laughter ‘sickening’.

That night, we had frog legs for dinner.

As part of my becoming-a-teenager party, she took me to the neighboring witch’s dark home and gave me firsthand lessons on how to kill another witch. It was an experience with a whole lot of magic wand zaps here and there. At the end of the fight, the neighboring witch was blasted into a black chicken. The Evilest suggested we take the animal home.

The next morning, we had troll-spit flavored drumsticks…and I didn’t ponder on where the meat came from. Besides, why should I have cared? I was a growing girl. I needed protein.

The only present I got from my mother on my eighteenth birthday was an ominous talkative of a spell book. It had the evilest spells to be ever fabricated. She had written the spell book along with the wickedest minds in existence.

From that day, we would cook death potions and other recipes together in massive pots. While I was in charge of acquiring all the different ingredients from different sources, my mother did the spell-casting and stirring part. It was fun. At least, most parts of it. I didn’t like when she’ll order me to taste the final product to make sure it was in order.

My mother is the evilest. I mean, she was the evilest. That is until I destroyed her during my twentieth birthday and claimed her title.

I wanted to be a good witch, I thought again while dragging the dead man’s body towards my place. Most body parts will make an excellent ingredient for my newest evil potion.

After that is done, I’ll resume working on a spell….to take over the world.