8 minute read
The Gift of Living by Isabel
“You know why I never take baths?” Half of Lotte’s mauve hair peeped up above the water as she blew bubbles in the bath, soap suds spreading over the tattoos inked all along her body. “I certainly wish I did so that you’d do it more often,” a voice chided from the stairs, echoing its way into the extravagantly decorated bathroom. Lotte insisted on occupying the master bathroom for reasons nobody, or certainly Charlie, knew of. Lotte let out a soft laugh, knowing one day she’d certainly miss this roommate of hers. It turns out living alone for hundreds of years was not “good for the soul,” as her doctor had told her decades ago when she handed over an apple and a hefty medical bill. That doctor had long passed, as association with a witch meant you had a free pass to burn at the stake. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she glanced at her elbow, where an apple seedling lay permanently etched onto her skin. “Maybe you’ll be on here too one day, Charlie.” Lotte brushed off droplets of water, revealing a blur of memories compressed into thousands of intricately-designed tattoos on her legs and torso, snaking up around her shoulders. Perhaps it was the fear that these memories would be washed away with time, that Lotte would someday forget the people that died for her, that the legacy of these people would die with her when she finally descended into madness. Just maybe one person she knew would be free from this fate. Just maybe. -------------------------------------A swarm of crows flew in a giant flock, narrowly missing the road sign as it soared over a quaint corner store flower shop. The bells jingled as Lotte stepped outside, briefly smiling at the woman who studied the green stand’s flower selection. “Need any help?” she called, heaving the hose to the flowers only to realize it wasn’t connected to the faucet.
“You got any morning glories?” the short woman shot back. There were indeed no morning glories, as Charlie, her roommate, had taken them all home (with payment, of course). Thalia, disappointed with this revelation, paced back and forth, staring at the flowers for another 15 minutes before settling on a bouquet of purple hyacinths. She cheerily made her way to the cafe across the street, seating herself into the deep cushion of a chair with an iced coffee. She examined the flowers in detail and risked the possibility of looking like a deranged lunatic while she furiously sketched on her tablet in an attempt to replicate the hyacinths.
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THE GIFT OF LIVING
by isabel lai
It wasn’t often a forensic artist was allowed a day off to draw some puny little flowers. Charlotte watched the scene unfold, humorously gazing at the happiness a simple set of flowers could bring to a person. Moments like these made her feel like watering crops was not a waste of her hydrokinesis abilities—quite the perk for a water witch. An hour hadn’t passed before Thalia’s phone rang for an ever-so-exciting surprise. Her chair let out a shriek as she moved to grab her purse. She hurriedly packed her supplies, hoping someone would tend to the hyacinths she left on the table. It would not sit well with her boss to smell rosy while interviewing a witness of the most recent crime. Dropping her keys off at the desk, she pulled up to the police station right in time to clock in. For decades, the police had been monitoring the witch population, disposing of them at will, then glorifying them in the next century. Humanity never remained constant. To be frank, Thalia would not have cared at all had her job for the past few months not been centered around killing these very creatures. In fact, she pitied the witches for constantly living undercover, unable to reveal their true selves to the public. Unfortunately, this statement could cost her a job and a whole reeducation; thus, it remained one living in her head. “What’s the news?” she asked as she propped up her laptop. Officers ran around the station wildly, creating a buzz of excitement within the room. Not often did people become riled up like this, suggesting a world-ending secret had been released all while Thalia was looking at her beautiful flowers. “Did you hear?” an elated voice shouted in her ear. Before she could scream, a pair of sparkling eyes popped up in front of her. “They found her!” “Who? Who’s her?” Thalia remained confused. She had her suspicions, but she’d rather not keep her hopes up. Sucking in her breath, her coworker, Robin, whispered, “The water witch.” For months and months, Thalia had filled endless mountains of paperwork and drew hundreds of sketches, unable to find this mystery witch. Somehow, all it took was one slip-up and one particularly observant neighbor to discover the very identity of a singular being. A moment of complete numbness flooded Thalia’s body, unsure of how to react to the news. On one hand, her job would finally be complete, and hours of painstaking work would finally pay off. Yet someone would die today. The very last descendant of the witch bloodline would finally end, and there would be no more. The witches would become merely a story written into a textbook once more. Placing her head into her palms, she stared blankly in the dark as she waited to meet the face of the infamous water witch.
Heavy pounding reverberated through the walls, shaking the already wobbly house on 318 Lilac Street. Charlie ran to open the door, praying they would not knock it down before he got there. An entourage of policemen surrounded the chief, aiming their shields at the half-asleep boy. Looking around in confusion, he shook uncontrollably as his hands made their way up on their own. “Where’s the witch?!” the police roared as they surveyed the house, only to find what looked like an average 20-year old’s home. A flash of panic appeared in Charlie’s eyes, as he realized the day he imagined had finally come. Someone had finally found out about Lotte. He knew one day, someone would take her away. One day, somebody would betray her and expose her to the government. One day, she would be gone. That day had come sooner than anticipated. Unwilling to speak, Charlie froze in the doorway. Shouts and screams flooded the room as the policemen detained him and barked on and on for an answer, yet all they ever received was silence. Charlie’s voice remained closed, unable to speak as he sent a silent plea for help. It truly was admirable the loyalty that Charlie committed to Lotte. The hours of torture he went through. The tiring days of imprisonment. He remained silent even as it drove him insane. However, like all people, Charlie cracked at one point, but his voice could not speak. It was as if someone had placed a seal, suppressing a secret never meant to be told. His voice was drowned out by waves, crashing over him and suffocating him. He stayed silent and unmoving until one day, his heart did too. -----------------------------------------Thalia began to research the identities of the tenants, whether out of curiosity or impatience she did not know. A person by the name of Charlie Buschel lived there, yet the neighbor spoke of another girl who accompanied him. They spoke of a girl with short, purple hair, icy blue eyes, and the sweet, floral scent of morning glories. Thalia stared at her drawing, remembering the girl from the flower shop earlier. An eerie feeling sunk to her stomach as she excused herself from the interview and drove back to the shop. As she ran over back to the green stand, she found Lotte clearing up the purple hyacinths she left on the cafe table earlier. Surprised to see her again, Lotte waved in the sunlight, motioning for her to come over.
Walking closer, Thalia
pauses.
“Are you the witch?” she stares piercingly at Lotte. Only now did Lotte see the official badge clipped onto her jacket. A sad smile appeared across Lotte’s face. She had seen this scene unroll hundreds of times before, yet each time, she knew she would have to see it again. The police were not far behind Thalia, as the two heard the sirens nearing them. Thalia looked dumbfoundedly at Lotte. She did not run. She waited as the cars arrived, waited as she heard the orders, and waited as they pulled out their guns. As the bullets rained on Lotte, an unknown force compelled Thalia to move. She screamed as she ran towards Lotte against her will, choking in fear as the bullets pierced her skin, her head, and her heart. She screamed and screamed until all was silent again. “I’m sorry,” Lotte whispered as she disappeared unharmed. “I’m sorry.”
Perhaps there was a Guardian Angel protecting Lotte, something that would not let her die no matter what. What a miracle, wasn’t it? The gift of living was ingrained into Lotte, and nothing could take it away.
The rain sang as the voices of Charlie, Thalia, and many others cried out in a chorus. The empty space below Lotte’s wrist soon became filled with the tattoo of two morning glories. “Such a glorious day to be alive,” she murmured.
