The Witch of Eastwick
The food went down in silence, the pissed sort of silence that only someone torn between two worlds, someone utterly sightless to the real world now. The way her hand stroked my hair, the way her smile just...I kept aching to question. I wanted to start yelling and yelling and yelling at her, to swat her hand away like a butterfly or a mosquito that had a fondness for me.
But she just kept drinking--and I kept justifying it as "--well, female mosquitoes need to...she was going to save us all...she was our mother, she loved us...I was lucky to have her around because I had no mother to look up to."
It seemed like I was coated in paranoia, and I kept rationalizing it, like an idiot, before turning to my Bible and speaking, almost...
"I don't feel like myself. I don't feel anything. Why do I not feel anything? I want to feel something. Mad! Anything! I want to cry, laugh, get pissed at stuff again! I'm confused, which is good, keep doing that! And don't send me the verses about the land thing, because I really want to get better! I want to heal! I'm a broken person, I'm stubborn, I've accepted it...and by the way, bathing in hot water is so cool! Thank you for that, really...it's nice. You don't have to show yourself if you don't want to, to me or anyone else...oh, I'm not even trying, am I?
I'm not a witch, I think. I was going to say that...I trust you! I just hate how it's just you and me. Can't you give me a sign that you exist outside of my head? Like that stolen crucifix I read about--I was wondering about where that went, it just vanished. Who has it? What has it? It couldn't have just up and disappeared...I remember somebody stole it, and they really wanted it back."
It was an odd topic to turn to, but I needed to fall to Earth.
"...so where did it go? It's kind of sad someone would steal it."