The touch

One little poke. That's all it would take and the whole town would topple. Just one touch and the whole miserable peeling paint place would fall into the deep dark of the abyss. The witch held her long bony finger on the edge of the blacktop, the last stubborn driveway that marked the end of the town, holding the dirt with all its might. Sticky with tar and rough to the touch, gravel tumbled across the black pavement that held the town in place.

The town was never her favorite, it was a place of poverty and people who lived there couldn't get out. There was no work, and no entertainment, no museums or library. A conveinence store, post office and school were on Main street. A law office was frequented by criminals and caregivers stealing estates.

The cemetery had more residents than the town. Cholera killing many before sanitation was became popular. No tourists visited, even truckers hurried past hoping bigger towns had cheaper gas and better burgers. Cars on the highway were sparse. Even in winter snowplow forgot to plow. You'd have to know about the town to find it on a map. People born there rarely left, so far from civilization most weren't even aware of another way of life, of cities or countries that lay beyond the borders of what they knew best.

The nasty witch played with the idea of ending the town once and for all. Nobody would miss most of tbem; the mayor, the ministsers, the teacher who held her back in 5th grade, the nosey mailman who opened her mail, the cashier who kept telling her "no change is due", the lawless lawyer, the uber guy who kept trying to take her home, the road rage drivers, the traffic cop who delighted in giving tickets, she was done with all things human. All of them deserving a one way ticket to doom, a quick plunge into the hole. Oblivion.

The witch looked at the town and looked at the abyss. The hole had more going for it than the decrepit town. At least the hole was interesting. With steep rocky sides and rivlets of water dripping into a pool below, the hole was cooler than hades; the destination most of the scumbags deserved. Burning fires, smoke, scorched feet and glowing coals? Pitch black, dark and slippery slimy walls? Kind of a tossup as far a curses go. The town, so far past its prime, needed a complete overhall to attract any new residents. Better to push it over the ledge and start over than to change minds and rehab the buildings.

From her vantage point on the broom the witch saw the entire town below. She circled slowly overhead, wind in her knotted hair, hat held firmly in place with a piece of wire, green fingers gripping the broom handle. The mandatory black dress patched in places. " Woosh, gawoosh, oly, poly, be gone, be gone". the witch cast a nasty spell on all below. The town tetered and tottered like a see saw, over a huge sewer pipe. One push or poke and it would slip and pull the driveway too.

" Surely a witch could find better things to do with her time. Bigger curses to cast. Stronger winds to ride." an ogre yelled from below. He was small and useless as ogers go. A little too old to be working as an ogre, a little too pudgy and growing dotty. The witch yelled back "Mind your own business Ogre. Find your own evil.. Youd be a better Wal-Mart greeter than an ogre. " "You're a bitch of a witch" cried the Ogre from below. "Your Ogre days are over." the witch yelled. "Bitch of a witch." the ogre repeated.

The witch was not amused. Maybe the ogre was right. Maybe there were better things to do with her time. Even witches get tired of doing the same thing, casting spells day and night.

This witch was bored with evil. She 'd seen enough of grim and grime, murders and mayhem of all types. She'd heard enough wails and seen enough tears and crumpled snotty kleenex to span ten lifetimes. Blood, gore, silt and garbage be gone. Rusty nails and bad smells too, all bad outcomes could leave. Be gone. Crashes and smashes and locks that stuck, barbed wire that pricks and tears that flow. From now on the witch would no longer be a bitch. The broom would be traded for a wand and she'd grant wishes instead of casting curses. Star dust would replace sparks.

The witch would change. Like the calm before a storm, or being in the eye of a hurricane she suddenly felt calm and compassion. Foreign feelings for a witch. All the evil and curses were leaving her. Could she be good? Could she stop being evil?

"What the hell. Just one more little bit of misery.!" Just one more poke and the town and ogre would fall. Then she did it. Oops, She hardly even touched it. Just a little tap on The church steeple and the town was gone. Sliding out of sight with a terrible crash. Dust and debris alike falling back into the hole. Only the stubborn driveway held on. The witch parked the broom and peeled the driveway from the side of the hole. Giving it one last kick. Gone for good. Yes good. Starting today the witch would be good. She'd park the broom once and for all, remove the hat, learn to smile, have the scary mole on her cheek removed, and hairs plucked from her chin. From now on she'd wear white and wave a wand. Shed wear pink lipgloss too. Even witches can rehabilitate.

Only one remnant of her wicked ways remained. She loved her shoes and boots. If you looked closely you might see just one reminder of her wicked ways and days : a leather point sticking out from under her skirt. No sandals or crocs or flip flops would ever replace her best black broom riding kick ass boots.