How the Wicked Witch Mended Her Way

Every day I wake up with no one but my cauldron beside me, and every day its bubbling mixture splashes into my skin, burning me with pain to make sure I don’t fall asleep again.

After I’m wide awake, I brewed the potions of the day: one that turns you into a rat, one that melts your bones, and one to catch frogs. Like any witch, I sang as I stirred–a cackling song of yore filled with curses and hexes. After I finished the mixture, I stored them in my bottomless bag and left for the forest.

The forest is as old as the ever-rainy sky above; with trees of mangled branches, bleeding jagged stones, and hanging corpses swinging by the wind, they reek of ill-gotten woes and forgotten regret. It’s not pretty, but it’s what a witch deserves.

I gathered my ingredients: flowers, mushrooms, carcasses, and sometimes when I’m lucky, I’d find some coins inside the pockets of the hanging. I have no real use for them, but I love collecting them; each one has their own unique charm: the shape of their rust, the crookedness of their bend, or the scratches on their shine. I find it quite amusing that something that was supposed to look the same can be so different. I suppose those humans aren’t as perfect as they think.

My next stop was the town. This used to be my favorite part of the day, scaring the locals with my wicked magic, but now all I need to do is walk around, and the humans will lock their doors, close their windows, and hide their children. No more farmers to scare, no more brave knights to humiliate, and no more stupid kid challenging me with their silly stick, thinking their made-up wand could defeat a witch as great as I. 

I miss these little things–their screams of terror, their helpless yells, and even their laughters, it made things a lot more fun. Now it’s all silence, it’s all glare and hatred. I don’t blame them of course, I’ve cursed them, I’ve terrorized them, I am wicked, and I should be proud–I am proud. 

But my heart burns when these humans accuse me of something I didn’t do: I was not the one who brought them famine, that was their greed; I was not the one who waged those wars, that was their pride, and I certainly wasn’t the one who stole from the poor, that was the mayor, and no, I didn’t possess him or curse him; it was his own sober choice.

I went back to my hut. I was ready to sink myself to bed and dream of world dominance, but something stopped me: a letter slipped under the door. I've received many letters before this, but all of them were curses–the kind that would kill me if I opened them. So I took the letter inside and cleansed it, but to my surprise, the letter had no trace of magic, let alone curses; it was genuine–my first genuine letter.

“Dear Wicked Witch,

You might not remember me, but I was one of the farmers you hexed to be a crow. I was livid at first–to have my human body thrown away for a mere bird; I could no longer work nor drink to forget it all.

But as days passed by, I realized this is no curse, it’s a blessing! I’m free from the shackles of human lives: taxes, labor, and more taxes. Now I can waste my day soaring through the sky, and no one would scorn me. No more pressure, no more demands, just the wind breezing through my feathers–this is what I’m meant to be.

Thank you for giving me this priceless gift.

Sincerely,

A crow.”

What peculiar creatures humans are, and how boundless their stupidity is; they have convinced themselves that my curse was a gift, how utterly nonsensical, and yet–this, this a nice change of pace. I took the letter with me and placed it beside the jars of coins I’ve collected. I have amassed quite a few, perhaps one day I’ll get to use them. 

I threw myself to bed and sunk myself to sleep, but strangely, I didn’t dream of dragons or thrones, no, instead, I dreamt of a giant tree dancing with the wind.

The next day, I was once again woken up by my bubbling cauldron, then I brewed my potions: rat turning, bone melting, frog catching. But before I left for the forest, I read the letter once again, just to make sure what I was reading was real, and it was, humans really are that stupid.

The forest was as quiet as ever, but those swinging bodies looked a little different, I could see a drop of tears trickling from their eyes. It made me wonder, if they had been crows, would they still be swinging?

Anyways, I was there for flowers and mushrooms, nothing more, nothing less.

I returned to the towns, and they all acted as they always do: locked doors, closed windows, all glare, but I noticed something in their eyes, something beside hatred and fear: pity, pity? For me!? How absolutely arrogant! Don’t they know I’m worth a thousand of them? I am the great wicked witch, what could they possibly pity me for?

I stormed out of the village, bringing gusts of wind with me, I miss conjuring up tornadoes, why can’t I do it anymore?

There was another letter under my door. I should have cleansed it first, but my mind was too clouded at that time. I  ripped it open and read it immediately, thankfully there was no curse; it was yet another thank-you letter.

“Dearest Witch,

How are you today? I hope you’re having a wonderful day! Because I certainly am. My name is Isa, I was once a proud brawny man who’d punch anyone that blinks at me, one of those people turns out to be you. Of course I was no match for a mighty witch like you; in but a whiff you crumbled every bone in my body and as further punishment, you turned me into a woman, a fair maiden, one with silk skin and fluttering eyes.

It was humiliating of course, the townsfolk looked at me with pity, but I could bear that, it was my own friends that hurt me the most, they looked at me with so much lust in their eyes, yet their words and spits betrayed them, disgusted at their own thoughts.

But over time, they stopped, and over time, I’ve learned to be truthful to myself: deep down I knew this is what I always wanted, my body is finally my own, and for that I thank you, oh mighty witch, may your frogs be plenty.

With love,

Isa.”

Another day, another fool it seems, humans, how curious you are, shackled by so many things yet unable to change; it’s a wonder how you inherited the world.

I grabbed this letter and the one from yesterday, and  I put them in a special box to make sure not even the angriest storm could scratch them. Why? They’re irrefutable proof of humans’ stupidity and my superiority, of course I’d keep them safe, they’re precious to me.

I dreamt of the tree again, but this time, I saw what was underneath its shade: a knight resting its weary body, children playing with their sticks, and scholars scrawling on their notes. They seemed at peace.

Morning came, cauldron, potions, then I reread those two letters just to practice my cackling. I didn’t spend that much time in the forest–those hanging bodies, I started to hate their stench–so I only got a few ingredients, but it was no problem; I had so much in stock, and besides these potions, I don’t use them much anymore.

The town, they were as bitter as ever. I didn’t cackle nor spout my usual curses this time; no, I simply sat on a bench and mulled. I never realized how hot the town was: smokes, metal, with little air, it was suffocating, no wonder they were so unhappy.

Another letter greeted me back home, and this one was a little hard to read, what with its scrawls and doodles.

“good morning miss witch, my name is mary, I live in lushwood town, my favorite color is blue. do you like honey bread miss witch? i can give you some of my honey bread, i love honey bread, my father used to yell at me when i eat them, he says they’re just a waste of his money, i don’t understand, i never waste honey bread, i always eat them.

but it’s okay, my father isn’t here anymore, you turn him into a frog, mom is very happy, she can sleep with the door open now, and i never hear her cry anymore, it’s nice. we’re going to the market tomorrow, mom is buying me a new dress, do you want a new dress too? i can ask mom to buy it for you, she has money now, it’s nice.

my house is the one with the blue window, i will draw a star on my door so you don’t get lost, please come visit me, i want to be a witch like you.”

It suddenly rained that day. Strange, the letter must have some sort of enchantment, but rain is good, rain is good. The tree returned to me in my dream; I knew what it meant.

The next day, I didn’t brew any potions, I didn’t read any letters, I didn’t go to the forest, I went straight to the town. The humans were surprised at my early presence, but I walked on, curse in hand. I found an empty patch of land and sat down. The humans stared at me, clutching their brooms and bread, it was amusing, afraid as they were, they couldn’t help but be curious.

I readied my curse, the ground shook, the wind swirled, the crowd started to panic. Get the guards! someone yelled, somebody stop her! shouted another, we’re all going to die! Someone screamed, yet they all stood where they were, watching me as I unleashed the curse into myself.

Barks started shedding my skin, my limbs turned to roots, my arms became branches, my hair, my lovely gray hair, sprouted into leaves, and my smile molded into wood.

I am a tree, a great tree, one that will shield you from the harshest of rains.

This is what I always wanted.