Hidden Magic: The Call of the Prophecy

Chapter 1: The Sisters' Sorrows

The sound of the slap reverberates hauntingly around the room as my head snaps to the side. Pain flares on my cheek where my mother's hand had just landed. I'd only been trying to guide her to rest because she was tired. The day had been far too long for both of us.

"I won't lie down! You can't make me, you little bitch!" my mother's furious words roar through the tense silence, her frailty belied by the intensity in her voice. "You lay a hand on me again, I'll kick your ass!"

"Get in the fucking bed, Mom!" I fire back. I can't help it. She pissed me off, and I've had enough of her shit today.

The anger in her eyes dies as she flinches back. "Don't talk to me like that! I'm your mother."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to yell," I say as my shoulders sag. I know better than to retaliate with anger.

My anger evaporates, replaced by a deep, weary resignation. Sadness takes over because this is not the woman who raised me. It's a disease gripping her mind.

"I'm not tired, and I don't want to lie down in the damn bed," Mom says. "Why aren't you listening to me? You girls never listen to me."

"Okay, Mom," I respond, my voice steady despite the irritation raging in the room. "We won't do anything you don't want to. Instead of lying down, why don't you sit in your recliner and watch some TV? I have to help make dinner."

I gently guided her to the recliner, the one she used to sit in every evening before everything changed. She resists at first but then gives in, sinking into the familiar cushioned seat with a deep sigh. I turn on the TV and find her favorite show, hoping it will distract her from the confusion and fear clouding her mind. I give her one last look before leaving the room and notice her eyes already drooping from sleepiness.

My heart aches as I head to the kitchen, trying to push back tears threatening to spill. This is not how it was supposed to be. My mother was reduced to a shell of herself, her once sharp mind now lost in a fog of confusion and paranoia. I don't know what happened or how things got so bad, but I don't dwell on it any longer since I've gotten her to calm down. So, I head toward the kitchen to make dinner with my sisters. Dinner doesn't take long, as we sit down to eat, I think about our lives and how we got here.

Things haven't always been so bad. My sisters and I grew up in Chicago. We grew up on the city's south side with our wonderful mother, who worked tirelessly to ensure we had a decent childhood, and she always made time for family outings and vacations.

There are six of us. Miranda, Mary, Annie, Sydney, Stephanie, and Ashley. Also, my best friend, Rebecca. She's practically my sister since she grew up with us. We live in a modest five-bedroom, three-bathroom house in a relatively nice area. Even though our neighborhood is nice, we've had our fair share of brawls. Because of this, Mom made sure we knew how to fight.

Miranda took up boxing, I learned judo, Annie learned mixed martial arts, Sydney learned karate, Stephanie learned Muay Thai, and Ashley learned jiu-jitsu. The neighborhood knew us as the brawling six, brawling seven if we counted Rebecca and her krav maga skills. If you messed with one of us, you messed with all of us. We're a tight group of siblings, and family means everything to us.

We don't know our father, and Mom refuses to talk about him. She'd only say, "Good riddance to him," "I hope he rots in hell," and "he's a filthy scum bag" any time we'd ask about him. Our mother is what some people call weird, but we like to think of her as eccentric.

She's always smiling, dancing, singing, and laughing. Lately, she's been telling crazy stories about seers, magic, and demons trying to take over the world. To us, these fictional stories are fun and entertaining, but to her, they're real.