A Poet Man And The Witch

Chapter I; I Hate It Here

The dark clouds pour their tears onto the ground. I let my body get soaked, shivering in the cold. The rumbling thunder didn't make me scared. I kept going on my bare feet, running on muddy ground. I ran away until I got lost. I had better get lost in the forest where there is no one than to be in the hell of earth.

I didn't care if I would only end up meeting my death. Maybe I deserve to be dead rather than living in this life. Where should I live if the world is against me?

Intimidations, curses, anger, and madness. They shouted, "Better you die than having footprints on this earth!". What did I do that made me have to deserve all of these? They killed my mother, yet it still didn't satisfy them.

The people in town were yelling at me with so much hate. They burned my mother's shop, with her in it. I wanted to cry, but I had no time for it. I need to leave the town. I leave everything in that town. Leaving my mother's ashes and her burned shop with so much regret and sadness.

I was covered in a soaked emerald green cloak and a bag of a black cat with some fruits. I didn't care about how heavy the rain was and how dark the sky was. I need to leave immediately.

But it was a couple of years ago, surprisingly I'm still alive with my cat until this second. I have been wandering in this forest for that long. My bare feet continue to walk on different kinds of dirt. I'm still staying strong with every change in seasons and weather.

I have no time for crying. My mother didn't teach me to cry about things, she taught me to be a tough woman in this world of cruelty. Crying wouldn't solve anything, it wouldn't make people actually care about me. And I don't want people to think I'm such a pathetic, poor little thing when I'm crying.

It was a tragedy that feels like it was already a hundred years ago. I miss the feeling of warmth in my house. Sitting in front of the fireplace in the winter season. The taste of my mother's food and then accompanying my mother in her plants and flowers shop. Go to sleep and tuck in my blanket made by my grandma.

I miss the old times. Even though I never knew the feeling of my mother's hug, everything we did gave me the warmth of a place called "Home". But now, she is far upon the stars.

When I looked up at the ceiling, it was so high like the moon. Measuring my height on a pillar, impatient to grow up and be taller.

I've grown this far, and it felt more like suffocating. And I wouldn't say I like it here. I hate it so much that it makes me think about how I should just have burned down the town and sent all the people back to hell.

I hate it here. It felt cold, but I had no place to go back to for warmth. I have no place to call 'Home'. My breath even felt cold like snow. I'm a witch who knows nothing other than just walking, wandering around the forest with my own bare feet. I'm lost in a blurry path, somewhere quiet, only whispers of the wind that I can hear.

Wish I could end my life, but it's going to be such a waste. I'm born into this world with something that's waiting, and it's mine and only mine to reach, to find, to hold. I wouldn't stop walking and end my life just because those people who know nothing but talk so loud like they know everything.

I once found a path that led to a small town. The flickering of fire, the roofs of people's houses, the sound of crowds. How does it feel to be perceived by others? But every time I look at myself, I feel like I don't deserve to be one of them.

My heartbeats quicken as I have a little determination to explore that place for a bit. Remembering that I need to eat something, while my bag has nothing except a black cat with green eyes hugging herself in it.

Wavering between the feeling of fear and recklessness. What if they know who I am and then burn me in a round hole? My body was shaking, my stomach felt like it was being squeezed hard. I took a deep breath, tightening my knuckles. I can feel how heavy my breath is.