Broken Tale (Prequel to Old Man's Tale)

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"Hello..."

I was awoken in the middle of class,

always the subject

and the victim

of my classmates jeers and laughs.

I'm the boy who always dresses in shades

of gray, white, and black.

"Please don't do this..."

The voice said.

Somehow, someone knew I was plotting my death.

While I walked home, I heard the voice again.

"I want to see you, my friend."

I asked. "Do you speak the truth?"

I swear the person could've been smiling. "All that is for you to decide."

Despite the stories, rhymes, and poems,

I went up the hill-

there, the infamous witch's home

stood.

I spot a girl on the porch

of a mansion that

contrasted

with the stories of gore.

In due time, I realized who she was.

The witch of the forest,

the summoner of demons;

my classmates were wrong,

she is not evil-

just like, she's a broken soul.

She invited me in,

smiling sadly and in barely-kept fear.

In a lush livingroom, she served weak tea and cake.

I told her my story

and she told me hers;

we were two together

against the world.

I said once. "I'm broken."

"Me as well."

"I'm easily forgotten."

She shook her head. "Really? Well..."

"Well what?"

"I'm not sure I can forget

a person like you, Evan."

Soon, I had to get home;

she escorted me to the porch.

I asked if she would like to visit my home.

She smiled. "See you tomorrow."

I realized that I was visiting her more often;

we would spend days in her orchard,

talking about nonsense.

We were odd-

we'd like it.

She'd always remind me to keep being myself.

In the ten years,

she was at my wedding-

crying, smiling...

because of me- her big brother.

I promised forever to my husband.

Wedding bells rang

and a ghostly chorus sang.

Another decade, another year,

another smile, another tear.

She had caught a sickness

on  New Year's.

My sister is a mother of two:

my unbiological son and daughter.

Her husband held her hand, looking as tired as a dead-pan.

Their son slept on a pillow next to her head.

My sister died with a smile.

"Oh my Sarrie." Her husband broke into a cry.

I sobbed in silence and felt for her warmth- her pulse.

It was gone.

But her memory will stay with me

for I decided to stay in the

witch's home.

I saw her in the years after that.

At her grave,

in my memories.

But, most of all, I re-lived her memories while watching her daughter

and son

g r o w  u p. 

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