Hansel and Gretel, As Told By The Witch- Short Story

   I hate children. I always have and I always will. When I was a child, I hated the other children and I hated myself more. There was just something about them that made me cringe and gag and sent shivers down my spine. So, of course, my life was ruined by a child. The loathsome, vile little monsters live for the sole purpose of making others miserable. They have no reason to, but they framed me and destroyed me. But wait. Let me start at the beginning.

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   It was a rainy day and I had nothing to do, nowhere to be. A perfect day to pick up my weekly supply of sweets. I was peacefully minding my own business by the hard candies when my focus was disrupted by an annoying giggling in the corner. The sound taunted me, like a ringing in your ear that won't go away. Two boys stood with their heads together, whispering. As I watched, the taller of the two, a pudgy kid with blonde hair, snatched a chocolate bar from the stand beside him and slipped it into his coat. I stared, my hatred growing, as they pocketed handfuls of candies in shiny wrappers, bags of chewy gummies and strands of bendy licorice and toffee. The taller one zipped his coat (looking noticeably bulgier) and looked around, making eye contact with me. I frowned, letting him know I had seen. He straightened up and nudged his friend and the two of them marched calmly toward the door. I followed and as I reached out to tap the taller one on the shoulder and give him a piece of my mind, a chocolate bar slipped out of his friends waistband onto the floor. He swooped down to pick it up, and as he did handfuls of hard candies flowed from his pocket. He froze as they clattered noisily to the tile floor and all of a sudden, everything changed. The man behind the counter in an ironed white shirt and glossy name tag walked out from behind the counter. 

   "Hey!" He called, "You stop right there!" The shorter boy ran, candies raining from his body. I grabbed at the taller boy, determined not to let him get away, but missed and tripped, grabbing the door frame. The employee screamed, "I told you to freeze!" and the blonde boy grabbed his arm.

   "It was her! She forced us! It's her fault! She threatened us and made us steal them! She comes here all the time, you know it was her!" 

   It all happened so fast. The boy disappeared, the police came and I was led away. I was tried and proven guilty. I faced a fine of a lot of money that I didn't have, and months of community service. My good name was ruined (not that it was a very good name to begin with.) I had no family and no friends; no one wanted to be associated with me. So I built a cottage far out in the woods. No one would bother me; no one even knew where I went. I used my powers (did I mention that I had those?) to make my cottage out of candy and bread so that I would never have to leave (and I vowed that I never would) and so that I could be surrounded by the only thing left in the world that gave me any pleasure. But when all was done and I reached out to break off a piece of bread from the windowsill, it wouldn't come off. I pulled and kicked at it, but it was stuck fast. I was cursed. I had used my magic selfishly and now I would never be able to eat my house. I learned in the later years that I would live with the constant gnawing of hunger in my gut, but would never die of starvation. Figures. 

   Several years later, I found myself baking my signature candy-apple pie. Again. It was my only source of entertainment, so I had stores and stores of pies that I fed to the birds who picked away at my roof. 

   I set this newest pie on my windowsill and settled into my gingerbread rockingchair to count the chocolate chips on the wall. I liked to see if the number ever changed, if rats were eating them, you know, and it was something to do. I counted until my eyes blurred and I forgot what row I was on, so I gave up and hobbled to the bathroom. As soon as I went in, I heard what sounded like a knock on my door.