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[thewillowwrites]

Night Terrors: Blurry Tears

You wake up suddenly, gasping and scared.

Looking around frantically you try and gain your bearings. You’re not in your room, at least, not the usual one. The small bed you sit on, the window fixtures, the toys littered on the floor; this is the bedroom of your childhood. As you recognize the space, you become much more calm. But why are you here? You decide to investigate.

Everywhere you look, you are hit with a wave of nostalgia. The old sofas your parents threw out when you were a teen are sitting in the living room, smelling like the many naps you took on them. The bathroom still held the child’s products you used to use too much of at a time, and there were several ‘bathtime toys’ littered about. Some of the things you see are striking- you had forgotten the colors the walls used to be before your mom redecorated, and the kitchen chairs you would get scolded for not sitting in properly. All of your childhood memories were becoming clearer as you gazed upon the objects that filled it.

You remember playing hide-and-seek, crawling into the cabinets, and lying in the dark, inhaling the smell of the wood. You remember crawling on top of the counter with a skinned knee to get into the box of band aids, trying not to cry because you wanted to be a big kid. You remember laughing while sliding down the stairs, and laughing despite the pain when you crashed at the bottom.

All of the songs your parents sang to you, the snacks you would eat until you were sick, the war cries screamed as you pretended to save the day; every detail of you childhood came drifting back as you breathed in the scent of your childhood home. You feel warm and reassured, knowing that you had a good life.

Oh, right. You remember now. You died yesterday, which means this is heaven. You can’t say you’re upset about it, in fact, you feel very peaceful. As if on a cue, you turn to look out the window nearest to you, but there is nothing outside it but blackness.You move closer, innately understanding that there is something there for you to see.

Sure enough, when you stand right in front of the window it lights up like a flatscreen tv and begins showing you a city on a rainy night. The same city you had been living in before your death. You see that stoplight that always seemed to turn red on you, it’s red eye staring silently into the dark and dreary night.

Suddenly a car comes screaming through the intersection well over the speed limit. You see your best friend is the one driving, sobbing violently as they white knuckle the steering wheel.

"No" you whisper against the glass. "Slow down"

They do not slow down, in fact as they speed down the road their driving becomes more dangerous.

Why are they doing this? Why are they so sad?

"Stop. Stop!" You say, hoping with all of your heart they can hear you.

They cant. And through their blurry tears they failed to see another car coming into the intersection.

You scream and bang your hands into the glass, but are completely powerless to stop it.

As the sickening sound of crumpling metal punches you in the gut, and the smell of burning rubber and blood flood your mind you realize this wasn't heaven at all.

[thewillowwrites]

IER664: The Boudoir

What to choose, what to choose? The robot mused, analyzing the long row of synthetic faces. Each face was displayed on the top of a cabinet in IER’s room which was otherwise bare, save for a giant gold framed mirror and a ‘bed’ they charged on each night. Each of the heads was molded to fit perfectly over IER’s metal one and was created in such detail that the golem could easily fit in with human society. Each locker they rested upon held important accessories to complete the disguise. The facades were all unique, and IER would switch between them depending on their mission, daily activities, and mood syntax.

IER was remarkably good at identifying and replicating human emotion, at least that’s what her parents used to say. But IER knew it was important to continuously gather and analyze more emotional data in order to expand their capabilities. That was today’s activity- going ‘people watching’. IER just needed to assemble a disguise from the many accessories in their room.

The face code named 'Roxanne’ gave IER the appearance of a human female in their mid 20s and was considered “A Ten” by the males. Roxanne had thick lashes, generous lips, and vibrant red hair waving down voluminously from it’s crown. The design was precisely symmetrical and capable of conveying the most subtle emotions using an advanced type of synthetic muscle. But the cybernetic creature wanted to be less noticed today, so Roxanne was not an option.

 'Major Tom’ was much less noticeable: sparse brow and grey hair atop a large forehead, and an extra layer of synthetic fat was added to the cheeks and neck- overall a pretty common face. But being older technology with delayed electrical response the face often produced awkwardness in those interacting with it, thus it was also ruled out.

IER went down the row; Baba O'riley, Angie, Layla… none of them were quite right for today’s goal. At the end of the row was ‘Rhiannon’ whose soft face was almost mournful in appearance, with dark eyes that seemed to be in constant contemplation. The dark brown hair long and strait much like a curtain one could hide behind. A face for quiet moments in quiet places. IER decided they would be Rhiannon today.

Getting the face on was simple- all of IER’s disguises were custom made and practically snapped on. The circuits interfaced seamlessly with all of the base structures of the robots head. IER opened the cabinet below and put on Rhiannon’s ‘accessories’, beginning with attachments to replicate the look and texture of human skin and fat distributions. after attaching them, IER664 inspected themselves in their large boudoir mirror with their vision set at .068 cm magnification, checking for visible seams between all of the accessories.

Finding none, they opened the lowest door of the cabinet and pulled on the darkwash jeans, large maroon sweater, and high tops that were stored inside. All of the clothing items were subtly distressed and painting to appear more used.

 IER practiced in the mirror. They mimicked brows furrowing in impatient annoyance, eyes rolling haughtily, and gazing off with a whistful sigh. “My name is Rhiannon" IER parroted in a flat, gravely tone which struck an average of 176Hz, the bottom division of the female range. I am Rhiannon, she repeated wordlessly.

Satisfied with her façade, Rhiannon grabbed the leather satchel and worn copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey from the bottom of the locker and set out, locking the door of the back alley flat before walking to the main street and merging into the constant foot traffic of the urban humans.

[thewillowwrites]

Suburban Witch Stories: DIY Decor

The monthly coven gathering was going to start in less than an hour and Maurli was just taking care of the finishing touches. The fish legs and frog tails had been taken out of the freezer to thaw, the bags of commercial brand coal had been hauled from her baby blue sedan into the gathering space in her basement, and totems of protection had been carefully placed on every windowsill and hung in every doorway. All that was left were the decorations.

Since it was the spring equinox gathering, Maurli wanted her home to be blooming with plant life. Over the past two weeks she had been administering a growth potion to all of her houseplants and even used it to cultivate new plants from seeds. Now her house was stuffed with more greenery than the garden section of a home depot: Sage, rosemary, and thyme crowded the hanging pots of her kitchen, her Livingroom was a jungle of bamboo and money trees, and the bathrooms were made delightfully aromatic with flowering vines and budding stalks. Every corner, every table, and every wall was overflowing with life. For most witches this would be enough, but after the Yule party last winter, Maurli knew she needed to step it up.

Yiressa had been the host for Yule and had used an unmelting glittering snow spell on the ceilings in her home, creating a stunning winter wonderland. The spell itself wasn’t that difficult, but that uppity broom-licker Yiressa hasn’t let anyone forget how good her party looked and was constantly asking Maurli how she was going to top it.

Well Maurli had found an article in one of last months issues of Bewitched Weekly and had turned her abode into a greenhouse to maximize the wow factor of the spell. The article was “DIY Glowing Houseplants” and when her guests came into her house, Maurli planned on shutting off all the electricity, and lighting her house with the soft glowing of the hundreds of plants strategically placed around the suburban home.

Maurli bustled into the kitchen, pulling the magazine clipping out from the spell book she shoved it into. She had everything she needed: beard of gnome, 2 teaspoons birchbark, a pinch of arrowroot, and 20 grams of overpriced dryad clippings she found at the Charmers Market. She mixed all the ingredients into a fine dust using her bullet blender before sifting the dust into a stone bowl. Maurli turned off all the lights before tossing a match into the mixture. A green glowing flame rose up within the bowl and Maurli chanted the spell, peering at the recipe on her counter.

“Paak'alo'ob Paak'alo'ob

Iluminan a kuxtal yéetel guían in beel

Brillar yéetel u páajtalil a concede a el

Igual u le k'áak'o’ brilla tin k'abo'ob”

As she chanted, the fire burst out of the bowl into hundreds of small glowing orbs, flying to the plants spread about the house and melting into their leafy auras. When all the orbs found a host, the foliage began glowing, and Maurli knew she had made a mistake.

Every plant, from the lilies on the fireplace, to the ivy snaking through the halls, was not only glowing, they were FLASHING. Not a slow soft flashing either, but a bright strobing that assaulted Maurli’s eyes. Maurli dropped the stone bowl and put a hand up to shield her vision, her other hand snatching up her DIY instructions. Maybe the dryad clippings were actually ent clippings? she wondered in a panic. That son of a witch at the charmers market might have screwed her over. Maurli read through the article several times, trying to find any reason for the spell to have gone wrong.

“Merlin’s ass, it called for 2 tablespoons of birch bark, not 2 teaspoons” Maurli muttered bitterly, glaring at the failure around her. She wanted her decorations to be the talk of the coven, and with the way her house was lighting up like a will o’ wisp on basilisk juice, Maurli was sure it would be.

“Craaaa Craaaaa” came the squawking of the doorbell, interrupting Maurli’s brooding. Her coven sisters have arrived, and her house was as charming as the broken turn signal on Syv’s broom. There was no way Maurli was ever going to live this down, she needed to find a potion to fix this, fast.

She ripped through her pantry, her doorbell croaking urgently all the while. “Just a moment!” she shouted cheerily, clawing her way through boxes of wormwood crunch cereal and mason jars filled with sleep warding potions. After picking through the many bottles on the back shelf she came upon the one thing that may save her reputation with the Coven, a potion that can dilute the senses and lower expectations.

Quickly flipping through her phone, she selected a playlist with heavy bass and pumped it through her home speakers before she strode to the door with confidence, carrying a basket full of Vodka as the plants flashed in time with the music.

This was going to be a spring equinox to remember.

[thewillowwrites]

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[thewillowwrites]

How Mitch Became My Best Friend

The way that I became friends with Mitch was pretty much the same way I became friends with anyone in middle school; The both of us were huge nerds and were far too bold in showing it. Whenever I see pictures of us from back then we’re wearing costumes and graphic tees with anime logos, the poster children for teenage cringe.

At some point Mitch fell in love with me and asked me to be his girlfriend. When I ask him about it now he tells me that I seemed fearless, and his admiration for that attracted him to me. I think I was just unaware of judgement from others, and thought my quirkiness made me somehow more interesting than I was.

I agreed to be his girlfriend, but I wasn’t really in love with him. I thought he was a good person, and I enjoyed spending time with him. In middle school that’s all I thought a relationship needed. 

Then I became friends with his step-sister Lauri, and suddenly Mitch was only “like a brother to me” and Lauri… Lauri was everything.

Lauri was a goalie for the local competitive soccer team, and I had only ever been in non-competitive. She could play the piano, and I would sit on the floor next to her bench for hours, just listening to her play. Lauri was a year younger than me but was in every AP and Honors class and I was never more serious about studying than when I was trying to keep up with her intelligence. She had smarts, skills, and was into the same nerdy shit I was into.

Despite her blessings, she was cursed with a severe lack of self-confidence. That deeply wounded me. This mythical creature, this genius, this person who excelled at everything she did, thought she wasn’t good enough. The skin around her icy blue eyes was always dark from lack of sleep, her short hair in a constant bedhead, and she always dressed in an over-large black hoodie as if she was trying to disappear into it.

I didn’t care, in fact, her self-loathing only made me want to be with her more; I wanted to let her know how wonderful she was, how wanted she was, and how she deserved everything good in the world

And so, the summer I dated Mitch, was also the summer I found out I was bisexual, and that I was in love with Lauri. I broke up with Mitch and asked out his step-sister within the month.

She said yes.

I felt like the world was mine. I had never had a girlfriend before, but I was going to be the best one I could be. Lauri excelled at everything else, so I should at least be able to excel at making her feel like the most wonderful gift this world had been given.

But things don’t always go the way we want. The more I tried to be perfect for Lauri, the more I felt her pull away. Painfully fast, our relationship become a burden for her, and then a curse. I received a call from Lauri late one night, a night I regretted for years afterward. Questions, so many angry, suspicious questions, all leading to one point.

“If you noticed that being in this relationship is hurting me, why didn’t you break it off? I only started dating you because I thought you’d stop being my friend if I said no.”

I had no answer. No way to explain my naïve crazy infatuation, no time to put into words how much I had hoped that things would just work out somehow, no emotion to show when she accused me of being a sociopath who takes advantage of the fears of others. Why couldn’t I defend myself? Why couldn’t I say anything?

The moments after my silence are still a blur. Broken mirrors, hot tears, and a text from an unknown number warning me to stay away from their daughter. And Mitch, the guy who I broke up with over text only a month before, holding me while I soaked his graphic T in tears and snot, telling me I’m not the bad person his sister made me out to be.

8 years later, I haven’t seen or spoken to Lauri again, but her brother Mitch comes over every week, and I couldn’t be more happy about how things turned out.