Witchblade

~1

I was sitting in class when Ms. Smith's voice started to revolve around it like an unnoticeable phantom that drifted in an out of my ears without leaving the slightest souvenir of its existence. Although its actual self lied unrevealed I could see its deathly form bulging from her pocket. And the malice I had seen done with it sang to me as the competition between that dirge and Ms. Smith's talk of arithmetic just fleeted as the dirge won without question. Its voice laid thick and melancholic in the air and I knew it was only my mind power that wouldn't let the curses it was casting have an effect on me accept the snatching of my most undivided concentration.2

I was just sitting there focusing in and out of Ms. Smith's words. It was hard to concentrate on the gray-haired old woman's monotonous droning when I could see, out of the corner of my eye, that strange girl staring at me again. She always stared at me as if I was the strange one. Her pale countenance was sending little bumps up and down my back and I could feel the transparent hairs on my flesh growing erect. She always walked around the school like a ghost who only wished to come back and haunt us normal children. Drifting around the playground, at recess, friendless and seeming to not even care that there was never anyone at her side or that she ignited a fire of snickers and saucy insults upon every group of children she drifted by. Her clothes looked itchy and uncomfortable and consisted of random colors such as pink and brown, like the type of things your grandmother sews together for you for your birthday and your mother forces you to adorn yourself in it at least once. Her dirty blond hair was always greasy and frizzy as if she had just been rubbing her head up against a balloon. And as badly as I did not want to turn my head to confirm my suspicion something compelled me to gracefully do so. I was right, of course, her eyes were like two circular windows of feral, insane hazel staring me down. Except, she wasn't really staring at my face, she was staring at the lower half of me and I began to wonder if my skirt was bothering her in some random way.3

My obsession with this obvious occultist began one day when I was standing in front of the school about to embark on my daily journey home from school. It was quite warm and the sun created what felt like a thick layer of heat that laid harshly across my pallid skin. I saw that girl talking with her friends and something about her attracted me in a sickly way, like a disgusting pauper that, with no matter how much will power, you cannot turn away from. I could hear little snippets of the conversation about outfits gone dreadfully awry and other girl's mortifying situations. In every single one of her suave gestures I could see something, something indefinable, something that mirrored Satan and to me it was beyond apparent. Despite my mother's chronic teachings of staying as distant from evil as possible, I could not stay away, I was entranced. So, I just stood there staring at her as her group of friends slowly evaporated like water in that day's immense heat.4

When I first became aware of her staring at me I was standing outside of school talking with my group of friends, about to walk home. It's strange...how a person can know when they are being stared at. I was becoming quite uncomfortable, but as uncomfortable as I may have been I wore a beguiling mask of insouciance. I used hand gestures as smoothly as I had ever used them and never let my voice shake or quiver. When I looked over with my eyes, keeping my head to look as if I was still fixated on my groups pointless conversation, I could see her staring at me. She stared very bluntly with half-wide eyes and face that look to be shocked almost to the point of dysfunction. She so obviously cared not about discreetness that it was a bit of a sad sight to be quite sincere. I was quite relieved to see my group slowly dissipating as I was anxious to leave this unnerving situation. As remarks of closure began to blossom in the deformed circle of people I slowly left the group in a sort of fading fashion.5

Ophelia followed me out of the group and we walked home together. Ophelia loved to wear yellow dresses with big bows on the waist. Her auburn air was always tied in pigtails with little yellow bows that matched her dress. It was far too outgoing for her shy personality. I wasn't too happy with her decision to follow me until little seeds of nervousness began to plant themselves in  my stomach. I wasn't sure why until I got that feeling again. I was being stared at. I looked around myself and saw two little girls dressed in plaid dresses playing jump rope and a man watering his lawn that looked a bright apple green. However, there was no one staring back at me. We walked about five more minutes when Ophelia walked down the brick path that led to her house. When she left my side and walked down that brick path I felt my body become flooded with ivory relief that was soon turned grey by a shadow of panic. 6

As she left her little clique contemplations began to swirl in my mind. I was afraid following her would make me feel too obvious. As I saw another girl, who was wearing all obnoxious yellow, my longing to see this evil defeated my longing to appear sane. The girl dressed in yellow looked as if she were going to meet up with her so I decided to follow...umm Aphelia, I believe was her name. When I saw that the two girls had met I quickly hid behind some bushes by some girls playing jump rope. 7

"Cinderella, Dressed in yella, Went upstairs to kiss a fella, Made a mistake, Kissed a snake, How many doctors did it take?, One, two, three...," they kept chanting until their voices faded away as I went from set of bushes to set of bushes. However I hid behind one set of bushes and was overwhelmed with panic to see that they belonged to Aphelia. As Aphelia separated herself from the other girl I had to maneuver myself very carefully to keep them both from seeing me. After she had strolled up the brick path I looked at the other girl who I had set out to follow. She looked as if she knew not what to think of the situation. She looked mesmerized by something which made me wonder if she was aware of my presence. 8

I knew she was staring at me again, she had to have been. I had no idea where she was, but I began twist my body around looking for her pale face. I eventually gave up and started moving. The walk home was so unnerving that my door seemed like wooden salvation. However, the salvation seemed as if it might have only been a cruel tease when I placed my hand on the doorknob and attempted to turn it. It barely rotated an inch and I was overcome with a familiar shadow of panic even darker and definite than the last. I reached into my skirt pocket, my mother had inventively sewn on, expecting to feel only the feeling of soft fabric against my finger tips. However, I was relieved as my fingertips brushed up against something that could not have been fabric and had to have been my key. I pulled it out and with a smooth yet rushed air I stuck it in the doorknob, twisted it, pulled it out, and walked in. I was very happy to leave the uncanny atmosphere outside and embrace the consolation of my own house. 9

When I got inside I saw my mother examining herself in front of a mirror with a shirt and skirt she normally wore to work.10

"Going somewhere?" I asked.11

"Yes, dear," She responded. "I have to work late tonight, I only came home on my break."12

"What time will you be getting back?" I asked. Whenever my mother tells my she will be working late, it almost feels obligatory to ask how late "late" is.13

"Quite late", she responded. "In fact, I will be needing to borrow your key. I seemed to have lost mine and by the time I get home you and your father shall be sleeping and I wouldn't want to wake either of you." I handed her my key that I hadn't even bothered to tuck back into my pocket. She took it and then exclaimed, "oh darling, I am feeling so fatigued. I think I will be taking a nap on the couch. If you don't mind,  I'd like you to wake me up in an hour or so, or I will be late."14

"Okay, mother," I replied almost absentmindedly. She almost collapsed on the couch and it was somewhat awkward to see someone with as much dignity as my mother to show such weakness. 15

The next scene I will talk of obliterated the little dubiousness I harbored of this girl being evil. While following her home I had begun to wonder if I were merely insane, but I am very glad I did not give up and walk off as I had been tempted to do. After she had walked into her house I stood behind her mailbox that sat in a large patch of a rainbow of flowers. I knew I did not quite blend in, but I was pretty sure it would obscure me enough to not be seen. As I stood there I could see through a widespread window that let me see into, what I believe was, their living room. I could see the side of a beige couch and I saw her walk up in front of it. I was now looking at her from a side angle, and she was talking to someone. After a few seconds a new figure waltzed into the scene, and I am assuming this was her mother. They talked a few seconds later then I saw her lift her arm. She was holding that devilish tool and it was pointing towards her mother. Although, her mother showed no motion at that moment I'm sure she was writhing on the inside. That was when she walked warily over to the beige couch and dramatically collapsed. She was dead. I couldn't believe the luridness I had just witnessed.16

I feared having to face this girl the next day of school. She sat across from me and I couldn't help staring at her, trying to read into her every move, blink, or twitch. Maybe a part of me thought she would make some movement that would prove what I had seen yesterday and I could shriek, "Aha! You are a little, diabolical twit." I found myself staring at her day after day. I told myself everyday I would quit this pessimistic habit, but each day it was as if my eyes were little hazel magnets and she was a block of fleshy metal. I found myself constantly disconcerted by Ms. Smiths calling upon me for an answer to a question I had paid not the slightest bit of attention to. The children would chuckle as little red roses of embarrassment bloomed upon my cheeks. I prayed to God that she didn't realize I had begun to stare at her, I didn't even want to think of how she would react to such a situation. I wanted to stop, and knew I should as The Bible always said to turn an eye from evil things and she was, in (obvious) fact, evil. 17

The next day was when I first noticed her staring at me in class. I began to wonder if she had always been doing so and if I concentrated too hard on Ms. Smith to realize. I certainly wished I could have concentrated on Ms. Smith rather than this girls excessive staring. I also thought it utterly rude of her. I contemplated pointing it out to her, but I did not want to embarrass her in front of our class that could be quite cruel at times. I attempted to confront her a few times after class, but she always seemed to disappear too wistfully. However, one day I decided something had to be done. I told Ms. Smith about how uncomfortable she was making me feel. She told me she would hold a conference with all three of us the next day and I felt that familiar feeling I had felt when Ophelia left my side vacant, relieved then terrified. I wondered how this girl, who I thought crazy, would react. However, there wasn't a way in the world I would go the rest of the year sitting in Ms. Smith's room being stared at as if I were some pale flower petal lying upon some pile of darkened ash. 18

It was one day, the day I started the story telling about, that that thing she used began to sing to me and distract me even more than it had already. I know she saw me once as I saw her turn her head very gracefully as if trying to prove herself right about something. I lifted my eyes from her pocket that was strangely sewn onto her skirt. She looked away very slowly as if she had not noticed I saw her returning my stare. For all I knew she didn't realize I had seen her glance at me. 19

Ms. Smith began passing around a paper that must have had something to do with the lesson she had just been teaching. I had paid no attention, as usual, and my obliviousness foreshadowed another dreaded big bright red "F" to be scrawled upon my paper almost rudely, as if Ms. Smith wanted to make sure it caught the eye of at least a few lampooning children. However, before I was even able to pick up my pencil and begin to display my ignorance Ms. Smith called me over to her desk. I wondered if she was about to lecture my about how poorly I was performing academically. However, I was hit with a horrid realization as she called her name when I reached Ms. Smith's desk. As a few kids turned their heads with an air of curiosity I felt clouds of nausea drifting in my stomach. She began to walk towards Ms. Smith's desk and for the first time I didn't have any trouble not staring at her. 20

Ms. Smith was handing out papers and I had a feeling that she was going to use the time of which other children worked on this to hold this "conference". I had been hoping the conference would have had a more official feel to it and possibly be held after school so the children would not be a distraction and I could spare this poor girl horrid mortification. However, I decided it probably wouldn't be too embarrassing and even so she brought it upon herself with her excessive staring a person could only take for so long. I am quite surprised I made it as far as I did. I began nervously walking down the aisle made of desks working hard on concentrating on Ms. Smith's desk, trying to make the rest of room fade away by not focusing on it. It felt like an hour could have passed as I walked down that aisle and children began to look, I felt more sympathy for her than I. Although, I consoled myself, she should be used to uncomfortable situations such as this one. 21

Ms. Smith had set up two chairs by her desk and told the girl to sit and I followed suit before instructed to do so. Each second seemed to be building up to one exact moment, a climax, that I didn't quite know existed, or felt like I shouldn't have known existed. We sat for a while and I believe Ms. Smith expected one of us to begin the conversation, and however awkward that situation had been and how badly I had wanted it to be over, even if it had last a million years I would not have exerted the first word. But Ms. Smith finally began and her lips began to move. They were a faded crimson as age seemed to have applied some grey powder to them and they moved almost jaggedly. 22

We were sitting in chairs, she was on my right side and the pocket with that devilish tool was on her side farthest away from me. I was glad of that, she wouldn't be able to use it on me with out me noticing she was pulling something out of her pocket. I was paying attention to both her and to Ms. Smith as she began talking of the complaints she received from that unchristianly little girl. My ears grabbed little snippets of it, but then threw some of the words back into the air as my eyes and my ears could not grab interpretable particles at the same time.23

"Why have you been staring, is there a problem, is there something I can do, are you two in some kind of argument...?" The questions, statements, and insinuations fell like rain. And it was as if I was drenched in this rain and only half realizing it, only half realizing that my shoes were muddy and I was outside on a stormy day in normal clothing, only half realizing I should be at least somewhat embarrassed by the whole situation.24

Slowly raising my hand, as if hypnotized to do so, I began to extend my index finger attempting to point at the pocket of which held that evil tool. However, it was difficult to do so and it looked as if I might be pointing off into the abyss. 25

"What is..." Ms. Smith began, but I cut her off.26

"She is evil," I said, "I can prove it too."27

"Now," Ms. Smith began with anger in her voice decorated with scold, "You two may not be getting along very well, but there is no need to be using ridiculously useless insults."28

"No", I said keeping my air of possession, "She is evil and I can prove it." The girl's face had grown contorted with confusion and she looked as if she could not actually comprehend everything that was going on in front of her, like it was happening but she could not quite accept it yet. I heard snickers coming from the kids and I was actually somewhat excited to know they were watching as I could not wait to expose this girl's occultism in front of all the children and Ms. Smith. 29

As Ms. Smith began talking I had trouble actually paying attention as she lectured us as if I had told her we were in some vicious quarrel. I was contemplating trying to redirect her train of thought when the most random thing happened. That girl, that strange, unearthly girl, called me evil! The irony of the situation shocked me so I could not even muster up a reaction. It almost seemed as if time were slipping away from me and I laid still, unable to really do anything. She was pointing at the other students, or my skirt and saying she could prove me evil.30

"You know what I talk of," I said. And she did know what I was talking about as her poor acting was beginning to infuriate me. 31

"Huh?" was all she could force out. A pathetic 'huh' that sickened me. 32

"In your right pocket is where what I talk of lies."33

"I have nothing in my right pocket," she paused, slipping her hand into her pocket and moving it around, "except for this key." I couldn't control my actions then, I feared for my own life. So, I jumped up and ran out of the classroom and I knew Ms. Smith and my classmates would soon be dead. And the disturbing part was I was happy they would be dead, as they would finally see I was not the crazy one. They would all be inclemently proved wrong and it flooded my nerve system with what felt like liquid satisfaction. And the greatest part about my getaway was that when I was running I could here Ms. Smith calling for help and the children screaming and I could see them writhing with pain in my mind, like her mother had done. 34

She then started talking of my right pocket and acted as if I had some supernatural weapon inside of it. So, I reached in my pocket and pulled out my key, but only to look up and see that she was gone. Ms. Smith started shouting for her, however she was obviously not up to chasing after that paranoid child. With my key in my hand I suddenly realized every single child in the class was watching as they erupted into simultaneous laughter that was so gargantuan some of them almost sounded as if they were crying, of course several of them were merely being dramatic. 35

~36