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#Post#: 404988--------------------------------------------------
The Sacrifice of Sabine
By: Amelia Date: February 9, 2016, 5:29 pm
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On a red stained sheet, sat a man of average build. His
demeanour was calm, but his dark, demonic eyes were frantic. The
psych ward was full of abnormals - people who were deemed unfit
to be roaming among the ‘sane’. The elite were the ones who
decided and among sociopaths, and psychopaths, people with split
personalities and those with crazy eyes, sat a witch. Her days
consisted of mixing herbs and remedies, the higher ups believing
it would do these people good, half of which weren’t even
diagnosed properly. She sits on a bed opposite frantic eyes,
observing him. He’d flinch whenever someone passed by, almost
instinctively. When food was brought to him, he would wait 8
minutes before beginning to eat it. And it was always in a
certain order; first, the drink, second the salad, and last, the
meat. He didn’t eat dessert, didn’t have a sweet tooth.
He had attempted suicide apparently, at the age of four. Though
what burdens a soul so young, that they don’t see a way out?
No, he was simply being a child.
Next to him, was Sally. Amelia knew Sally all too well. In the
space of 4 years, the woman had had a total of 15 panic attacks.
The doctors decided she had post-traumatic stress disorder. She
had been witness to her husband’s demise. A deadly glass of red
wine, and laced into the blood-like liquid, arsenic. Sally
didn’t trust the doctors or the nurses, but she trusted Amelia.
She told her about the night he died, vivid memories that took
Amelia to their dining room. She could almost taste the steak,
and roasted potatoes. The poison as it made it’s way down her
husband’s throat and the hitched breathing. The horror-stricken
eyes, his hands reaching for his neck and then accepting death,
gracefully.
When she finishes her shift, it’s not home that she goes to, but
her sanctuary, in the clearing. When the town had found out
about the witch, they had wanted her gone, banished. Apparently,
there was a darkness in her they couldn’t fathom. In their eyes,
she didn’t even belong in the ward. She belonged at Satan’s
door.
The woman had died many a times, and every time she rose from
the dead, her body and powers seemed to get stronger. It was in
the dark of the night, they reached their peak, for the moon was
her supplier. Her tavern of witches had parted ways centuries
ago and whenever a town found out about her immortality and
youth, she too, would leave. Not because she was weak, but to
avoid death. The things this woman had seen in her lifetime was
enough to turn anyone cold, but there was something within her
preventing her heart to completely lack sentimental value. This
witch felt. She was kind to nature. She was kind to the animals
that roamed.
She stands in front of her concoction, her hair in thick black
curls, messy curls. She’s wearing a white dress, ready to hear
the spirits of the night.
And so the call begins.
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