The screeching snare of the witch's lips came to a purse. She narrowed on the billow watching a troubled man looking in the mirror. "Excuse me," she said. As she watched him, his eyes turned a glowing red. "What is it you could possibly want? Why are you always bothering me?" He said. "Can't you see I'm unwilling? I'm sick of your constant intrusion. Will you just let me be? I can't feel for myself ever." "I'm sick of you as much you are of me," she replied. "Now listen to what I'm telling you, you cannot lie to me, and I will punish you if you do. Do you understand, to ever be accepted by me, you must be..." There was a pause "... perfect?" "I'm shelled in my world and anytime you tell me how I should feel, you kill me inside Don't you know that I'm sick of it? I can't be myself around you, there is no me. There is only your want for me." The witch flew away f
I write short stories and poetry sometimes. I deconstruct writing standards.