Myth of the witch

I killed my lover. I killed the love of my life and watched the life drain out of her eyes. Eyes that were golden brown turned pitch black; as if her soul left the body taking away all the colours of life. I wondered for a minute if this soul would go on and enter the life of another poor woman who would be trapped again in this world, cursed to live. 

I laid her lifeless body down on the porcelain tiled floor of the bathroom. I had all the necessities laid down around me in a circle. A clean bowl, a surgical knife, the book of Mantra, and candles. The candles were only for the ambience really; a soft glow of light dancing around in the shadows. A lot of people have this misconception but wizardry does not require the use of candles although most wizards I knew did like candles.

I nimbly brushed my fingers on the cover of the withering book of Mantra and turned to the very end of the book. The book was brown, the colour of faded parchment that had withstood the test of weather. Some of the pages were loose and it required careful handling to turn the pages, lest one of the pages fell off and got lost. I turned them delicately, as precious relics from a forgotten era. They felt like crumbling autumn leaves under my thumb.

The paragraph containing the incantations was barely visible but I had it memorised by heart anyway. I ran my finger along the thin penmanship one last time. Then, as custom, I picked up the small surgical knife with my left hand to make a precise incision on her throat and drained out the seeping elixir in my bowl. The clear bowl darkened. The only sound in that empty apartment was now the "drip, drip, drip". The bowl was heavier than usual. This one had lived a full life but it would be my life to live now. I gulped down the inky red elixir as I chanted the blurry words on the pages.

I liked to carry out my enchantment in bathrooms as the huge mirrors allowed me to witness the transformation in grave detail. I felt the warm liquid travelling down my body. My hands felt stronger and my eyes glistened with new life. It took me long enough to find her. I saw now the lines that had formed on my marble-like features. It all became more evident as they erased themselves. As the elixir travelled through my body it smoothed out all the creases.

I had nothing but respect for her sacrifice.

I usually leave the bodies in the bathrooms with all the objects as is, except for my book. When they get discovered after a week or two, the headline reads, "Witchcraft gone wrong; another woman dead".

The crackdown on witches for the past decade has been hard. No woman over 18 is allowed to purchase or use any sharp objects without the written consent of a male guardian. According to the media, the witches drain their blood to remain young but then sometimes these rituals go wrong and you end up dead in empty apartments. They blame the intrinsic vanity of women for falling for such insidious deeds. The world hates the non-existent witches. They say they have been corrupting womankind.

Tasnim Odrika is a biochemist by day and a writer by night. Reach her at odrika02@gmail.com.