The Wicked Witch

Writing is my drug, it’s my opium. I inhale it whenever I am in misery. Today is one of those days. My friend died. No, he wasn’t my friend. But I knew him. Some say it was an accident. Some say he was killed over an affair with a girl. Death is always shocking, more so if it is a murder.

Death shakes your senses and makes you numb. The misery lasts for a while. You lose energy. You walk without motion. You eat just to satiate your hunger. Life becomes a stream without ripples, flowing for the sake of it. You understand that nothing matters in the end. But you still keep going. You ask yourself, why am I doing this if nothing matters in the end? But you still keep going, for the sake of it. Lethargy takes over you. You just want to go with the flow, because you know, nothing matters in the end.

It’s like you are under a spell. A witch has taken over your senses. You have become numb. You don’t know what you are doing. You have lost the purpose. On the surface, you are normal. You eat. You drink. You urinate. You walk. You talk. But the witch is cruel. She eats you internally. She knows exactly what makes you feel miserable. She knows what kills you bit by bit.

Witch is the queen of negative energy. She knows your weak-points. She knows how to electrify your black spots. She knows what makes you resent life. She uses all her forces to make you feel a loser, to make you give up. What is there to live if you are just like any other microbe on this planet? What is your identity? Just another living being trying to survive till death makes you hers?

But I know how to win over the witch. I exactly know how to shoo her away. She knows I hate to talk about these things, but she fears my writing. She knows writing is my drug, my opium and however she tries, she won’t be able to contain me. She knows, each tap on the keyboard spells the doom for her. It denotes the end of her reign. She is reluctant. She does not want to go away. But she is helpless. She has to go!


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