Be Forewarned, I am a Fey and Quixotic Creative Writer

Be Forewarned, I am a Fey and Quixotic Creative Writer
And in the End was the Word, Amy's Word

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Thursday, August 13, 2015

First Time for a Witch's Daughter

When I was about fourteen, my mother asked me if I would like to visit my sister at college in Syracuse.  I said "sure."  If I was rational, I would have said, "Geeze, we don't get along too well, I think not."  I agreed and my mother sent me on my way.
Mom said, "Oh, Amy, You are going to stay with Emil.  He will pick you up from the bus station."  Emil was a fifty-some year old dude with lecherous eyes."  I said "sure".  What I should have said was, "Geeze, Mom, the way Emil looks at me makes me feel uncomfortable.  I am scared to stay at his house."  Once again, I was not too smart. Emil was a family friend from the lake cottage experience.  He was a guidance counselor in Syracuse, Ny.

I believe that my mother sent me off to Emil's with the specific purpose of being drugged and raped by him.  My mother might have been a witch.  Witches do things like that to their least favored children.  I never realized what happened until I thought it through a few years ago.  A fourteen year old spending the night at the house of a lecherous old man?  Sounds a little fishy to me.  My mother was probably paid.  This might have been my first oblivious trick.  About this time she told me that I was a Lolita.  I was confused as I knew not any men.  There were memory drugs on the market and I have a multiple personality thing going on.  He might have had the magick words.

My mother never like organized religion.  She told me that she did not care what happened to herself after death.  She thought heaven would be a bore....every body being nicey nice.  I asked her on her death bed to please tell me what is going on.  I knew that there was an undercurrent of knowledge that I was not in on.  She said, "NO!"

I have had a vision of what her spirit is doing right now.  She is alone in her garden, weeding and sketching flowers.  There is a wall with a closed door and she waits for company.  She does not know how long she waits, it feels like a half an hour.  It is not really a half an hour.  There is no time in that dimension.  She is in a time bubble.  She waits endlessly.  She knows this not.  She is oblivious.  Just like I was oblivious to being raped by Emil.




Here I am about fourteen.  I look stoned.  Somebody must have slipped me something the night before


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