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Part One: My Family


So hot…

So very hot…

What was with this? The pain was excruciating. The heat was exhausting. But where was it coming from? Where was he? He could not remember a thing. He could not see. The searing sun filled his eyes with sweat and tears. There was emptiness in all directions. There seemed nothing but red skies and sun and sand. His stomach ached. His face ached. His legs ached. His soul ached. He felt dead. And he soon would be. But why? This poor mortal would never suspect he was another of my victims and would not be the last…


“Foolish Boy,” I said. “You dare pass my work, you bask in you own selfishness.”

“Really Miriam. You try too hard. Why must you be so quick to judge? They are only human.”

“My sister, you jest. I am no judge. I am merely the executioner. You know that. How many times must I beat that into your thick skull?”

“I must say, mother would be proud,” my sister exclaimed with ripping bitterness and disgust.

“Diana, Mother may be a goddess but when it comes to her daughters, she is too prejudice. She would be proud if we were leaches and had found blood on the hide of a boar. I, my sister, am more clever in the ways of our gift.”

“You are nothing but a hypocrite. Well, I came to tell you of supper and my task is fulfilled. I will see you at the dinner table.” Diana pivoted quite sharply on her heals and stormed out of my room stating just before slamming the door, “I hope you get what is coming to you.”

A threat from my sister? I laughed at her attempts. I thought I might laugh forever at her hackneyed moral only mere mortals hold dear. She walked out with a strut the likes of which my eyes would never see of any other sibling but Diana: human attitude. My mother taught us well but poor Diana could never learn her genius. Her blindness would soon be the end of her.

Or so was my reasoning…

Oh, but my maners. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Miriam, the forth of eighteen daughters to the great witch and idol, Genevieve. We are the great descendents of a long line of witches, each more powerful and more beautiful than the last generation. You may think this a story of valor, a story of war, or perhaps a story of stupefaction. No, this is a story of morals. It is a story of misconception.

It is a story with a sad ending.

Now, I understand that someday this may reach the eyes and minds of the under-educated, as perhaps an example of what should not be, so I will try and explain my means and powers along the way. As well, the powers and way of my family may differ greatly from those who read and thus some actions may seem illogical in which I, once again, will try and explain. But pay no attention to the technical details for this is not the tale’s purpose. Let your soul read the words and let others feel your soul as you do so they know you understand and so they may feel safe when you are finished. The soul is a terrible thing to loose as you may see in my story. Let us continue where we left off…


“Miriam dear, your supper is ready.”

“Coming Annalisa.”

My eldest sister, Annalisa made us supper and I was continually the last to join. We were a large coalition. There were seventeen of us and I was the forth oldest. Annalisa was the oldest followed by Jesinia and Tamara. Below us, at the time, there were twelve who had been negligible since birth, in my humble opinion. Diana was in the middle of the collection. Her twin, Liza, I had decided, would be my successor someday as Annalisa was Mother’s. She showed me interest and promise. You see, in our family, we have a vast expansion and variety of knowledge in hundreds of areas of both life and death. To maintain our legacies so it would not die with us should we happen to meet with such an awful fate, we teach them to a younger one of our choice whether they are in the family or not. Liza was a frisky devil, quite the opposite of her twin, Diana. She was just as beautiful as Diana but had the brain capacity and the yearning of death as I had however, not the same reasoning, as you will see.

“Any new business?” Tamara announced, as it was her business to do so at dinner.

“Mir murdered another lost soul today,” Liza spoke up on my behalf. “And he was a good one too. Took ten whole hours to finally perish.”

“Who was this one, dear?” Tamara asked to me.

“Timothy,” I answered, pouring myself a glass of red wine.

“Which one was this one, Miriam?” Annalisa inquired.

“The verbal sot,” I answered. “He was the one who would talk of how ‘hot’ he was and so I left him to loll on his own ego.”

“And I guess the slower the better is still your motto, ‘eh Miriam?” Jesinia asked.

“They get what they deserve,” I answered modestly.

Dinner was a social time for us siblings. My twelve younger sisters-not including Liza-said nothing unless told to. They did nothing but lounge, cry, and feed off the sustenance we provided. But this day, the youngest, Cylia stood up solemnly and reserved as if she felt it was a rude act. In actuality, it was but when our youngest dared to break this ethical standing of our house, we felt we must encourage it. The long table went silent and we waited for her to speak. The poor dear was trembling but she cleared her throat and stated her business with poise.

“I cursed a human boy today,” she said humbly. “He insulted me and I’ve cursed him.”

“Pray tell,” Tamara spoke, “what was this juvenile’s cursed name?”

“Robert Michael,” she answered. “He laughed at me. He looked at me and saw me cry inside. He pushed me aside and retreated.”

“And how did he find reason for this?” Liza asked. Liza has always made it so I would hardly have to speak at dinner. I had trained her well.

“He sang a song to everyone but me,” Cylia explained. “He looked into everyone’s eyes and smiled. When he looked into mine, he saw disgust and shame. He glared and turned away. I cried inside but he laughed behind his eyes. His words and voice mocked me. I walked closer as he walked past and he turned away. He turned around to me but looked past. Hen he sat down with his friends, he pointed to me and laughed. He was insolent and I took away his essence.”

“What was it you did?” Jesinia inquired.

“I have taken away his voice.” She held up a marble box with velvet padding around. The color was a lovely dark green and a black that aided its evil contents. She gently opened the box and out of it the horrid sounds of the cursed voice singing some torturous words of love and devotion no real mortal believed in. The peal of silverware to porcelain plates as my younger sisters grasped their ears permeated the hall. I, however, did not do this simple and immature action.

And neither did Diana! Diana’s expression grew blindly as if she were attracted to this sound. My heart filled with rage. My sister was becoming attracted to a human’s words, his voice, and his evil means of false love. Had I not taught my sister anything about humans? They are nothing but witch fodder, for those of us who need a simple pleasure. They are nothing more. They are organic life forms put on a planet they are slowly killing just to satisfy us, not to fall in love with. I knew this-this Robert Michael was going to suffer for this. What I did not see was how.


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