Wicked - part 1

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A tomato stuck at Anya's back as she walks home. She turn around and saw her classmate Genie running away with her two blond friends. Anya's face contours into rage. She pull the leftover tomato off her long black hair and continue walking. Dress all in black - black pants, black shirt, black socks with black boots - her standard uniform of choice for school. She carries a red bag over her shoulder. Red is her favorite color. But not today. The tomato bits still cling to her hair.

Another object flew against her stomach. It was a piece of red meat. She look left and right but could not tell where it had came from. The smell was ghastly and reminds Anya of dead cats. She stares at the meat that has fallen onto the ground. Rage fill her thoughts. When will it end? As Anya continues to walk, she notice people were avoiding her. They look down as they walk pass her. It was yet, another reminder that she was different.

Finally at her front door, Anya let herself into the living room. She flip the switch but the light bulb glow for a second before it make a snapping sound and blew out. She sigh. So this is my life, she thought as walk towards the kitchen. Her mother, Jane, was boiling something in the big pot. Ingredients surrounds the big kitchen table and spill over onto chairs. Bottles after bottles of stuff Anya had never knew existed. Some was even alive. "How was school?" Jane asked without looking up from her book, checking and throwing ingredients into the pot. Anya sigh again. She sat down in one of the unoccupied chair and dump her bag onto the kitchen tiles.

The boiling pot produces white smoke which swim around the kitchen. The smoke circles the kitchen then went out the window. Jane's finally finish putting the ingredients into the pot. She can leave it to cook for at least three hours. She turns to face her daughter. Anya sits there with her shoulders slouch, her head hang down to her chest. "Anya," she said as she walks towards her. She smile her best smile at her daughter. She hold Anya's face in her hand. The gentle warmness of her mother's touch make Anya smile. "Things will get better. Don't you worry." She kissed her daughter on her forehead and went back to reading the book. She has got to finish the potion before midnight or else her husband will stay frozen for a couple of days.

Anya turns her mouth sideways. Funny, how being at home can change her mood. "Where's Dad?" she asked her mother. Jane turn around, a sneaky look on her face. "Dad said something I didn't like. I...um...didn't mean to do that to him. I just wanted him to stop talking...and..um..then he froze. Just like that. But don't you worry, Honey, in less than eight hours, he will be good as new," her blue eyes sparkle with mischievous. Jane turns back to her book.

Her father, Henry is a fantasy writer. He works at home most of the time. His editor thinks he makes the stuff up but if he knew the truth, he still wouldn't have believe him. Henry has accepted everything that was his wife's heritage and assumed she would be more sensible with her talent. Henry loves his daughter and would often console her when kids would not necessary being nice to her. He had hope that Anya would not inherit her mother's talent but than realize it was out of his hands.

"Where is he now?" asked Anya. She can't help but smile. "He's upstairs in our bedroom. Why don't you pop up there and say 'hello.'" Jane replied. Anya picks up her bag and walks out of the kitchen. "Dinner in one hour!" Jane shouted as Anya climb the stairs to her parent's bedroom.

On the stairway, Anya pause to read the plaque that hang there. It was inscribed with the family motto, "You may be a witch but you don't have to be wicked. (Unless the occasion calls for it. Then you shall be as wicked as you want.)" The plaque of needlework was done by Aunt Sarah. The motto's origin was still being debated. Some said it was by created by early ancestors way back when. Others still think it was a joke created by mortal members of the family. Aunt Sarah had redone the plaque which was originally in stone. A wild thunderstorm had knock it down about a year ago and was beyond repair.

Each day, Anya would look at the plaque. Often it make her feel better. This time it was no different. Anya smile to herself as she walks into her parent's bedroom. She knew things will get better. If not then the occasion will call for some wickedness.