"I need you, I need you. I need-need-need you, mother.
Return to me, Rise!"
Night after night this was my chant as I tossed my old locket in the bonfire and waited for your spirit to appear. But you didn’t, you never did so my passion for black magic grew deeper as I turned myself over to a life of mystical actions finding a sense of control in the power. I spent months at the cemetery chanting, practicing with herbs, black tea, and human hair until that one day I chose to cast a mini spell on the “creep, bully” at school.
“Slip in the mud and be doomed boy,” I shouted.
One day later, when they found him beneath the cliff barely responsive, the magic was, well, it had become real, my blood was rushing, but I wasn’t numb.