By Nusrat Ahmed
On that day a massive, sinful wind was blowing outside. The universe seemed angry. A black crow started staring at me with his wicked sense of eyes; his immoral wings gave me a strange, foreshadowing feeling. I observed the forest as I tiptoed towards a small green hut, before suddenly seeing an old witch. She was making an emerald green potion for someone, with a mischievous, immoral expression on her visage.
The fictional witch started reciting her melancholy poem, sparking imagery in my mind. It was a cold, chilly October; Halloween was just on his way. Autumn leaves had just landed under the maple tree precisely a few days ago.
Tiny beige twigs hugged and pinched my toes. “Ah!” I complained in pain, putting my hands over my mouth. A faint voice echoed in my ears, “Shhhhh! The witch might hear!”.
Her enchanted magic wand took my senses away. It was so pleasant to watch her from a distance; her hypothetical sweet scent cured my illness and parted unpleasant situations that were hovering throughout my head.
Upon my curing she was left exhausted, doomed with the maddening curse of being sinful yet simultaneously equipped with an aura of healing. Sometimes I think of her now still, and about the little hut in the forest. I wonder what she is doing and how it would feel for her if she were to also have the chance to experience the imagination taking you to another world.