„What if Daddy disapproves?“, a witch once giggled into a bottle of wine that had no bottom. „Oh, I think he does!“
What kind of Daddy is she talking about? The one that put her in this world, or rather the one that made this world exist at all?
Definitely not the one petting her head assuring her that she‘s a good girl, because that one is not real.
Although, she might be talking about the one who had the chance to be all that for her.
„When I talk about Daddy“, I admit to my witch, „I‘m only talking about God and how annoyed I am by him.“
„But did he do you hard enough to melt your brain?“, she responds and I shiver. This bottle of wine clearly has no bottom.
Let‘s pour the wine forever, because no Daddy‘s here to stop us.
He probably disapproved of the hair escaping the ribbon in the back of her head, as well as of her voice being too shrill, and most likely of her body too. It was more than arms and legs and head and chest. It had those curves in flash and bones. So much more than needed. So much more than anticipated. So much of more of her.
Once she stood in front of him, he said: „I don‘t know what to do with you.“
„You never did“, was her response.
„Okay, now it feels as if we‘re reading old philosophers reducing everything to one fucking purpose“, I interrupt the witching tale and cross my arms.
What did she expect? I was her other half, of course I fought anyone to ever look up to deliberately.
Hearing those words of him reminded the witch of all those past moments in which she had heard something similar as well, and she wondered why that was. Why did he point out how much there was of her? How tall she was? How loud she was?
Was it to have a good reason to let her go too soon?
To convinc the world and her that she was safe all on her own?
Was it to not pick her up and help her reach the biggest apple in the higher branches of the tree, because soon enough she‘d reach it on her own anyways?
To convince the universe that she did not need a caring hand anymore?
Could that be the only reason, or was there more tot it?
Is there something about this body no one ever has to know?
A secret buried in those flesh and bones, between those thighs?
A secret that her skin was trusted with?
„I don‘t know“, the witch would scream. „I don‘t remember.“
Of course she doesn‘t.
The thing that body witnessed was of that kind she could not yet comprehend, forcing her to grow up much too soon.
„Is that why you never picked me up?“, she yelled and Daddy better prepared for his own share witching wrath. „That is why my skin was never soft but hardened by the path I had to walk all on my own?“
Because her body guarded Daddy‘s secret.
„What are you laughing about?“, Layla hisses at me as our favourite bottle of wine refills itself. „The last one you fucked send you to bed before midnight, because you‘re such a mess.“ And she takes another gulp. „He daddied you.“
No comment on that.
Mistress witch writes 