No Longer Silent - A Friday Flash Short Story

No Longer Silent


Why are we scared of the Gingerbread house? Is it because the enticing smells, that shoot toward our nose, as we pass across the red brick road? Or is it the old woman, whom smiles so bright, that it lights up her wrinkled face from ear to ear? Are her stories, listened to among the large oak trees, really stories that frighten us? Or are we enthralled by her wisdom and power, that lies within her heart, grown from experience and knowledge shared, one generation at a time?

I  spent much time by her side, sneaking away every  chance, away from those frightened grown ups, whom forgot that magick does not exist to cause harm. The hours moved faster in her wake, my eyes trying to keep up with her swiftness that defied her age. Revealing another world to me, I listened, I learned, I became and grew. Stronger with each moment, her silent strength transformed and beamed into my maiden existence, enhancing it with a defying power, hard to hide from those whom I lived in their care.

Hours of hiding, waiting, moved toward hours of learning, then hiding again. The Craft growing in my heart, swelling inside of me, ready to burst. But I was warned into silence again and again, her eyes filled with caution as she spoke of the danger from those whom envied power, knowledge and beauty within a woman.
At first I listened, more wanting to honor her guidance then defying her, while in silence I defied them. Ah, how good it felt to know more, even in silence, when in their presence!

With time, it became harder and harder to bow my head to what I knew was wrong, and meant to keep women silent. I bit my tongue until it bleed upon the conversations of my father and his friend, fighting back tears other times, but still, I kept silent.

Until this day, this fateful day upon which the words tumbled out of my mouth. Injustice could no longer  be bared, the heaviness of silence way beyond what I could carry - no more!
Not one moment more.

Now I stand here, witnessed by those whom pretended to care for my live, judged, about to burn at their hands. And with it all, in this moment, as fire slowly moves toward me, I am grateful to have learned with her, and to have lived and died to be a Witch.

© Claudia Blanton 2013


This story is my debut for the #fridayflash weekly writing challenge. You can find out more info about this collaboration and how to participate here: http://fridayflash.org/press/the-collector/

Have a wonderful weekend everyone!