Your Poor, Unfortunate Soul

The midday sun barely shone through the dense forest, barely lighting the half-underground room. The room had been burned and stripped of it's contents.

Eyelids slowly opened to reveal sad blue eyes. Pale fingers reached cautiously through broken glass before quickly pulling back. Shaky breaths and backwards steps were taken. The woman blinked, and continued to survey the ruined remains of her basement home. An eery tone had settled into the poorly cared for room.

The woman inwardly winced as she remembered the reason her home and workplace was destroyed. She is a witch. A witch who gained powers through Satan and had the ability to create potions.

The witch glanced cautiously side-to-side before turning around to face the wooden door. The smell of the green moss came again in heavy waves as a gust of wind blew through the shattered windows. New pieces of glass broke off the sharp windows and cut into the back of the witch's dress.

The witch's companion, a man who was her friend and had sought out her help, stood befuddled at the destroyed bricks. He tried to imagine what the room looked like in it's glory days. The man smoothed the sleeves of his black suit, his silver shirt was beginning to collect dust. He brushes the specks away.

“Oh, witch! How will you give me my potion to find my love now? With your workshop destroyed and hideously unkindly kept.” The man was nearly in tears, how would he find his true love without the satanic concoction?

“Silence, James Sullivan,” the witch murmured, “do not fret. I shall give you what you wish.”

James allowed himself to be hopeful, but was still suspicious. “How, my dear friend?” he asked.

The witched looked from the floor to James. A gentle smile curved her lips, she pulled something from a pocket in her skirts. The small pink vile pulsed like a heart in her hand, a glow seemed to surround the bottle. The witch hated this potion, she despised how close it made the drinkers to the devil. This only happened because the concoction was made of scraped of the devil's blackened, evil heart. Drinking it would be almost as bad as dealing face-to-face with Satan. A joyous smile bloomed on James' face.

“You can have it now, James. Though, I must warn you. There is something peculiar in the winter breeze. I believe--” James cut it her off by taking the bottle.

“Oh, thank you so!” he exclaimed happily, hugging his longtime friend.

The witch pushed him back. “James, I worry. ” she mumbled.

The blue-eyed man would not have it. “Do not fret, as you say. The winds lie. Now, I must prepare for my party to find my soul-mate, do fix your home.” he said, uncaring at how his words hurt the witch.

The witch glared at James and said venomously, “What is your other half is a man? How will you show your face? How will you escape the wrath of My Chemical Romance?”

James rolled his eyes, “She will not be, so showing my wonderful face shall not be a problem. In any case, MCR is a bunch of fags.”

The witch sighed, “Do go now before you are accused of witchcraft, my friend.”

James raised an eyebrow, “You think they shall ransack my own home, my fellow Avenged shall do no such thing. Though, I do think you did not deserve to have your place ruined.”

In the honesty of James' mind, he believe the Satan worshiping witch had brought the destruction of her home and place of work upon herself. James was planning to add the pink liquid to all drinks at his estate dinner. James believe he had found a solution to his troubles with love, using the witch's potion he shall forever be with the beautiful female he dreamed of.

“I bade you good bye, my witchly friend.” James said cheerily, stowing the glowing pink bottle in his black coat's pocket.

“Farewell, James.” she said quietly.

His blue eyes look at his friend with concern, “I shall be fine, and so shall my dinner and guests. I must go.”

James left quickly.

The witch sighed sadly, leaning against the damp brick wall between the broken windows. She closed her blue eyes. “This will not go well, James. The winds speak of tragedy.” she whispered to herself.

She opened her eyes cautiously as heavy footsteps walked over the basement. Four men with familiar voices. The witch slid down silently against the wall. The men were James' friends, the very ones that led the destruction of the witch's own home. They were Avenged Sevenfold. She cursed them under her breath, she knew they wished to destroy the witch herself along with her home.

Hours since and after the men left, the witch had stayed sitting on the cement ground, letting the wet seep into her black gown. A gentle breeze enter the basement, and circled around the witch revealing her friend's fate.

“Such tragedy, dear James. The fates do not favor you.” the witch whispered somberly into the wind. But, James would not hear, nor would he have headed the warning.