Brooding under the tenuous moon, the wicked witch sat reflecting about her current lover, who of course didn’t really appreciate her genius, the wimp. She’d dump him.
Though beautiful, her heart was a black hole. Everything and everyone that came too near, got sucked up, transformed and spit out as an appendence of herself. She avoided mirrors. Like Dorian Grey’s portrait they showed her the dissipation caused by her wickedness. Strangely, she was woman enough to wonder why no one really loved her.
A cat spied her sitting on a park bench. It saw her aura, so prudently slipped away.
© G.s.k. ‘15