A Real Life Witch, Kids!

A Real Life Witch, Kids!

These October mornings are bitterly malicious as the low sun glare blinds my eyes on the road. I am already a hazard driving in shoes that cause me to slip on the clutch. I am sure my brake pedal is getting rusty or it may be my abysmal driving skills, and tacky heels, that are the cause for bumping into the rear of that Nissan Micra.

“Sorry, sorry,” I apologise profusely; and flutter my eyelids. “It must be the sun.”

The immaculately trimmed bearded, checked collared 30 something year old scowls at me and rubs his finger across his bumper, as his toddler howls in the back. I throw a growl towards the kid that makes the child scrunch his eyes up in frustration and bang his tiny fist against the window, which makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

‘Damn kids,’ I mutter.

There is not a scratch: not even a fleck of red paintwork has come off his 1980s Micra. The little car must be as old as him and I silently wonder if it was a gift on the day he was born and that is why he is crooning over it in such a fashion. If only I could click my fingers and give that insanely fussy man a little curse and, hell, throw the kid into the bargain too.

‘I wish the car would break down,’ I snap my fingers. The thought makes me smile and he clocks my smug glint playing across my lips and that pisses him off, so he insists we swap insurance details.

We swap our information and there goes my no claim bonus and I zoom off, well, kangaroo off as my heels slip from the clutch. That little wish backfired on me.

“I am late,” I mutter to myself and shoot daggers towards Nick Grimshaw on my tinny radio. His cheery demeanour grinding my temperamental gears as I force my car into fourth.

‘Maybe Simon Cowell will end his contract,’ I snap my fingers and cackle; as I aim another spiteful wish.

It is the same monotonous drive home along Barrhead Road as the evening October sun teases me from the sky. It is causing me to glower because I have missed most of the sunshine being stuck indoors and as if the Scottish sky reflected my mind: the ominous blackened clouds approach. Specks of rain fall and I get into my flat just in time for the clouds to cover the skyline and pelt the ground with flooding droplets of hail. I cannot stand in the rain for long or the mascara will melt down my face and then you will certainly hear me scream:

“I am melting!”

In fact, the powder on my nose which is my mask (so that the mirror can lie and tell me I am ten years younger) has already smudged.

October nights are bitterly superstitious, as I surf the web for hours looking for ‘god knows who’. I am ashamed of myself, bitterly so, and I blame the season. If it only it were warmer then maybe I would go out and find someone, but who am I fooling? Only myself.

There is this song that I found that reminds me of ‘god knows who: anyone!’ and I play it on repeat, I even post it on Twitter only to be deleted in a matter of minutes. I post an epic version of ‘Two Steps from Hell’ instead and name it a ‘sleep song’. Funnily enough I gain a follower from that post.

“Must be a fellow witch,” I screech a little manically and follow that person right back.

October: the month when the moon shines bloody red, high in the sky and the sun swerves low on the road and my luck has all about run the fuck out. It is the season where the supernatural haunt the children’s imaginations and here I am: a real life witch kids! Happy Halloween!