Life’s Witch and then you fly

It was the night before the first day at school, and instead of going out to an end of summer house party or meeting up with anyone to do anything, I remained in my bedroom, engrossed in something that wasn't my phone. I licked my finger and flicked through a large leather book. Its pages were frail and fickle, and distinctly an off grey-white, creating crinkling noses with each movement. A necklace made of deep purple lilacs laid carefully on the bed, waiting to be used as a place holder for the book once more. I didn't want to touch it too much; afraid it would turn to dust. It was a wonder why it hadn't withered away, but I didn't question it too much. I looked up from the page and into the mirror hung on the wall opposite the bed. I watched myself skimming a finger over a particular page and squinted. Not that I could see it because my body was blurry and just a vague shape—and that was the world in general without my glasses, but I was without makeup and only wore a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of shorts. It didn't make sense that a seventeen-year-old would rather be cooped up inside on the last day of freedom for the year, but it's what I decided to do, much to the disappointment of my best friend. The lilacs caught my attention, as did the handwriting, different from the rest on the very first page. And still, despite the close distance, I couldn't quite make out what was in front of me. I flipped to another page, dropping the book in the process with an almighty thump on the hardwood floor. I hung my head off the side of the bed and waited for the inevitable voice from downstairs to mock my clumsiness in some way. When it didn't come straight away, I sat up and c****d my head to the side. "Luna! I'm headed to book club. You can fend dinner for yourself, can't you?" Mom yelled out and in my hast to check on the book, I toppled onto the floor. "Try not to injure yourself in my absence, won't you darling?" Sure," I called back and stood up with the book in hand, eyes instantly drawn to the lilac resting on the rug. I knelt and picked it up as delicately as I could just as my mother popped her head around the door. "And your obsession with that book and lilacs...It will end before school starts?" "I'm not obsessed, Mom. It's a common interest." "You sleep with it under your pillow," she said, pulling a face. "Don't think I haven't noticed." "Spying on me as I sleep? Creepy much?" "It's not creepy," Mom denied, leaning against the doorframe. "It's in a mother's nature to worry. Maybe put down the book for a while, meet some girls. Platonically. Romantically. All the loves." "Wait a minute." I cleared my throat. "You're encouraging me to pursue a romance with a girl?" "Luna. You've read that quote how many times now? 'The Iris's mythology dates back to Ancient Greece, when the goddess Iris, who personified the rainbow, acted as the link between heaven and earth. It's said that purple irises were planted over the graves of women to summon the goddess Iris to guide them in their journey to heaven. Someone worthy told me this. I'll be your Iris if you so desire. Let me lead you to heaven on earth." "It's cute," I defended. "And I can't believe you've memorised that. You call me obsessed. Mom raised a finger and said, "Rainbows," and she raised another finger and said, "Love." I nodded. "Uh-huh. Your point?" She shook her head and pushed off the doorframe and stood straight. "I give up. Maybe think about why this...personal message interests you so much, okay, darling? I'm going to go. Sleep soon, okay? Try not to wake your dad." "You're assigning me homework a day before school starts?" "Sure," she agreed. "Bye, honey." "What sort of book club runs at this time of night anyway?" I muttered. As soon as the front door closed, I snagged a blanket and the book and headed downstairs into the sitting room, where I sat on the couch, not planning to sleep anytime soon. I preferred the sound of the TV in the background instead of the silence that would've been in my bedroom. Sure, I could have played music or phoned someone, but I didn't really want the distraction. Besides, there was something about the characters spouting nonsense on the TV that comforted me. It must have been an hour later before a creaking sound from the staircase made me sit still, flashlight still in the mouth. Another sound cracked; this time, it was drawn out. I spun my head around, so the light from the flashlight in my mouth shone at the foot of the stairs. The flashlight flickered and then shut off. Armed with the big book in my hands, I started for the staircase and tried to move cautiously as possible. Deep breathing stopped me cold. I held still; white knuckles held the book as my eyes wandered up to the stairs. A dark figure jumped from the middle of the staircase and barrelled into my shoulder, making me holler in terror, and then I swung the book directly into the face of the person. "Well," the figured drawled out. "Ow?!" "Summer?" I asked, still holding the book tightly. "What the hell? How did you get in here? "Your window," Summer answered casually and removed the book from hands and headed towards the couch, shifting the glasses from side to side to inspect the damage. "You should've chosen the bedroom on the first floor — way to be inconvenient. Anyway, I was thinking about your little ancient-looking book there. There are instructions, specifically for the 31st of August, right? In Rocky Woods?" "Do I even want to know how you know that?" "I took pictures of the pages with my phone." "What are you thinking?" I asked. "Why not follow those orders?" she answered casually and wandered over to the couch, rubbing the side of her face. "Bonfire in the woods. Have ourselves a little séance? Could be fun. What do you say? Want to speak to the dead tonight?" I plopped down beside her and immediately her feet landed in my lap, making my nose wrinkle. "Do you have anyone in particular that you want to talk to?" She hummed. "Nope." "A bonfire," I repeated. "Yep." Summer grinned. "We can dance n***d around the flames." "Or fully dressed. And not dancing. Sitting. Oh and no fire." "I mean, if you want to make the spirits uncomfortable with modern clothing and stiff bodies, Sure. We can wear clothes." "Why the hell not?" I muttered and shoved her legs off me. "Let me put some clothes on first." "Or how about not?" "Perv," I said with a quick laugh. Summer winked. "You know it." I went upstairs and got dressed before we climbed into Summer's car. It was only a ten-minute drive to the forest. The mini yellow ford focus came to a slow halt in front of a little stone bridge that paired as a side entrance into the woods. Summer didn't hesitate to hop out of the car, leaving me to chase after her. I got out of the car, book under my arm and handed off the flashlight to Summer once I caught up. She then charged her way across the bridge with a skip in her step. I guess despite the strangeness of our endeavour, at least I was out of the house and not all by myself, cooped up and reading. It could be argued planning to talk to the dead rather than my peers was a step in the wrong direction, but company was company, right? That's what I told myself as we ventured onward. "Why do we want to talk to the dead again?" I asked. "To get over a crush you need to get to know the person extremely well," Summer answered, flashing the torch into my eyes playfully. I swung my hand, blindly to stop the light from entering my eyes. "I honestly don't think I've ever mentioned having a crush on a ghost before." "No. Think about the logic, not the scenario," she said, and it made sense. Sort of. "It's the same thing for that...spellbook of yours. It just so happens that we landed on the thirty-first today. And live in the same area. Besides. Don't you want to know the wisdom of the dead? Their knowledge? "Knowledge of what exactly?" "The living," she said ominously. "Shut up," I said with a quick laugh. "I'm taking an interest in your interest, as a best friend should." "More of an interest in my interest than an interest in me." "Whatever you just said," she agreed. "Sure, let's go with that." We tip toed our way across the shallow end of the river, holding our arms out wide for balance. But gasping for air, I had to stop to prevent the book from slipping out from under my arm. Summer disappeared up ahead. Then, realising she's left me behind, she turned her head around. around. "Stop lagging... b***h," she called out. "Excuse me for not wanting to slip and c***k my head and drown." "The likelihood of that happening is zero," she argued. "Summer. I can't swim." "Well, I know that!" Summer shouted, rolling her eyes. "I meant the slipping and cracking your head open part. You'd probably drown, consciously." I gave her a look. "And you wouldn't save me?" Summer paused. "And be late for our meeting with the ghosts? Hell no, I'd skip ahead and maybe check on you later. Wouldn't be my fault if you were a floating corpse down the stream, out of reach and out of mind." I stepped onto another stone and wobbled while she stood there, not even flinching to move and help me. "You'd be the worst in a crisis," I mumbled. She thumbed toward herself. "I'd be a hero." We made it to the other side of the river and immediately Summer grabbed the journal from my hands and opened it at its centre, revealing a map of the woods. I, in turn, took the torch and shone it down at the page. She dragged her thumb across the page, indicating where we were on the map and the short distance we had to walk to the 'Resurrection Wreath'. Summer charged ahead, nose dug into the map, and I hurried to keep up with her as she ventured into the dark forest. Soon, we wandered into a space encircled by headstones and trees, forming a 'wreath' around an expanse of fickle grass that looked like it hadn't touched any water in years. Our shoes cracked the grass in half with each step. I hesitantly walked over to a headstone and traced my fingers along the name carved into the stone and read, "Rosalie Griffin." "They're all Griffins," Summer informed me, looping around the area. "Every last one of them. Their own personal graveyard. Maybe the journal is a family heirloom. A séance for family members. Their bloodline?" "Maybe we shouldn't be here then," I said. "What?" Summer shook her head. "No. Don't say that." "We're not their bloodline," I pointed out. "That you know of." I returned my gaze to the headstone. "Won't it be disrespectful? Maybe I should leave the book here. Or I could track down an actual family member?" Summer sat in the middle of the graveyard and opened the book, muttering beneath her breath. I took a seat beside her and studied the gravestones. It seemed nice, creepily and morbid way—to be surrounded by family in death in a secluded spot. Together forever in this plane of existence and hopefully the next too. I worried too much, I concluded. What really could happen? "Alright. Hand it here," I said, motioning to the book. "Yes, b***h!" Summer handed me the book. "Recite the first page." "On it." "It's strange though," she muttered. "What is?" I asked. "It looks like..." "You're beginning to freak me out," I admitted. "Such a scaredy-cat," she teased and rolled her eyes. "I was just going to say it looked like your handwriting." I laughed. "Because I write spells in my spare time." Summer joined in with my laughter. "Luna, I wouldn't put it past you. Now read!" "Ahem." I cleared my throat playfully and turned my attention to the words. "A hundred years, from this day, you will resurrect from your graves. Time is cherished, and that you will see. Your first breath carries on from your last act and is never-ending as your past." For a second, a brief and almost undetectable moment, the black ink on the page flashed a golden colour, highlighting the cursive writing. I had to assume Summer pointed the flashlight in its direction. "That's terrible poetry." "It's a spell, Summer, not poetry." "Hello, ghosts?" she called out, ignoring me. "We are here to entertain your dead souls. We're here to liven you up a bit!" "Don't mock them." "I'm not," she denied. "We're literally here to liven this dead place up a bit." "Well, this was a waste of a trip," I muttered and stood up. "Patience, Luna." "I don't know about you, but I don't exactly want to sleep through my first class tomorrow," I said and slammed the book shut. "Feel free to visit Luna in her dreams," Summer called out gleefully. I pushed her. "Stop." She shrugged. "Why, afraid?" "For your sanity, yes." "Oooh. The Griffins will haunt you, Luna. Haunt you!" Chapter 2 Sometimes when you got caught up in a fantasy and what you wanted to happen, the reality passed you by, leaving you to wonder what actually happened. That wasn't the case when we went out into those woods and sat in the middle of the graveyard. I read the enchantment, spell, magic inducing sentence; whatever it was supposed to be, and nothing happened. No dead spirits came out of an abrupt, mysterious fog, and no whispered voices carried in the wind. No goosebumps and no instinctual feeling of something other And that was that. We didn't linger to mourn over the failed idea of having some whimsical séance. That didn't mean it wasn't interesting how the book and that family were connected. The history of their bloodline within the book ended a hundred years ago. It was hard to believe considering the condition of their headstones. The trees somehow managed to protect them from any severe damage. Really, the lack of excitement that night didn't divert my attention from the book but increased in ten-fold, much to the annoyance of Summer. The first day of school dictated a lot of things, like where you sat at lunch, who you interacted with, social status and all the mundane stuff that was associated with teenagedom. That night I didn't worry about all the things that could go wrong on my first day and instead thought about the family in the graveyard. There was something magnetic about the Resurrection Wreath, something that called my name, and I intended to investigate why. It was our last first day in this place, and it was the only morning I didn't linger in my bed for half an hour before getting ready in ten minutes, and that mostly came down to the fact that Summer soon would be parked outside my house, waiting to bring me to school. But first I had breakfast with my family. "How do you feel? Going back to school?" Mom asked, brushing a hand over my shoulder as she went to the other side of the kitchen. "Okay, I guess," I answered. "Try not to burn the building down," she murmured to herself. "Slide the orange juice across to me, will you?" I asked my dad, who read a newspaper on the other side of the table. "It's closer to you than it is to me," he responded, not even glancing up. "Yeah but..." I eyed the glass's distance and sighed. "I need to conserve my energy." "Luna, it's a mild two-inch stretch from your index finger." "Dad?" "Yes?" "Dad," I said more forcefully, finally making him look up from the paper. "Pretty please?" Dad sighed and stood up from the table. He grabbed the glass and returned to his own seat. He raised the glass slowly to his lips. "Don't do it," I warned. "Don't you dare do it." "Thanks for the drink, I'm very parched." He gulped back the entire contents of the glass in seconds and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He took in my sour expression and delighted in the fact he contributed to my morning moodiness. "You're so thoughtful." I leaned my cheek against the palm of my hand and glanced to my left. "Mom, Dad's bullying me." She sipped on her tea. "He's preparing you for your first day back at school." They high-fived. What a burn. "You're going to regret saying that when I get slapped silly," I said and stood up, swinging my schoolbag over my back. "Wait and see. A handprint will be literally slapped onto my face, and you'll rue your antics!" "No regrets," Dad whispered as I walked out the door. "She's not going to get bullied, is she?" Mom asked him. "According to this article, she's more likely to get cyberbullied. Good thing we don't have internet." "I swear," I muttered, before moving away from the kitchen door. Just as I headed to the front door, my phone pinged several times, and it didn't stop even when I exited the house and walked down the driveway toward the car. Summer sat in the driving seat; phone positioned against the steering wheel as she typed random nonsense into the device while staring at me with the broadest grin she could formulate. I knew then it was a day where everyone and anyone would pit their efforts into annoying the hell out of me. I climbed into the passenger seat and swiped her phone from her hand, ending the vibrating of my own phone. Summer didn't care. She started up the car and drove her merry way to school. As we pulled into the school parking lot, I couldn't help but think how ridiculous it was that sixteen-year-olds could drive. But what was worse was the fact that several had their very own car. Our household didn't even have the internet, and yet other people my age had a vehicle. It made no sense to me whatsoever. All the cars were parked, the buses were long gone, and all was silent. We were late. Super late, apparently. The only living creature was the seagull that glided across the clear blue sky. "Oh s**t," Summer said, jumping up and knocking into me. "What the hell?" "The seagull's s**t has landed. I repeat. Seagull s**t. Landed. There." "What? Where?" "Right there," she said, pointing to the pavement, inches away from her shoe. "Karma's a b***h," I said. "And Luna's a lunatic." "That wasn't remotely smart." "Never claimed intelligence, only a wicked sense of where bird's poop flies and dodging said shit." I flung open the school door and sighed. "Your name depresses me." Summer hung her head low and replied, "A constant reminder that we wasted away the summer. You know what? My name is Autumn now." "I'm actually going to call you that now, you know." "I'll only ever respond to Autumn, so that's cool with me." It was official. Her nickname was Autumn. The first day of school, ever since I could remember, was always a personal shitstorm. When I was nine, the back door of the bus opened at the same time that I got up and I tripped and fell out of the bus as it was going ten miles an hour. A year after that, I tumbled into a shelving unit and knocked piles of opened cans down and covered myself in an assortment of colour paints. I didn't even have an art class; I was asked to pass a note to the teacher. Of course, then there was the year that I accidentally stapled a teacher's slab of skin. Honestly, that time wasn't my fault. She shouldn't have left her arm next to the paper I was trying to staple. Through all these incidents, there was Summer. She was laid back. She laughed when bad things happened to people. Ever since discovering who she was, that she was, in fact, a girl, and not a boy, her eyes sparkled, and her confidence skyrocketed out of this world. Summer found my one day a year clumsiness hilarious and decided she wanted to be friends with that specific entertainment. We barrelled through the hallways and tumbled into homeroom. "As always, a good start to the year, ladies," Mr. Philips drawled, motioning toward the two remaining seats in the front row. "Start as you mean to go on," I muttered. "What was that?" he asked. "Heartfelt apologies, sir," Summer responded for me. "Sure, it was," he said. "Your schedules on your desk. There's no excuse for tardiness anymore." Hours went by, and I remained on edge, waiting for something catastrophic to happen. Try not to burn the building down my mom said that morning and it was a genuine concern of hers. It wasn't a matter of if something would happen, but when it would happen. I hated the feeling of waiting, especially for something terrible to happen. Alarm bells of doomsday warning buzzed in my head, preparing for the worst and my body reacted in kind, rigid and waiting for the moment to get the hell out of a crappy situation created by my own limbs. In the meantime, I allowed Summer to drag me down the hallway so that we stood at our lockers. It wasn't an aimless journey, there was a purpose to her steps; eagerness. I used the same combination every year, and quickly flicked through the numbers and shoved my head into the locker. It needed decorating. "You're not this lame, are you?" Summer asked, shoving the locker door lightly into the side of my head. "You're like an ostrich, Luna. Shoving its head into the dirt and hiding away." "Locker. It's a locker. Clean, sanitised. Huge difference here." "Not by much. Honestly, are you reading that thing at school? Isn't too precious to bring to a place like this?" I flicked through the pages and paused before I responded. "Hello? Summer, we were literally at a graveyard in the middle of the woods last night. School is probably safer. Don't you think?" "If you say so. I don't know how you can read with your cracked glasses but okay. Did you hear everyone talking about the transfers?" Summer asked. "Nope." "Right. Reading. I forgot. Well, there's only one transfer we're interested in," she said, speaking for both herself and me. "Right. And who's that?" I asked. "An orphan," she revealed. "Her family died in a fire. She was the only survivor." "Oh," I said. "Is that just a rumour?" "I don't think so. We're doing better than hearing. We can see. Look." When I didn't respond to her instruction straight away, she grabbed the back of my t-shirt and hauled my head out of the locker. She slammed it shut, making people cast a look in our direction. I scanned the crowd aimlessly until Summer tapped twice on my arm when I reached a certain girl. I pretended for the sake of Summer to look, but my vision was impaired because of the cracked glasses. I could see a vague outline of the figure, tall at around five foot five, icy blonde hair that might've been curled and might not have been, blue denim jacket and a white top underneath. Maybe. Maybe her entire outfit was different. The real details, of her face and accessories, were a mystery. I hummed my acknowledgment and fidgeted with the side of my glasses to sell my interest in this new person. Summer swirled me around and asked. "Well?" "Pretty," I commented. "Very pretty," she agreed. "Too pretty." "How can someone be too pretty?" I asked. "Someone's too pretty when they make you question your sexuality," she told me matter of factly, which made me snort. "Do I want to be her? Do I want to be under her? Who knows? I'm open to any possibility. That's how you know that's she's too pretty. What about you?" "What about me?" "Be her? Under her? Above her? In her general vicinity?" she listed casually. Maybe a little too casually. "Mom did call me out for being gay last night," I said. She swung her hand and snapped her fingers. "Damn. She beat me to it." I rolled my eyes. 'I'm not going to stress over it. I'll like whoever I'll like." "You haven't liked anyone before," she stressed. "Except Gabriel. But he doesn't count." "Hence, future tense usage. Don't stress out over it. I'm not." "You agree though, she's pretty?" "I was the first one to say that, wasn't I?" Summer nodded and leaned against her locker. I copied her and took out the book, using both hands to hold it up because it was big. Of course, because both my hands were occupied, my nose began to itch and tingle because a strand of my hair fell down my face. I blew it away, but it kept coming back so I curled my lips up, pursed like a duck face and blew a few more times, much to the amusement of Summer who could have easily reached over and removed it herself. "The pretty girl was looking at you, by the way," Summer told me. "Yeah, right," I said with a scoff. "Seriously, her first impression of you; a spaz. How neat. How...truthful to your character. Consistency, Luna, that's the key to life." "Liar." "Trust me, I wouldn't lie about pretty girls staring at you, Luna. Especially when you're acting like a dork when they do." I tried looking in the girl's direction, but my sight was stupid. I sighed and hung my head. "I need contact lenses," I muttered. "Sorry about that but to be fair, you didn't have to swing that book into my face." "You didn't need to be wearing my glasses either, but we both did." Chapter 3 Seventeen was a strange age. At least for me, it was. Adults, whether it be teachers or parents and even some peers expected an answer when they asked what you wanted to do for the rest of your life. It was one of the more dreaded questions that I could've been asked, second to, can I try on your glasses? Most of the time, people weren't genuinely interested in your response. It was a question asked to stir up a conversation, a conversation that you could easily zone out and let the other person talk about their passion. Everyone preached that it was okay to not know yourself, that your twenties—out in the real world was the time to explore the crevices of yourself—but we had to choose a career basis, life-altering and determining decision before we had the chance to discover who we were. It made no sense to me that before we could explore our options that we were made to choose. The choices we made when we were young defined the opportunities and experiences that shaped us into who we were when we were older, and I didn't want to make life a hassle for the future Luna Leighton. Daydreaming and fantasies felt shameful, especially when I couldn't give reality a deep and thoughtful consideration. Maybe that's one of the reason's the Griffin journal caught my interest so much; it was someone else's history and lore, and it didn't have anything to do with me so how could it make me feel bad about myself? It was divided into sections, of the Griffin family and their hand-drawn portraits and their handprints. One page from each section had been ripped out, meaning someone was probably booted from the family or there was something to hide. The secrecy made me think that maybe I shouldn't read the journal as it wasn't my heritage to read. But the words pulled me back to the pages as quickly as that thought struck. That's why I sat in a lone corner in the library, riffling through the journal, about to delve into a way to cast spells by writing symbols on a piece of paper and burning them without an ounce of anxiety lingering in my bones, not until someone breathed down my neck without making their presence known verbally. "Whoa, nerding it up, even more, this year, Looney?" A hand gripped the side of my face because I refused to look up from the book. He continued, "Hello, I asked you a question." "No more than usual, Gabriel," I answered, shaking his hand off me. "Nice goggles. Is that...is that tape?" "I'm leaving," I said and stood up with the book under my arm. When Gabriel didn't get out of my way, I shoved my shoulder into his and walked by him. "Stop, all right? Why can't we ever have a civil conversation?" he called from behind me. "First of all, we're in a library," I pointed out in a whisper and swung around lazily. "Second, no. When you see an ex, the normal thing to do is pretend you haven't seen them, make a cringed out face and hide. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be hiding somewhere in this gigantic library. Or not. Point being, I'm hiding somewhere that you're not." "We