Entropy

II - Witch Girl

"Witch girl, Witch girl,

Sitting on the fire,

Witch girl, Witch girl,

How do you like your pyre?

With Holly and Oak and Ashwood and Fern,

Burn, Burn, Burn!"

The children below the window were singing, holding hands, and dancing in a circle. "My turn to be the witch!" a girl with brown pigtails screamed before jumping into the center. The children reformed the circle and repeated their ritual.

"Witch girl, Witch girl..."

The pigtailed girl threw herself to the ground, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her hands scratched furiously on her skin, as if a fire was eating her up.

It was a cold, cold day. The sky outside was a bleak and desperate gray that foretold of a great torment of rain to come. A crying wind screeched as it haunted the city, harassing the tree branches relentlessly. It was the perfect day to pretend to be witches.

Nicholas slammed the window shut. The whole scene disturbed him. He would've slapped them and screamed "What the hell is wrong with you?! Killing is not a joke!" if that wouldn't get him arrested. Miguel raised an eyebrow at his sudden movement.

"You'll wake Lyra."

"Oh right...sorry..." Nicholas sighed before sitting back down against the wall.

Miguel was sitting on the armrest of one of the padded chairs, his arms folded. He was much older and mature than the older two, but even he seemed exhausted.

They were in an ugly room. Someone had tried to make it look comfy by painting a layer of cream-colored white on the walls, but it now looked like a coffeemaker had exploded and the stuff had splattered all over the place. With the lights off, the walls turned an odd light grayish-blue. Potted plants weeping from neglect sulked in the corners. Even the chairs were stiff and itchy.

Lyra was lying down on the sofa across from the chairs, still asleep. Her boldly dyed light-pink hair draped off of the side, and her iridescent contact lenses sat on the coffee table, staring up at Nicholas. Her vivid fashion style was less of an expression of her personality and more derived from a thirst of what he suspected was an inner need for individualism. The cheery pink hair just didn't match her cold, brash attitude. He squirmed uncomfortably. It was no good, the unworn contacts weirded him out, the creepy little song was getting stuck in his head, and his muscles felt stiff from sitting so long. He got up.

"I need some air," he muttered to Miguel as he passed him. He needed space and felt inexplicably agitated.

Outside, the walls of the hallway were painted a similar cream. The floorboards were made of old wood and groaned in pain when you stepped on them. They were currently on the second floor of Professor Wintory's home, right outside the edge of the college campus in the small section of suburbs in the city's shadow. It was a pretty ancient house, maybe early 21st century, and lacked a ton of the technology that modern houses had. The hallway was cramped, so he couldn't hang out here. He didn't want to go outside and hear the creepy little kids and their game again either, so he went into the bathroom instead.

Instantly, he was assaulted by a wave of nauseating potpourri as he entered. Why couldn't he get a break today? As he looked around, he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror and bit back a startled cry. It was the same familiar face: the short black hair with an odd, slightly blueish tint under the bathroom light, the timid blue eyes that shied away from eye contact. But the gray lines under his eyes blatantly tattled about the two sleepless nights he had just spent. His face had a pale pallor from all the stress. If his mother saw him now, she'd drag him back home by the ear while endlessly nagging about how he'd neglected to take care of himself again. She had already fretted about letting him even come to the big city for college.