Literature
The Witch of the West is Dead - Redux
I dropped her hands, watching her face twist in a way that was sad, but somehow holding back. I knew she could read my actions like no one else. I knew she was all too aware of my intentions. The thought of that sickened me. I was horrible for doing this, for making her think I along with everyone else she ever cared for was dead. What kind of friend was I? But I couldn’t back out now, no, I’d gone too far to turn around. My fate was sealed. In a minute I’d be ‘dead.’
“Hide yourself, please,” I begged. I hoped, even maybe prayed that she wouldn’t see, hoped that somehow she’d be spare