What would you do to make this life worth living?
We say life is short; what if someone told you death would come for you soon? Many of you have just had the same thought: “Live every day like the last”.
The reality is, unless you live it, you wouldn’t know what you would do.
As you read this story, I invite you to think. What would you do?
Pendle
I remembered that day so clearly.
Everyone gathered closely—black clothes and umbrellas covering the small plot. I stood close to my mother and brother at the front. Our coven gathered around us, supporting and mourning my dad with us.
I felt numb. My cheeks were stained with never-ending tears. I tried to stay strong for my mother and brother. Sometimes, even the strong must fall.
My hand shook as I took a fist full of dirt and covered the wooden urn six feet into the ground.
His plot was not too far away from his mother, my grandmother, as he wished.
As the rest of the earth was returned into the hole, I was distracted by a rogue squirrel running across the wet earth and looking down at her plot.
There was something… calming about graveyards.
I placed three silver coins onto the mound of dirt now covering the wooden urn. I felt a rush of unexpected energy; I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
When exhausted, I had difficulty keeping what little magic I had hidden.
A large familiar hand on my shoulder told me it was noticed. Nixon, our coven leader, had a firm touch. I knew the words without hearing them, ‘I cannot control it.’
He let go with a squeeze… We would be having another ‘chat’.
I was too grief-stricken to care.
Mum stayed longer as the others travelled to the wake.
Wistful, I set fresh flowers down by Grandma’s headstone. I remembered the good times in my childhood; nostalgia came over me as I could hear her praises for my ability to conjure magic and fire easily…
‘What would she think now?’ I thought apprehensively, ‘Disappointed?’
“Lexi? Come on, it’s time to go.”
Lathen, a childhood friend, coaxed me back to earth. He had a youthful face. 5”9 tall guy with jet black hair, large waves framing his face and dark chocolate eyes to match, like looking into a void. The first one I’d met in our coven group when we were babies.
He was more sensitive to your emotions, genuinely caring and empathetic. Everything he did came from the heart. In our early teens, we did get together after he admitted having a crush on me.
Lathen gently patted my shoulder as I stood next to him. He has been a friend to lean on since my father was in a coma and through his death.
“May he travel quickly to you in the Summerland,” I prayed and placed three silver coins on top of the headstone.
With a kiss on top of the headstone, I left with Lathen to join the coven at the wake.
From that day, I hoped I would not see much death for numerous years.
Now, a year later. It was difficult to adjust without Dad, but somehow, we moved past the grief and held onto the notion that he was watching over us.
I missed his face, his smile.
I know my mum was still hurt, yet she held it well as we visited them in the familiar graveyard.
I sighed before pulling out the old flowers as my brother opened the new pack.
“One year,” Mum mumbled, “Time does fly.”
We left Mum there. She preferred to murmur to the headstone and said she felt he was closer when she was there. She would update him about the events over the year.
Pulling into the driveway, I turned to Alexander, my 14-year-old brother.
He looked much more like our mum, slightly tanner, with brown eyes; he was closely catching up to my 5"4 height.
“Are you okay?” I asked gently.
“Yeah,” he muttered, “I just don’t like graveyards.”
I breathed a laugh and left the car after rubbing his shoulder.
Unlocking the door, I was greeted by the familiar sandalwood incense and beige walls. My mum repainted the walls after my dad passed away last year. It was simple and neutral colours: beige, white, and woody browns.
He was the DIY dad, building and modifying the house without magic. It was difficult for my mum to make changes to the house. Everything reminded her of his handiwork; she wanted to keep it as it was, but the wear and tear had forced her hand.
I hear the cat, Sooty, crying for his lunch.
‘Food, food!’ is mostly all I hear from him. Wasting away, dying from starvation…
“Alright, alright, come on.”
I watched him dart from the living room, past me to the kitchen—Sat there, a black cat with a paw on the cupboard hoarding away his food. As I pulled a pouch out, he purred and danced around the legs, making me smile. He does it every time.
I put down the filled bowl and looked around the house we called home. Mum got professionals to install a sliding patio door for easy access to the back garden.
The herb and vegetable garden was now a pastime I did alone with my dad and mentor gone. I glanced at the large clock on the wall, 2 p.m.
Time for more research.
I got comfortable on the sofa with a thick book in hand and a pencil in my teeth. “Rare curses and defensive spells” is a once-abandoned book by my father. It was dotted with pencil scribbles and Post-it notes. Some of my own and others of his. He taught me about these Dark spells.
I remembered his anger at me finding the book and wanting to read it. After a short talk between parents, he began to talk me through basics. More importantly how to undo and protect against these spells.
Naively, I asked the coven members to help me after Dad passed… I should have known no one would help me learn dark spells. Nixon nearly set the book alight on ‘accident’.
Now, I self-taught from the scribbles Dad left behind. I got to work.
A couple of hours in, I came to another annoying halt. This is now the fifth page missing from the book, its edge frayed, some ink remaining, and the small piece left behind, but nothing to work with.
I sighed in frustration. I noticed the book getting thinner over the last four years. But I never mentioned it to my dad. There must have been a reason he didn’t want me to read into certain spells. I assumed he would return them when the ‘time was right’.
Now, I may never know them.
I moved on to the next section, ‘Jinxing Spells’.
Mew?
Sooty jumped onto the armrest and slowly approached me, making me put the book down. That was enough; a couple of hours of study gave me a lot to think about.
I checked my phone for a new message in the coven group chat.
As I typed a reply, the front door creaked open slowly. I leaned over the side of the sofa and watched Mum walk through slowly, shaking her umbrella off.
Behind her, the clock on the wall was stuck at 2:03 pm.
Every clock in the house had stopped at the same time.
The time of my father’s death.
