|The Suburban Witch Diaries, Book 1: A Prologue
Author: xXHoodieBearXx PM
An amateur witch saves her friend from abusive parents, then uses her magic to do whatever she wants. She later has to face down a cold rich boy who seems to know about said magic. An attempt at Semi-Urban Fantasy. I don't expect this to be taken very seriously. Complete, albeit this is the first of a series.Rated: Fiction T - English - Fantasy - Chapters: 14 - Words: 27,373 - Updated: 08-19-12 - Published: 08-17-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3051240
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: So, um, yeah. This thing. ...Imma just go ahead and tell you all that this really isn't going to be a good story. It's really just something I wrote as a stress outlet, and my basic attitude towards anything resembling a plot was essentially throwing my hands up and being like, 'Fuck it, I'm writing what I want to happen and I don't care how horrible it turns out.'
So, um, yeah. Major warnings: Be prepared for the heroine swearing. A lot. Like, it's pretty much a regular part of speech for her. And also for me making things up as I go, as I'm still working out details as to how exactly to get from point A to point Z. However, once this prequel is over, I like to think the, for lack of a better term, main event will turn out much better, since by this point I'm much more enamored with the latter than this.
Also, this shall be in format of the heroine's journal. I'll apologize now for making it sound as if it were being told orally by an airheaded teenage girl rather than in proper goddamn English.
And I'll go ahead and add a disclaimer now that I own nothing of any mentioned franchises, brands, store chains, websites, etc that may be mentioned from this point forward. I really don't have the patience to bland-product-rename most things.
November 2nd, Friday 9:13 pm
Decided to start on that 'love potion' I found. With all the things I've blown up, crashed, and otherwise destroyed so far in my endeavors, I figure I should probably start going for smaller-scale, less risky, inoffensive magic-y stuff.
How long has it been since I started this? Feels like months. Though knowing my usual sense of time, it's probably only been about three weeks at most.
Looking back on my previous writings, I have to almost laugh at myself. I sound like a different, stupider person, maybe a child or something. To quote myself:
"So, apparently more than one of my ancestors were burned as witches, and there's some possibility that a number of the ones before that may have been involved in the truth behind the big names, like Morgan le Fay or Circe (Since I like to think that most legends have some thin shade of truth to them somewhere.)"
...Of course, it's probably an insult to think of those killed during those Salem witch hunts as actual witches, now that I think about it. I mean, the whole thing (the one in Salem, at least) was basically a massacre started by a bunch of little girls who wanted attention, as far as I know. Not to mention that Circe, assuming I meant the one from Homer's Odyssey, is kind of unlikely, as my dad, the self-proclaimed family historian or whatever, has yet to find any Greek relations.
"… So, does this mean there's a possible Harry Potter-ish reason I kept seeing dead people when I was a kid? Or that I'll be able to fly if I stick a broom between my legs?"
Which... actually sounds somewhat unpleasant, now that I think of it in a certain light. I just crossed my legs.
"...Of course, chances are I'd only make myself look stupid if I actually tested any of this, so I suppose I'll just have to wait and see if I ever get a Hogwarts letter or start setting shit on fire when I'm pissed."
Pfft. If only it were that simple for a water elemental to induce spontaneous combustion. Exploding things, sure, it's practically a reflex. But setting up a simple campfire? Takes a small truckload of concentration for some reason. Plus, I already spend most of my time alone, so of course the risk of looking stupid didn't stop me. And as it turns out, yes, brooms can fly, but I'm overweight and was using a plastic-handled broom, so I'm lucky to have gotten all of two feet off the ground. I theorize this has something to do with weight, density, other physics crap, and/or that plastic just doesn't work as well as legit wood or something. Also, you have to be careful how you sit, or else there will be a particularly uncomfortable intrusion into your lady parts.
From an objective standpoint (Once I stop to smell the roses, so to speak.), this must sound really weird and unbelievable. A person less gullible and superstitious than myself might have had their mind blown and refused to accept that things like magic exist. In some stupid high school movie, Generic McMainCharacter would've probably been all like, "I don't want this! I just want to be normal!" by the time I first blew up an old Barbie doll with a mechanical pencil as a wand.
Good thing I've never been all that fond of this reality. I spend the majority of my time trying to escape it. Too many obnoxious people, all trying to make themselves out to be special snowflakes, as if they were stuck in a land of 'fake' people who always start 'drama' and yet never seem to learn how to deal with said 'drama.'
Also, Jersey Shore. Just... just Jersey Shore.
Oh well. As I said, right now I'm working on this supposed 'love potion' I found in this Rose McKnight lady's journal thing. (I've begun just calling it my 'spellbook,' though obviously that sounds a bit cliché. My main alternatives are things like 'Rose Journal' or 'Rose Book.') All I can say is, thank whatever god(s) there may be for Google, as there's no other way I could've been able to find all these ingredients (Dear Rose McKnight: What the Hell possessed you to use Latin names for everything? What, did all colonists in the sixteen-ish-hundreds just use Latin in everyday conversation or something? I wouldn't really hold it against you too much if you were like all the other white, assumedly British colonists at the time and were all like 'English = win.' I mean, hey, everybody was at least somewhat racist back then. Plus, you know, I'd have been able to freaking understand you from the get-go. Though I suppose I should be grateful you didn't write your actual entries in Latin, too. My best guess is that you were trying to keep shit covert in case one of your neighbors ever tried to get you burned at the stake or something.), which I've had to spend a rather unfortunate amount of my money on, and a just as unfortunate amount of time trying to explain to my parents how I need to dissect very specific types of herbs for Bio homework.
(Dear Mrs. Dennisburg: My apologies if you receive a strongly-worded email from my mother telling you off for making me cut up plants in my spare time when we've been in the process of mutilating dead rats for the past week or so.)
So, yeah, so far I've got these yarrow flower things, some bay leaves, some tri-color viola things, and a bunch of the mainstream herbs, like lavender and rosemary, and that's all sitting around in what I can only call a makeshift cauldron (The huge-ass candy bowl nobody touches until Halloween, orange with little black bats dancing along the sides.), and I'm apparently supposed to let it sit for all of a minute and a half before lighting the tip of my wand on fire and dipping it into the solution, (I suppose like a lighter. I'm considering the comparatively safer, less-likely-to-set-the-house-on-fire option of just dropping a match into the thing, as the smaller the fire I have to make, the more concentration I have to have.) after which point I'm to recite some Latin (Which I've put through Google translator and concluded is basically something like, 'Dear magic, please help get me laid.') and then can basically just bottle it up and use it on some poor sap at my leisure. Apparently it's supposed to be good for at least a few decades, and a teaspoon is all it takes to work, so I can probably use it repeatedly if need be.
I've yet to decide who I want to use this potential roofie on, though. Trying to think of an option who's both attractive and accessible, in the sense that nobody would get suspicious at their cool, socially well-adjusted best friend suddenly acting like a shy schoolgirl (At least, that's a result I'm hoping for. Because shy males are adorable to a certain extent.) with a crush on some weird, asocial fat chick they had either never noticed before or only ever saw sitting in a corner, scribbling in some thick notebook she always covers up when someone came near. And then there's the added difficulty of societal prejudice if I decide to use it on a girl to take into account―