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The letter was written on papers she must have ripped out of a notebook; the sides were unevenly torn and the blue and pink lines had faded, meaning it had to have been an old book. All of her old ones were dark and faded. Analyzing it made me feel so distant from her, almost as if she was dead and I’d been reading the diary she left behind. My hands shook and my vision blurred; I couldn’t make out any of the words, so I placed the paper onto the coffee table and took a few deep breaths in order to calm myself down. As soon as my heart stopped pounding harshly and my stomach left my breakfast at peace, I brought the paper into reading distance, inhaled and exhaled one last time.

My Dear Lillith,

That is a ridiculous way to start a letter, don’t you agree? I mean, it sounds like I’m about to confess a secret I’ve kept for ages, or like I’m going to tell you I’m madly in love with you, which I am but not in the way the letter makes it sound. Heh, heh. I think it’s funny. I’ll be calling you Dear Lillith from now on.

My new roommate is a forty-year-old housewife type. She’s really sweet and reminds me a bit of my mother but she’s a lot more open and smiles more often. Don’t get me wrong, your grandmother was, I mean is a very lovely person. It’s just that this lady is a better version of her; a funnier one.

So, anyway, this roommate of mine, Anastasia, she writes letters to all of her children (there’s seven of them) once a week. She says she knows she’ll be here long and she doesn’t want them to feel any less loved or missed. She told me she’s scared they’ll feel forgotten. I thought that was the perfect excuse to write letters to loved ones so I’m attempting to write one to you.

Was that a nice start? I’d like to think it was seeing as how it’s my first time writing to anyone.

I know that you’re scared when you come here to visit but it’s really is not as bad as it looks. The people come off frightening because, let’s face it, you don’t expect perfectly sane people to be in a mental clinic of any sort, but when you get to know them, share chocolates with them and confess your deepest and darkest pains together in a circle, they’re the greatest, strongest people you’ll ever meet. I kind of felt that way when Miss Robin was at the academy with us. I know you dislike most of the girls, but trust me, they have reasons to be the way they are. I’m glad you at least get along with one or two of them.

They’re holding a little get together here soon. They told us we can invite a friend or relative or two. When Sharon calls me, I’ll make sure to invite her, but I thought a phone call was too horrible to invite my daughter through. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, or if you feel weird about it. I won’t be offended in the least, but think about it. I’d love to see your little boyfriend, as well.

Sharon told me you’ve been getting into a bit of trouble at school, again. I would lecture you, like a normal mother, but I accept that it is mainly my fault. I know that choosing to live in the rehabilitation center was a wrong choice as a parent, but it was my choice. I haven’t made a lot of real decisions in my life and how could I possibly be a mother to you if I could barely deal with myself? I’m getting better, though, and as soon as I’ll get out of here I’ll start grounding you and taking your privileges away so you can hate me and I can laugh about how silly teenagers are. (I’m kidding, of course, except for the laughing part.) Seriously, though, you shouldn’t start so much trouble. I know you’re a demonic little being and it’s probably in your psyche to give people shit, but at least attempt passing some tests so you can get into college? After you do that, you can blow your school up for all I care. I promise.

I love you, Dear Lillith. (That’s going to get old so quickly.) I worry about you and miss you exceedingly. You are not forgotten. I think about you every day. I can picture you and your boyfriend sitting together on our couch, watching crappy movies (you said he was into directing?) and having to pretend you know what he means when he analyzes them. (Sounds fun?) Anastasia told me that I treat you more like a sister than a daughter, since I’m perfectly fine with you bringing a guy over to the house when I’m miles away, but that it’s adorable that we can be so close. (You hate her already, don’t you? She seams like someone you would dislike.) I told her I thought it was adorable how she believed her twenty-something-year-old kids with lives and children of their own gave a fuck about her when they never call or visit. She smiled faintly, probably changed her opinion of me, but she’s still been obnoxiously sweet. I’d lie if I said I didn’t like her, but let’s keep that between the two of us. We don’t want me to get a good reputation now, do we?

I just laughed so loud that a nurse came in and asked me if I was alright. I showed her the letter and she frowned at me. You could tell she wanted to laugh, too, though. The nurses here are even sweeter than the patients. It’s crazy! I really need to get back to the world of cynical teenage witches and a daughter that gets more sex than me. Ha, ha!

With abnormal amounts of love,
Your mother, Millie Harrison.

After I finished reading, I felt very tense. It was good to know she wasn’t upset. It was wonderful to hear her say she would be coming home soon and that she was well enough to make jokes and treat people cruelly. When Mother was depressed, she usually shut herself out of the lives of others and made the same types of comments, only on the inside. She was right, too; I didn’t like her roommate, but she sounded like the type of person I did want my mother to share a room with.

“Knock, knock.” Rachel and Haillie walked down the staircase and towards me. Other than Trixie Fontain, the two were the only WITs that I tolerated. Everyone else had been so artificial; so fake. They were the type of people that held everything inside and only shared their problems every once in a while with people who ended up hating them in the long run. I didn’t believe in “friendship”, except maybe that of Rachel and Haillie’s, since they’d been just like my mother and I. The protective one and the one who needed the protection. I would never be able to figure out which is which, however. In both cases.

“A letter? From whom, pray tell?” Haillie was delightful. She was basically what I would consider a Virgin Slut. She had that smile that made men think they could control her, but then deep within her eyes you could see her reality; the seductive, sinister woman who happened to be her own worst enemy. Haillie was walking irony; she had a cross around her neck at all times, which she held within her palm during most conversations, and she wore a nun’s getup and dresses you could tell she had from the church she lived in, cut so that her beautiful legs were shown and so massive controversy would be created. She was blasphemous. If I believed in God, I’d talk shit about her behind her back.

“It’s from my mother.” I handed the letter to them because I held no secrets. They sat down on the couch beside me; the living room couch on the first floor of the dormitory as opposed to the couch in my own living room on the west wing of the second floor, where the apartments had been.

“She sounds like an awesome person.” Rachel was like my mother in a few ways. They dressed the same way; flaunting their strengths (large breasts and great legs) and hiding their imperfections (Rachel wore a cowboy hat atop her mop of green hair whereas my mother wore a lot of bracelets to hide the scars on her wrists). They were both dazzling and for both, I had a high level of respect. At least they didn’t fear me as had the others. Fear had been my adrenaline rush, but respect was my alliance.

“She wants me to visit her. Would either of you like to come? I don’t think Raven would be comfortable there no matter how much he denies it.”

“I’d love to come.” Rachel spoke up first, but Haillie was already leaning as far as she could into the couch, slouched and small, outlining the fact that her height was quite petite. “But it’s not the right place for Haillie. I hope you understand.”

“Of course!” I smiled at Haillie, the natural genetically gained smirk that brought my mother more than a thousand one night stands.

The plans were made. The letter, placed back into its envelope and into my backpack where I could read of my mother’s affection and cheery disposition at all times. The three of us went into our rooms where I would be spending the night alone while they conversed until they were too tired to move their lips any longer. They came off like homosexuals at times, but their love for each other had been too flawless. If they were lovers, there would have been more conflict between the two. Plus, I asked Julie, who is my personal guide to lesbians, bisexuals and gays, and she said she doubted they were attracted to women. She did, however, say she didn’t doubt they slept together once. That fact made me respect them even more.

The next morning had been a typical one within the walls of the dormitory. Everyone woke in their own paces and readied themselves for breakfast at the enormous dining room table. I sat beside Aunt Sharon with Uncle Matthew at my right. Across from me was Zachary Mahoney: the human.

Aunt Sharon had been splendid, from her looks to her overall personality. She was kind, sincere, and quite loving which was the opposite of her twin’s, my mother’s, usual cruel, corrupt and distant way of life. Aunt Sharon had long brown hair, dark and brittle with beautiful eyes resembling my mothers’ but not to their fullest extent. She wore dresses often now-a-days because it was more comfortable since her stomach had been undergoing some serious. changes (her womb, more specifically). She didn’t eat a lot, and it shocked us to see her eating downstairs with us instead of in her apartment. I usually ate in my own kitchen but both Miss Lena and Aunt Sharon thought it would be better for me to get out and get closer with the girls. It seamed like no one was allowed to isolate themselves in this place, anymore. I blamed my mother for that.

Aunt Sharon always drove me to school. She didn’t have a job outside of helping Miss Lena at the academy and with the baby slowly developing, she didn’t really have much else to do. We drove up for Raven every morning and then she dropped the both of us off at his house every afternoon. It was like that even before my mother moved out, but it was comfortable and reassuring. If there were any people in the world I could say I loved it would be my mother, my aunt and my boyfriend. Sometimes Uncle Matthew was difficult to see as an Uncle and not as a piece of meat, but I loved him, too, within the depths of my sick and twisted demonic core.

The worst part about being a mystical creature was the afternoon lessons. I basically did everything the witches did, while adding my own sadistic spins, of course. Even during school I blew girls skirts up, made it obnoxiously cold or warm, made their make-up run down their faces, caused their hair to fall out when they fixed their scrunchies, made their nails so sharp that the skin they touched automatically bled, and etcetera. Miss Lena’s excuse for me had been my malevolence … After all, my birth had not been natural and in human years I had only been about seven.

So this afternoon we had to line up, again, and attempt growing trees by ourselves. It was a simple spell and Miss Lena spent two days helping us memorize it. The ones whose tree bloomed the fastest could leave the lesson early, if they wished to, so I focused all of my energy in getting it right.

My mother’s witches hat had been a little large for me, but I didn’t alter it. I liked how it sometimes fell down to my nose and interrupted me in the middle of a spell. It was quite funny and reminded me of how my mother always made me laugh when I was trying to be serious. Her soul had been in everything she had left when she moved out, and it would return to her when her body started to rest in the bed it should.

Miss Lena passed by. “Wonderful,” she said to Catherine Bloom, who was almost always somewhere close by me during lessons. She worked spells with sign language, which looked pretty astounding most of the time. Golden sparks spelled out ancient languages and flew around as if she’d been attempting to paint on air. Appealing sounds were produced by the movement of her fingers, hands and arms but she couldn’t hear them. I sent golden sparks of my own into her incantation and ruined things for her. Sometimes I just found it abnormally difficult to be nice, or to stay out of peoples business.

Miss Lena paused to watch me working. I sat on my broom, which we weren’t supposed to do, with one leg crossed on top of the other, and my hands crossed under my chest. With the snap of my fingers a tiny seed appeared on the ground before us, quickly sprouting roots and a bark. As soon as the bark grew slightly, branches started entwining and lacing together; leaves filling them with color and the scent of woods. Everyone’s gazes were at my tree, reaching what had probably been a mile upwards into the sky. I looked at Miss Lena who, though seeing my abilities, seamed disappointed. I frowned and as soon I had, each leaf fell and covered the lot of us, falling off and evaporating before they hit the ground. The branches looked like they had been returning into the bark that lit up in one single flame and disappeared from our sight as well.

Choker, my mother’s snake hissed and wrapped himself warmly and tightly around my right arm, much like a vine would.

I felt like an outcast again. A powerful outcast.

As per usual, I had been allowed to make the decision; stay with the witches or go on about your life? Of course, I chose the Raven way out. He usually waited in the apartment for me. He knew what I had been and I trusted him not to come downstairs and get me in trouble for having someone around during lessons. I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about what I really was, either, but Mother never seamed to mind.

Raven was beautiful. He was strong, covered with tanned skin and muscles so rough I wondered why it felt so great to cuddle with him. He had blue hair, always falling to cover his face and urging me to stoke and play. His lips were perfect, burgundy and kissable. He was my darkest desire and my guilty pleasure. Who’d have though the naughty one would be the one to fall in love? I’m not sure if that’s what it was, but it sure felt like it most of the time.

“You live here so you can learn to control your powers, right?” he asked as we lied together on my bed watching commercials and flipping through channels trying to find something we can make fun of.

I nodded.

“But you always try so hard to get out of lessons.” Disappointment or worry was easily noticed in his voice. He felt guilty for tearing me away but what he didn’t know is whether or not he was around, I still didn’t want to be in the company of anyone other than Trixie, Rachel and/or Haillie.

“It’s not because of you –-”

“I want you to try to get along with them, Lillith. It means so much to me. And to your mother. I mean, you’re a demon. What if you start hating them and something in you sets you off to start destroying?” He was starting to rant. “Remember that story you told me about your aunt going crazy? What if your mother can’t save you?”

“I think you’re being ridiculous.” Rising from my bed I walked towards my dresser and put on Mother’s witches hat. “I don’t think I’m going to kill anyone.”

“What if these pranks start getting out of hand? You said you can’t control yourself when you do them, and you already blew up the Chemistry lab twice. If that cheerleader didn’t get out, she would have died. They closed down the school for a week after that.”

It was true. I did have a tendency to get in way over my head sometimes. “It really doesn’t matter, then. At least not to me. These lessons aren’t going to change me or help me with anything. I’m not a witch.”

I’m not even human.

(c) Sylwia Wielgosz 2004.