by Billy Miner
In this story about a Minecraft witch, you can read or listen to the troubles of a young woman, an aspiring witch who struggled with her inability to get it “just right.” She had been experimenting for a long time, and she was about to go crazy. But then she met her nemesis, the opponent that she despised yet needed in order to accomplish her long-desired goal: The perfect potion.
Entry 1: That Formula
I was almost there; the perfect potion was within my reach. What is the perfect potion? Well, the one that grants you eternal youth of course. I knew it existed. I had heard of it many times before, but it was as if it was some secret recipe handed down throughout generations. I am sure a lot of witches had already used it and were now enjoying the wonderful effects of living forever. But I wasn’t…
I got up that day. It was a sunny morning, and I have to admit I was a little irritated because the light had woken me up. I yawned, I stretched my arms and legs, and in my underwear, I walked to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror.
“Holy guacamole!” I exclaimed.
I had just discovered the terrible state my hair was in. It was a huge mess. And even though I wouldn’t go out to meet anyone today, I always considered taking care of myself a huge priority.
Oh, did mention my name? I totally forgot. Let me introduce myself. I am Walata and I am 18 years old. My mom and dad love me, but they were a little strict.
Yeah, not good.
They were so uptight that they made sure I was always on time; I always had to look like a doll; I always had to watch my manners at the table; I always had to get good results in school; I always had to… okay, you get the point, don’t you? They were perfectionists. But not me. Because even though I am looking for the perfect potion, I really don’t care about perfectionism. Not everything has to be exactly right. You can be a little off and still manage to do fine, don’t you think?
That’s how it was with me. I was always a little off. I fell asleep during witch classes. Oh, did I mention my mother is a witch. Well, there you go; I said it. She is. And she insisted on my career as a witch as well. She constantly told me about the benefits of magic, real magic, as she used to say. My dad agreed, of course, so I was sent to various schools in the district that taught the art of witchcraft. And when I say “witchcraft,” I am obviously referring to the good kind.
No, I don’t do that evil, dark stuff. “Black magic” is simply not an option for me.
Anyway, so I was saying something about being “off.” Here is the thing: I was dyslexic, which means I have a hard time reading. I thought the letter “p” and the letter “q” looked the same, and I could never grasp the difference between the letters “d” and “b” if you know what I mean. It’s a miracle my diary isn’t full of spealling mystakes, or is it? Oh, who cares, as long as you can read it, right?
Another thing that was a little “off” about me, was my lack of concentration. The world is beautiful. I was so happy to see colors, hear sounds and music, and perceive all the different smells around me. It was hard for me to block everything else out and focus on one task. It was like an overload of the senses.
With these quirks, I wasn’t suitable for school. I transferred from one school to the other, only to find myself in another classroom with all kinds of girls who were supposed to be the smartest ones in town but didn’t even know how to look good.
I knew how to look good.
A lot of guys were interested in me. They always looked when I walked by, and some of them whistled. When there was a dance, each boy would stand in line to take me there. I could pick easily between them, and the other girls watched in awe, incredibly jealous of the flirtatious behavior that just came naturally to me.
So yes, I was a real looker, but I just didn’t feel smart. I felt like dumb. I felt as if I belonged at a school with a bunch of models, but not witches. Witchcraft (again, the good kind) was hard! Each time I tried to put the elements together that I thought were in the old, dusty books, I ended up making some stupid mistake which caused the entire brew to boil over or turn into the wrong color.
But it was over now. I had given up on school. I was going to do it mySELF! When I told my parents, my mother encouraged me and wished me luck, but my father was as stern as ever.
“You better come back with something worthwhile,” he said when I left.
I assured him I would, but I had no clue how it was going to work out. I left town and went to live in a quiet hideout on the other side of the mountains. It was a cozy cottage, so I didn’t mind, but it was awfully lonely sometimes.
However, I was determined to demonstrate the best formula and the best potion to my parents. They would be proud of me… super proud! Yep. That was my motivation: To show my parents. I think we all have that a little bit; that our whole purpose in life is to get our parents’ attention.
So here I was in my cottage, putting together the toe of a creeper, an enderman’s hair, and a few magic mushrooms. The cauldron was big. The smells from it weren’t very good anymore, but I was following the instructions in the big magic book and was stirring heavily to get these fluids going.
Entry 2: Boom!
When I looked for the lemon pepper, I bumped my head.
“Ouch!” I said.
Then I heard another sound, “Meow!”
“Hey, Zimbab. What are you doing here? I thought you were hunting mice.”
“Meow,” was the answer.
If only I had invented a potion to speak “cat.” That would have been helpful. Now Zimbab was purring. He was getting in the way a little.
“Okay, that’s enough,” I said. “You can go do something else now.”
The cat kept rubbing its side against my leg. I wasn’t too pleased with it, and I felt like kicking it away.
“That’s enough!” I shouted. “I am busy! Sorry, Zimbab. Some other time will be better.”
But Zimbab wouldn’t go away. Instead, he became fussy and started meowing louder and louder. He ran around in circles and wouldn’t leave the room even after I opened up the door.
“Go already!” I yelled.
Clumsy cat! It walked backwards and knocked me over, so that I fell over and bumped into the cauldron. The fluids in the cauldron flowed over and dropped into my shirt.
“Ouch!” I said again. “This is it! You are leaving. NOW!”
I took the cat and held it in front of me. I quickly walked to the door, said, “Cat-a-pult!” and threw him out the door. Did you know cats don’t always land on their paws? Ha-ha! Poor Zimbab landed on his face.
Thud!
Oh well, that’s what she got for letting me trip and getting hot fluid in my shirt. I am just glad it didn’t actually burn my skin.
I decided to look at the damage. I grabbed a rag and cleaned up the rest of the mess. Luckily, it wasn’t really bad.
I continued with the formula, the descriptions and the complicated chemical explanations in the book I was using. The book was of ancient origins. It was made a few thousand years ago and handed down to me. Witchcraft isn’t easy. You can’t just create a magical item or drink. It all has to be done according to specific steps, and the exact extract of each additive is required to make it work. In other words, it was quite difficult.
Take 2 teaspoons of vinegar, mix it with a snake’s tail, an end of 11 inches, put a golden drop from the high mountains in it, stir frequently, and then sprinkle three particles from the explosive effects of a creeper before adding an enderwither’s eye.
And that’s just one of the 20 paragraphs I had to read for one recipe. But this was the ultimate recipe! And fortunately, I had most of these ingredients anyway. You may wonder where you can find an enderwither’s eye or the particles from a creeper, but I have to admit I was impressed with the schools’ inventories and how much they were willing to sell to me at a low price. All I had to do, was combine them.
“Okay, a little bit of this… and then that… it’s coming. I think I am almost done.”
&nbs
p; I added the last ingredients.
BOOOOOM!!!!
The fluids blew up and splattered all over my room. The entire floor was disgusting; it was everywhere. I was disappointed and covered in a hot kind of soup. Yuck! But more than anything I just wanted to find out what had gone wrong.
I flipped through the book again, going over all the steps I followed. Enderpearls… check… fish bone… check… 20 grains of salt… check… oh such perfectionism! But what was that? Only 2 teaspoons of vinegar? Oh no! I put 5 in! It’s that stupid dyslexia I am struggling with. Why did the one who invented the alphabet or numbers or something make the 2 and the 5 look so similar? Ughh… now my potion was ruined and I had to start all over again.
Another day, another mistake. Back to the beginning… it was all part of my routine. But someday, I would master this thing.
Entry 3: The Counterpart
I didn’t know what was in store for me… what was going to happen… until that dark day arrived. It was my nemesis, a woman from one of the witch schools who was bitter and angry. Her name was Myranda. She was always nagging, and she wasn’t very nice. I remember that whenever I had class with her, back in the days that I still went to school, she would take me apart and embarrass me in front of the whole class.
One time, for example, she made me bend over and touch my toes. I had no idea why, but I obeyed blindly. Afterwards, I knew that she just wanted me to mess up my hair I had so carefully done that morning, but instead of everyone laughing at me, I got some attention from boys who were looking closely, and were somewhat hypnotized by my beautiful body. I don’t think I want to talk about that a lot, but all I can say, is that some of them came to me after class and asked me on dates. It only gave me more attention, and I saw Myranda, my teacher, become green from jealousy.
She hated me. Why? Because I was attractive and she wasn’t. Her face wasn’t very symmetrical, she had a gigantic nose, and her black hat didn’t go along with her outfit… I could tell, especially with my sense of fashion.
So one day, I was just minding my own business in my tiny cottage, fiddling with the ingredients I had and re-reading the formula in my book, when I heard a knock on the door.
I opened up.
“Whaahaa! Yeehee!” she said.
There she was, not even waiting for me to talk to me. She knocked me over and I fell on the floor. It seemed to happen a lot lately. First by the cat, and then by… oh well, anyway, she ran towards my books, snatched the ancient book with the formula from the table, and exclaimed evil witch sounds.
I always knew there was something fishy about her. But when she said that she wanted the formula for eternal youth to reverse it and make everyone ugly, so that she wouldn’t be considered as such, I really knew she was messed up in the hat.
In a way, I felt for her, but the other half of my conscience told me to intervene.
“Give it back!” I shouted.
“No way, you annoying ‘beauty queen,’” she said sarcastically. “I am going to do the opposite of what’s in this book, and when I have figured it out, you will be the first one to turn ugly.”
“What did I ever do to you? Are you really that bitter that you want to turn everyone ugly?”
No response. She stepped on her broomstick and flew away. I ran back inside and grabbed mine. The chase had started.
Entry 4: The Chase
That evil witch. How dare she steal my recipe book? How dare she devise such evil schemes? I was focused and angry. I was going to stop her once and for all.
When I grabbed my broomstick, I saw Zimbab standing in the corner. He looked at me with pitiful eyes, as if he was apologizing for the previous accident he had caused. Poor cat. Maybe I could take him with me. He could come in handy.
Oh, what was I saying? He would just be in the way, just like before.
But then I looked into those big, cute eyes and I couldn’t resist. I picked him up and put him at the back of my broomstick.
“You better behave,” I told him.
Then I took off.
Flying through the air is a lot of fun. It’s one of the great benefits of being a witch. I have always loved it. And this time, I had to go faster than ever, because I was chasing my nemesis, the annoying Myranda with all her self-esteem issues, the one who took out all her problems on me, even though I never did anything on purpose to make her feel bad. It was ridiculous, and it just wasn’t fair.
I saw her. She had become a little dot in the distance, and I don’t know if she saw me following her, but one thing was for sure: I knew where I was going. It took about 20 minutes until I saw her descend to the earth and land somewhere in the woods. I decided to keep my distance, so I landed somewhere else. From afar, I spied on her. I noticed she had a little cottage herself, but hers was deep into the forest, not just visible for everyone to see, like mine. It felt more secretive this way, and I was curious what she was hiding in there.
I snuck closer. She had already gone inside.
“Meow,” Zimbab said.
“Ssshh…” I said, holding my finger in front of my mouth and looking at him.
I was talking to a cat. I felt a little stupid.
Together, we came to the cottage but we still hid outside. I peeked through the window and saw Myranda staring at the book. I didn’t know yet how I was going to get the book back, but I knew I would come up with something. I always did.
I looked at Zimbab. Then I looked through the window.
I looked at Zimbab again. I looked through the window again.
Ha! I knew what to do. I just needed a distraction. Zimbab didn’t look pleased when I squinted my eyes and had a smirk on my face. He slowly started walking away, but I was faster.
“I am sorry, Zimbab,” I said. “It’s nothing personal.”
I pulled back my leg and kicked the cat as hard as I could.
“Meowowowow!” the cat said.
He flew through the air and ended on his paws this time. Fortunately, this caught Myranda’s attention. She looked over and came through the door. When she came outside and looked the other way, I quickly snuck around the back and went through the back door to steal my book back. She was still looking around, wondering where the crying cat sound came from.
Good.
This was good.
I had the book. I was going to take it home, and she would never find out how it disappeared, or would she?
Entry 5: Clumsiness
I tripped! When I was going out the back door, I tripped and fell, taking pots and pans down with me.
Cling! Clang! Clingeling!
The noise was deafening. Oh no, she would discover me!
“Hahah! I’ve got you now,” she said.
She walked over quickly and pulled the book out of my hands.
“You won’t be in my way anymore,” she said.
“Wait, why do you have to be this way?” I asked. “It doesn’t make any sense, Myranda. You don’t have to punish everyone because you feel bad about yourself.”
“Ha! Are you trying to talk me down? That’s not going to work. Everybody hates my face. They deserve to know how it feels.”
“No, they don’t,” I said.
“Oh, it’s so easy for you to say,” she said. “You were always popular and wanted. I never had any of that. People think I am ugly.”
“But what if we could make your face prettier? Wouldn’t that make it better? Then you wouldn’t have to bug anyone else. You could just leave them the way they are.”
“Apparently you don’t know anything about these formulas. The eternal youth potion only helps you stay young, but it doesn’t improve your face.”
“Well, isn’t there a potion that can help you become beautiful?” I asked.
“There is,” she said calmly. Then she put her head down and became very sad. I noticed she had been struggling with this issue for a while now. It was consuming her, and she couldn’t let it go.
It made me think of how important it is to pe
ople to be considered attractive. When they think they’re ugly, even when they are not, it can really damage their self-esteem. I was hoping I could do something to help, so she wouldn’t take out her frustration on others.
“And?” I asked. “Where is the recipe?”
She sobbed. “It’s right there in this book.”
“Oh. Then it shouldn’t be a problem. Here, let me look it up.”
I began flipping through the pages of the book, trying to find the formula for the beauty potion. I couldn’t find it, so I looked in the content page.
“It’s on page 254,” she said, interrupting me. “I already looked at it.”
“Ah, so you are familiar with it. How come you haven’t brewed it yet?”
Entry 6: That Ingredient
Myranda looked sad again, as if she had been trying her whole life and had been failing at every attempt. She buried her face in her hands. I put my hand on her back on rubbed her back a little. I apologized for not understanding and asked her again why she hadn’t made it yet.
“I have every ingredient I need,” she said.
“Let’s do it then!” I said excitedly.
“Except for one.”
“Oh. What is it?”
“It’s an enderpearl,” she said.
“Really? I have enderpearls in my cottage. I can just go get them.”
“No,” she said. “The ones you have are purple. You can find those anywhere. The enderpearl the recipe requires is red.”
“A red enderpearl? I’ve never heard of that.”
“It’s because they are so rare. You can only find them in the Distant Lands. And they are guarded by enderdragons.”
“Sounds dangerous,” I admitted.
“It is, and that’s why nobody I know has ever created that beauty potion yet. None of the witches I know want to risk their lives to look better. Besides, most of them look prettier than me anyway.”