Billy's Last Kiss (Blogophila 52.12)
As the flowered bus rattled down the road, Kari made a vain attempt to tame her curls. The witch image stared back from the mirror. Accurate, not that she advertised it. She rarely went to the Coven or associated with most of them. To the outside world, she was an old hippie selling jewelry at craft shows. Nonetheless, she had spiritual power, the gift of transition and healing. Something she did not take lightly, especially this one. It wasn’t often she serviced herself. ***** She couldn’t remember how old she was when Billy McCormack moved across the street, thirteen or fourteen tops. It had begun innocently enough. He would tease her about her wild hair, calling her Witchy or Hag. She would get mad and tickle him until he begged for mercy. Something about him drew her like a fly to a light. They became inseparable as spring rolled into summer. Holding hands, they walked to the playground to climb the ladders or to the woods to explore. It was a dream. The nightmare came the week b...