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I suppose I’ve always been quite shy and quiet around people I don’t know. But this takes the prize, I reckon. Even with my low expectations of what people are degrading themselves to do, I still get surprized at times. This time? Quite surprized - and disgusted -, indeed. The sight before me makes me squeeze the pendant around my neck, as I often do at times nervousness and uneasiness. Due to the appalling scene in front of me, I’m fairly amazed I haven’t managed to crush the little Hagalaz pendant around my neck. What is a Hagalaz, you wonder? Or are you more interested in the atrocities that are taking place just before my very eyes? Well, you’ll have to be a bit more patient for me to spilling the beans on the juicy stuff, I’d rather talk about the Hagalaz all day long before I have to mentally return to my nightmare lunch break at school.

Where was I? Well, yes, the Hagalaz. It is, by far, my favourite (and only, but never mind) jewellery I wear daily. I don’t even take it off when I shower (Don’t judge me, I feel lost and naked without it!). The pendant hangs around my neck in a thin, twisted gold chain, which suits my complexion to perfection, if I might say so myself. It is in the shape of a Hagalaz (surprise!), a.k.a. an old Norse rune, and I’ve worn it since before I can remember. The pendant is the only reminder I have left of my mother, who died while giving birth to me. You’d think that a witch could endure childbirth, but apparently, she was a “very weak and unworthy witch”, according to a lot of people in our coven. Which might explain why I’m such a weak and unworthy witch. At my 15th birthday, my Godmother Marie even joked that human magic entertainers were more skilled than me, after my failed attempt to blow out the birthday cake candles with a very simple incantation that even young witches can pull off in their sleep. I can’t blame her for her disappointment in me, really. I try my best to practice magic and read up on all the theoretical and practical magic books that I can find, but it feels like my magic is just… hiding from me. I’m rarely able to completely reach the ability before it locks itself away in my mind somewhere. If anything, my magic skills seem to lessen day by day. Marie believes it’s because I feel guilty about the death of my mother. Which might be true. Since I feel inadequate about most things in my life, let’s throw in a little bit of “killed-my-mommy”-guilt while we’re at it.

So anyway, my Godmother Marie handed the Hagalaz over to me from my mother when I was very young, insisting I’ll wear it for my “protection”. She and her most skilled witches from her coven the Sisterhood have put on a lot of protection incantations and whatnot on it. Not that I know what I’d need protection from, really. I’m more the typical “grey mouse”-type of person. Nothing noteworthy ever happens to me. The most exciting thing that I’ve been through was when my best friend Jonas kissed me on a party last year, which was on the night of Walpurgis, a festivity that is celebrated more than usual in my town (yes, you guessed it correctly, we celebrate it unduly because this town is riddled with witches…amongst other supernatural create res). People of all ages celebrate it every year by lighting up bonfires to burn off the old to give room to the new. It symbolizes the return of spring as well as the reappearance of light. The border between the living and the dead is considered the weakest during this particular night, and is therefore a very important night for witches, as we take advantage of this for specific rites, incantations, and such. The day is usually spent “family style” and human friendly with carnivals, quiz walks, ghost tours and events like that. In the evening, people gather to watch the large bonfires that are lit up at different locations.

This specific Walpurgis was no different from the others, the town was bustling with activities. I had spent most of the day working in one of the stalls at the carnival, in charge of the prize wheel where you could win one giant chocolate bar. In reality, it actually consists of 20 smaller chocolate bars packaged in a very large packaging, making it somewhat dishonest, but kids just love it when they win that giant chocolate bar. I guess parents could accept to spend up to 50 euros on the prize wheel when you just as easily could have gone down to the supermarket to buy the equal amount of chocolate bars for 15 euros, just to make their kids happy. My last customer had been an adorable 5-year-old little girl in a strawberry patterned wool dress and pigtails, accompanied by her parents, who had won first prize on a single number, which is really uncommon. She had exclaimed the cutest little squeal out of cheer joy and her father had picked her up, held her out over his head and started spinning around while praising her. The celebration had ended with a big family group hug. I did my part to make this charming little girl’s experience the best I could by cheering her on and she gave me a bright smile that could light up even the crankiest sourpuss´s day when I handed her the giant chocolate bar. I had longingly observed them walk off towards the Ladybug-roller coaster, the little girl hand in hand with both her parents, beaming up at them while skipping about in her little white sandals.

When nightfall came, the bonfires had been lit for an hour and the spring air had started to become chilly. I had begun second questioning my choice of clothing today; a cute, flowy flower-patterned skirt and a white knot top. Why did I have to live in a place where the days could be a nice 20 degrees Celsius at day, but a freezing hellhole at night!? And, an even better question, why did I never remember this fact, year after year? Even though I’m rarely cold, I should have foreseen this is no warm spring night and could at least have brought a cardigan. I stepped closer to the fire and stretched out my arms in front of me to enjoy the warmth coming from it, cursing myself for being so ignorant. Jonas was hanging out at another bonfire at the beach, where all the witch teenagers were (most likely) busy getting drunk. Being the Sisterhood’s High Priestesses’ son did indeed have some perks, as he’d been left in charge of the celebration for the underaged witches in the area, a responsibility he had violated greatly by only focusing on obtaining enough alcoholic beverages for the night, instead of processing and organizing the rituals of light and growth as intended. He texted me to come by, so I took my trustworthy old bike to get to the beach. The bike creaked every time I paddled with my left foot, and there was more rust than bike left, but I still loved it. Having a bike meant I could go places, and go places meant freedom.

I arrive 15 minutes later at the beach. As expected, the party was in full swing. One of Jonas’ friends, Ella, welcomes me with a sloppy hug and hands me a beer. ‘Ugh, I hate beer’, I thought. I was about to pass it back to Ella when I received a message from my foster mom Evy. “You’d better be home at 24:00 tonight, at the latest. Remember that you have a lot of tasks to tend to this weekend. You also did a very poor job tending to the weeds in the driveway, you’ll have to redo that as well ASAP.”

I sigh disconsolately and open my beer to take a large swig instead, trying to temporarily forget about tomorrow.

I’m sitting at a log a few meters away from the now dying fire, with my elbow on my knee and my hand on my chin, looking anything but sophisticated. My cheeks are flushed, and I run a hand through my dishevelled hair to tidy it up. I’m almost certain I just make it even messier instead, but I have to try at least, right? I sit next to Jonas, who hands me another beer. (Yuck!) I place the beer on the ground and take up my cup of water to sip on instead. I try yet again to summon a little fireball in my hands to give me some extra warmth, but I fail. I sigh at my ineptitude and turn my attention to Ella instead. She is telling us a story of how she got stuck in a swing for babies last summer break.

“I started panicking and thrashed around in it for a good couple of minutes, but I didn’t manage to become un-stuck. A breakage incantation would probably have taken my legs off with it, so I didn’t dare even try it. The fire department eventually had to come out and saw the swing off.”

I didn’t know Ella that well, but my feeling of her being not too… bright at all times, was finally confirmed. I roar at her ridiculous story and snort through the laughter;

“Didn’t you get claustrophobic? That sounds awful.”

She nods with large doe-like eyes.

“Yes. It was. But I had just lost 2 kilos from that stomach flu I had, so I thought I would fit. It was a fun experience, at least.” She shrugs.

“But they’re for babies, Ella!”, I howl of laughter together with Jonas and she lets out a small giggle too. I observe her through drunken eyes with admiration. Ella is carefree, easy-going, positive, and free-spirited. In short, a confident person who is true to herself. She didn’t budge when her parents tried to forbid her from dying her hair pink and purple last year. She didn’t care when Jessica and Sarah laughed at her when she showed up at the school photography, proudly displaying the beautiful yellow and red ao dai she’d bought last summer when she visited relatives in Vietnam. She didn’t mind the weird looks today´s all-black, matrix-inspired outfit got. In fact, she had totally owned the place in that floor-grazing patent leather trench coat, skinny sunglasses, combat boots, beret, and apple red lips at today’s celebration, when she strolled casually between carousels and stalls selling hot dogs and candyfloss. She didn’t allow anybody to not let her be herself. It’s a trait I most certainly look up too, and even envy.

I glance at my watch and notice that the time is 23:30. Greeeeeat. I’m drunk off my ass and need to go home to my aloof foster parents. They will not be pleased with the state I’m in. I can only hope they are still out into the early hours of next morning, too busy with witch crafting to be at home before me. I rise up on unsteady feet and say,

“I’m out. Need to get home before I’m in deep trouble for breaking curfew.”

Jonas shoot up from his seat, nearly spilling Ella’s drink. She gives him a dirty look and holds her drink close to her chest, as if she was protecting something precious. He exclaims,

“I’ll accompany you. It’s very late and you never know what type of creeps that’s lurking in the woods.”

I tinker with my bike, trying to get it to cooperate with my drunken body. ‘Who the hell thought putting a kickstand on a bike was a good idea?’ I thought annoyed, while struggling to get command of the disobeying bike.

“Here, let me help you.” Jonas gets to my aide, and with far more elegance, flips up the kickstand with ease.

“Show-off”, I tease while smiling gratefully at Jonas. “Thanks”.

Jonas tries to hold my waist as a support, but I tell him to let me go. I’m not that drunk! We walk barely 100 meters or so before Jonas, who walks beside me with my bike in his hands, suddenly halts to look at me with determined eyes. He parks my bike and comes to take both my hands in his.

Yes, you’re quite right, this is where the kissing-scene begins. Jonas, however trying to be ardent and passionate in our kiss, was sadly set up for rejection. I mean, come on! He’s my best friend, and also...No... Just no. He’s a good guy, but I do not feel romantic feelings towards him. Additionally, he’s my Godmother’s son, which is almost like incest! Yes, I know we aren’t related by blood, but he just feels like a brother to me. Don’t get me wrong, he’s an attractive guy, but he’s not for me.

He gazed into my eyes with a loving look in his dark brown eyes, and although I was intoxicated and fairly out of it, I just knew what he was about to do. My usually excellent, but now drunken reflexes, were however slower than his, and I saw his face inch closer and closer to mine. A thousand alarms in my head started going off, telling me to dodge, run, duck, dive or even kick him in the nuts to escape, but my body did not cooperate with my brain. It felt like time slowed down, like when you´re in a car accident; you know something bad is about to happen, but you’re unable to evade it. His lips landed on top of mine, and he forced his tongue in my mouth in a sloppy and messy way. I’ve got to give him credit for his enthusiasm though, I was barely able to breathe while he held me tight and ran his hands along my body. If this had been a make out sprint Olympic sport, he’d won by a mile! My response was to try to turn my head, but he wasn’t having it. I placed my hands on his chest and tried pushing him away, but I weren’t able to stop the washing machine raising havoc in my mouth. I guess that’s the downside of the combination of being rather short, and currently drunk, as he engulfed my entire body with his huge arms. I couldn’t get a proper position to shove him away, even though I pack some fierce fighting moves in my arsenal. I remember thinking disappointedly ‘this is what kissing feels like?’, before biting - in my opinion – quite gently, but sternly, into Jonas´ bottom lip.