Witchin' Time

For One Hour everyday, everything that is supporting our belief in stability heaves a shuddering sigh of relief. The hour{or Witchin' Time} occurs at a time when The Hoi Polloi are least likely to be up,thus unable to see what else this world has in store. It is that time where, if you are awake, you will be tempted to stay up just a little longer. Beyond your threshold...Beings be afoot here and they have waited an imprisoning number of hours, trying to hold their servile positions. Every second is devoured with sheer unholy ecstasy--

For One Hour everyday...

And who am I to tell ye this? Why, I am their witness. I am Marcus, The Mallard. I am the Bastard who does not Belong Or Marcus, The Uncouth Or The One Who Could Go On And On. Anon. Anyhow...

'Twas a lifetime ago when I began to meet inhabitants of "Witchin' Time". Comparatively Feeble as I am now- their initial encounters with me ring stronger and louder than ever. They named me many times. They danced. They corralled. They howled. It was the most fun of my life. But how the day has a way of ruining the fun. It makes us go back to the rules we need like the regimen-riddled addicts we all are. "Well Fine!", I used to bark. If ye can't beat'em- join 'em and so for two-hundred years I held my awkward positions whilst the naive Sun shone upon my defiant person. But when he turned his trusting eyes thither, I was letting my beautiful hair down and reveling with the worst of them. I bid the Light, Godspeed and was off to collect another maddening memory.

Then She and Long-Hair stepped into the place in which I was charged to work. 'Twas midnight. They ordered one Black Coffee a piece. Before making the journey back to their table, I put my lucky spoon in her cup whilst his, I held in my other hand, slightly further away from my person lest I be infected by toolery. Every hour Was a year So this, being my Twenty-Second, I was eager for just two more tantalizing birthdays. But it was too late. The Angry Mallard had awakened and in that moment, I showed my teeth and uttered the two most hateful and hurtful words I have ever heard. "Your Coffee." I held her cup with my wrist, turned gently up in relaxed grasp with thumb and forefinger. I held his cup with my palm turned down, brandishing horrible scars on my knuckles, equal to Twenty- Three Crimson Badges. Long-Hair, who was enjoying the back of She's neck nuzzling the crook of his lucky arm, made eye contact with me and spoke, a 'thank you'. It was now his lucky arm against my spoon. And She beckoned me with oblivious attention.


Good Bye to ye, Long Hair. And by Witchin' Time I was clearing their table of two cups. One of them was kissed with lipstick and... my favorite Spoon lay nearby also kissed red and catching the light of atmosphere. A thin smile passed across my usual sneer. I smited the table top in triumph. The three of us added up to one last encounter. Then She and I began our torrid affair. Long Hair didn't know me in that moment, other than as his servile. But I promise ye, anytime he wishes to stay up until Two In The Morning, or Witchin' Time, I am there to haunt him. I am that most Un-Belonging Bastard. I have just turned Four and Two-Hundred, Seventy. To this day, when I snake my hold around She's hip or whenever She rests her neck back in the crook of my most fortunate arm, My thoughts return to Long Hair, The Mirror... And then oddly...

To a pair of Scissors.