witch

Walking through West End in Brisbane, along Hardgrave Road. Past cafes brimming with people, past bars and restaurants full to capacity. I turned up Dornoch Terrace and soon happened upon an old woman, a frightening woman. I could sense her. She deliberately bumped into me and then cursed. I turned, deciding to go back the way I had come, to avoid her. She followed closely, too closely, so that I had to speak with her. I asked her name, but I didn't quite catch her reply. Her face was deeply lined from what appeared to be years of drinking or smoking or drugs, her bottom lip laced with piercings, perhaps twenty or more. Her hair was wild and grey, blowing about her head. I went to walk through a tunnel under the road, hoping to lose her. But she descended with me and I found myself in a dark space with a strange woman who demanded to know my thoughts. 'I wish you well. Whatever you do, I wish you well,' I answered. Once again, I asked her name. This time I heard her. Gwineth. Upon knowing her name, I said goodbye and turned around again, leaving the tunnel and walking back to the business of the cafes and restaurants. I knew I had encountered a witch and, somehow, I felt implicated, having been in her presence, as though the people would assume that I was also a witch and of ill intent.