A Fight Against Madness

A witch sat in her arm chair. On the table alongside sat a pot of raspberry tea, a plate of lemon scones, and a jar of clotted cream. There was also a knife.

    Why, wondered the witch, is the world mad?

    Do you have an armchair? she asked the world.

    Do you have tea and scones and cream?

    Do you have a bed at night? Books? Children or quiet (one or the other will do)? A friend? Two friends?

    Why are you so mad, little world?

    The sky turned pink gold out the window. The witch ate her scone, cut with the knife and smeared with the cream, and drank her tea, creamless. She forgot about the mad world. 

    A knock came at the door. Croup. Another knock. Wart. Another knock. Birth pains, and too soon.

    The witch didn't think about the world then, either.

    She fell asleep, worn and weary, too tired to think about it again that day.

    The witch didn't think about the mad world again until a week later. Why are you mad? Do you have chocolate biscuits? Tea with cream, and a spoon to stir it with? A wedge of cheese? Do you have a small apprentice who watches you? An aging body to watch over?

    She ate her biscuits without cream and her tea stirred with. She forgot about the mad world.

    So went her days.

    So went her life.

    So lessened the madness in the world. 

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