Mojo has a minion!

Hoodoo the Celebratory Sql

Some things merely are.

They have not a beginning nor an end, they just simply exist as they always have. For many, this idea is more than complex to get ones head round. Since birth you are carefully conditioned to believe everything has to have a start and everything, in its eventuality, will have an end. So take a circle. It has no fixations, no beginnings or endings. It is, in all actually, just existing, turning the same course throughout history on an unwavering line. This is time. This is the way the universe works. Of course, many silly scientists have tried to explain the "beginning of time" with theories and experiments that come to little justification.

One thing they have worked out - in what the gods call an unparalleled sense of smarts - is that every action has its own equal and opposite reaction. Forces, after all, have to work in pairs, keeping the circular path on which the universe lies in perfect balance.

People who have seen magic say that it can do anything. That it removes all natural cause and is in its entirety unnatural. Some say that magic can heal all the badness from the world and others say it will fill it with something so black as that you would barely believe that good in anything had once existed.

People who know magic say that these people are stupid.

~

The air was cold in a stifling sense of foreboding as the early morning mist stretched its legs and tiptoed out from its resting place in the trees. Yawning its morning breath over the stagnant bayou, housing one solitary old wooden shack, the air quivered as it did every morning.

There was nothing special in particular about the manner of this shack. Truth be told it could use a little attention if nothing more. The damp soggy moss had wormed its way between the rotting wooden slats and gown viciously as it gorged itself in the perfectly situated spot, the old glass panes misted and weathered, untouched since the day they were placed in their frame and the chimney, slanted and broken, beaten by the storm that had come not five years before and harrowed by the ill tempered weather's descendants each as miserable and angry as the last.

No, it wasn't the shack that was of any interest. It was the occupant. Mojo. A man of many a name, he was an ill wisher, a thief of good tempers, a warlock of misery, he was a tempter of the devil and all the wraths of all the gods. He was an alchemist, and, despite the many vile and hateful names, the fear that surrounded his person and, in result, his bayou, he was never short of customers.

The desperate, the ones with the last remaining hope, clinging to life or wallowing in self misery. The world was filled with them. The slime that would do anything, risk everything to get what they desire. It was the question they all asked: "Can you help me?"

It was no big secret that Mojo's potions worked. Old Lady Bark, as the villages called her, had begged to live forever, scraping together every piece of gold she owned. The real price was to be paid now. Years of desperation lying ahead of her as her body deteriorated, unable to eat, unable to see, unable to move or to hear.

A creature held in the limbo of death, unable to release her soul to the skies. Mind always ticking, always thinking like the steady hands of the clock rendered forever to the never ending cycle.

~

Tap.
The door shuddered like a shiver had run its way down the wood from top to toe.
Tap. Tap.
It quivered further, splintering small shavings as it rattled against its frame. The floorboard creaked and the all too familiar thud of a singular boot accompanied by two wooden sticks silenced the tapping. He knew it was her. He could smell her. He could feel her. The desperation hung round her like a cloak and her body reeked of regret. The door creaked open and he surveyed the sight before him.

Her beauty was un-matching, just twenty something with long curls of blond and eyes so deep and wide and blue. "I cannot love!" she rasped, "Can you help me? I cannot feel! I cannot hate, nor love, nor fear, nor cry." Fumbling desperate hands pulled at the pouch about her waist. "I have the costs! I have the gold! Please! Just make me love! Make me feel again!"

Lips stretching greedily over his teeth in an almost painful manner, his eyes filling with hunger he held out his palm. "I can help as I have helped before." One filthy, dirty hand stretched forward to caress a single blond curl, "I do love," he growled, "to see my work complete". He clenched his fist, a sharp tug pulling free three strands of hair which he proceeded to lift to his nose as if inhaling fresh baked pies or the sweet grass after rainfall.

She sat motionless, her eyes taking in the grimy man she had long been told to avoid. Her greed had overcome her before. Her desperation to be beautiful, to be loved as she had loved so many. To be rid of the boring limp mousy brown strands that hung dead at her plain face. She had needed to be beautiful, needed to know of others jealousy of herself.

"Three days" he growled out as his back turned, his gaze landing on the multitude of glass vials and caged ingredients. "Return to me then and I will help".

~

Thud.
The door shook, its hinges creaking against the impact.
Thud . Thud.
Swift as ever, she didn't even catch the hobble of the one legged man as a potion was pushed into her grasp. "Drink up girl, feel again!" his eyes flashed in the crack of the door and she trembled as the potion lifted to her mouth. His tongue darted across his lips as he watched, brimming with the glee of what was to come. It was vile, like hot ash and live snakes burning and twisting down her throat and through her veins. You never knew the equal but entirely opposite reaction you would get from magic.

She could feel everything! She could feel the forest, the new beginning life of a chick in its nest and the death of a small cricket. She could feel her heart, so big, so loud, so fit to burst and she dropped the vial to the floor in relief. The numbness had subsided and she was brimming with life. His lips curled further. The joy would soon be overcome and the entertainment would ensue.

Her eyelids flickered, expectant of the rush of light but meeting only darkness. She could feel but not see. Her mouth opened to scream in fear yet no sound could be heard. She could feel but not speak. She strained to listen the forest but met only silence. She could feel but not hear. The tears swam to her eyes, what was the use in being beautiful, being able to feel if you could not see or hear or speak? "Save me! Help me! You can help me!" her lips moved without sound and she grappled at the pouch tied to her waist.

A hand against her arm and bristles against her cheek she felt the air press against her cheek but the words were lost to the girl. "Please", her lips fumbled once more. She could feel the rejection as the single piece of gold was thrust back at her. It wasn't enough. She hadn't enough. "My soul", her lips frantically begged, "My soul as payment". She felt the dank hollow blackness of the inside of the shack. She felt the calloused rough hand on her arm. She felt the door fall close behind her.

A soul is priceless. Each soul a different pattern of different make-up. They make the most beautiful potions, yet they are the rarest of ingredients. The glass container was shunted to the back of the cupboard. Seven other of its identical residing their already. It wasn't often someone was willing to wager their soul. It never surprised Mojo though. He knew how desperate they could become. He watched it and reveled in it. "Three days", his voice growled to the deaf ears, "It will be done in three days."

~

Potions have no beginnings and they have no ends. They are like circles running wild and round, unable to stop, forever changing, making better and causing ill. They are a balance like a force, they come in pairs.
How desperate are you for the help?