The Swamp Witch: Part One

The early afternoon appeared to have just crept up on a city taken by surprise; a city that had celebrated the existence of itself the night before; a city that gave no thought to it's waking condition; a city that was just coming out again to stand in awe of it's own aftermath... But it was only a Saturday morning there- just like any other in New Orleans.

The streets were littered with tourists, and tourists' purchases, and tourists' purchases' packages. The sidewalks wore unidentifiable stains that had quietly watched these common Saturday mornings come and go for dozens of decades. And it smelled- of old buildings and new people, frying pans and greasy kitchens, stale beer and plastic beads.

Sounds of happiness filled the air. Music blasted unapologetically from every dark door, and every bright street corner. Some people were dancing in the shops; some were dancing in the street. The locals laughed and talked loudly with the regulars over it all, and there was a feeling of excitement- or anticipation- as if the night before had not yet happened, and everyone was still looking forward to it.

It was everything it had been said to be.

The Square was set around a pretty park. Here one could sit in the grass under a tree, safe behind a large black iron gate, and look out at the madness while it danced around them.

Fortunetellers, palm readers, psychics, witches, warlocks, and soothsayers of every imaginable style set up shop around the park. Small tables and chairs draped with gypsy blankets lined the streets on all four sides of the square.

It could be overwhelming if a person did not know just what, or rather Who, they were looking for… but luckily, we did. She was the reason we had come.


Written by Rachael Sage Payne ©

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