They don’t like me. Why should they? What am I to them? I’m dirt, not the kind of dirt that is soft and warm and smells good, but the kind that it so laden with twigs and stones that when you put your hands in it, they come out scratched and bloody. No, even that would be to kind of them. I am the mosquito they just crushed between their two fingers. Nothing, I’m nothing. I wasn’t always hated. I once had a loving family that cared about me. That was until my father found out what my mother was, what I am.
“Witch,” they said, “Your mother’s a Witch.”
I didn’t believe them until my mother got sick. She was so sick and the physician said she should have died long ago, but she didn’t. That was when she told Father the truth about her, about me. She was a Witch. With my mother a Witch, and my father a human, that made me a Half-Blood. In our world, it is not a good thing to be a Half-Blood. Half-Bloods get shunned by each side of their family, Witch and Human. We were considered unlucky, like walking under a ladder. To humans, I was a black cat crossing their virtual road of life.
That's the start of a story. I have a week to finish it. Should I? If so, what should happen?
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