When I was younger, perhaps in primary school, an older female counsin of mine told me a story.
A witch story.
It wasn't exactly a scary one, it was just a story. There was a particular woman in our school, it was said that she was a witch.
A witch. What sort of thing, or person, could a witch be? What does that mean?
I could not understand, but couldn't understimate either. Witches possess magic and sh*t (the kind of thing I grew up wishing I had, and unfortunatelly I don't, except from my super-ninja-wizard-rockstar programming skills). You wouldn't want to mess up with them.
And I was told that. My cousin told that she could read minds from distance and everytime I mentally called her a witch I should also mentally apologize.
I could't help thinking she was a witch everytime I saw or remembered her. It's like someone telling you to not think in a pink elephant. Do not think in a pink elephant. Do not call her witch.
More than ten years have passed by, and now I believe in witches in a different manner (and I'm kinda in love with one, if that matters). But even today I still apologize everytime I remember her, even though it's very, very unlikely that this story is actually real.
But, behold! We can never be sure, right?
