The Power Of The Voodoo. Voodoo? Who do? You do! Do What? The Voodoo.
Jan 06 '07
The Bottom Line Just a little story I felt like sharing.
"Meli-sah, why you pooting on make-up, now you is juss ooglie in coloor."
That was my old Boss Fatima. She spoke english well enough, but I always liked making fun of her accent. Not to her face of course. But behind the witches back. I first layed eyes on her back when I was just a wee little 14 year old. My first job.
'Welcome to Mcdonald's, how can I help you?'
There wasn't a day that went by, that Fatima wasn't making my part time junior high side job miserable. As if not having a day off since I was 13 wasn't enough. School 5 days a week. Work on weekends.
Let me do a quick memory scan, and share with you some God awful things that was said to me, and my cousin Destiny as well.
"If my kids turn out like you, I swear to God, I will kill myself"
-----Fatimas interpratation- 'Eff mia kidz turn out like-uh yow, I will kill-uh myselv.'
"I hate Americans. I only like Colombians. Too bad for you"
----I hatuh duh Americanas, I onlie like-uh duh colobeans. Too bad-uh fer yoo'
"I expect more out of you and your cousin, because you speak english."
"Lazy peice of cr-appa"
"Useless"
Okay so you all get the point. It was like this for an entire year or more. Up until my poor little 14 year old mind couldn't bear it any longer. I was for one already stressed out from not having a day off to study for my final exams; and then this negative attitude from my boss. -Mind you I never had to give her a reason. Being in her presence was just a reason enough for her.
Now the woman crossed the line with the comment I started this story off with.
"Why you wear the makeup, now you ooglie in color" -This was just out of line. I could handle the ridicule she always gave me. But calling me ugly now. For one she was probably the ugliest creature I'd ever layed my eyes on. Every morning it looked as if she rode to work with her head sticking out the window -POOF! *yellow*
Her skin tone could be compared to that of the guy on Grease. Crater face. Yet here she was, this monster calling ME ugly.
Now I was only 14! As if the self esteem in teenaged years isn't low enough, this 40 year old crone I call 'boss' is insulting me like this! Ohhh F*** this! Game on!
I didn't do what a normal 14 year old would of done. I should of just quit, than pressed charges, cried to the judge, and walked away with a quarter of a mill. Nope. Not Melissa.
See Melissa has a family secret. And; Oh she will pay. 'Fatima, I'm, going to kill you' I thought. 'And I'm not even going to lay a hand on you' muuuahhh.
I worked on my revenge for almost a year. And with each passing weekend she gave me yet another reason to want her dead.
I don't like to use the term 'witch', to me it is so cliche. But at the age I was consumed with knowledge that others would consider hooey. Mumbo jumbo. That of unholyness.
The night was almost approaching, the blood moon to my right, and her itty little doll I sewed together, layed in a circular altar to my left. The correct rituals were already done. It's the binding of Fatimas soul to her itty witty little cloth doll that I had to do first.
I felt powerful. I had gone through her purse. I 'borrowed' some things that would be needed.
Who would of thought I'd be so lucky and find a mini sewing kit in her bag. The very kit in which 'doll Fatima' was sewn with. I found a bloody baind aid! Thats equivilant to a diamond for what I was about to do. I even got her picture. All sewn in the pits of the dolls stomach. Along with some other 'things' necessary for my ritual.
The day arrived. I had already made doll Fatima a mini casket, and had her mini grave dug out.
The ritual was complete. Not once had I doubted myself. However, I was missing one ingredient. No matter, I figured one ingredeint would'nt make a difference. Besides, any doubt in a ritual would cause it to fail.
I slept wonderful, and wondered if she'd make it through the night.
Work the next day.... whats this... no, NO FATIMA. I felt a sense of pride. Had I killed her, ding dong the witch is dead, killed her?!
Turned out that the night before she fell off of a ladder and hurt her back. The witch woudln't be back for a week.
Hmmm, thats a coincidence. But shes not dead! Dang it! And rumor had it, she'd be back to work next weekend. Just my luck.
Next weekend rolls around. I go into work dragging my feet. Knowing because the witch hurt her back, she'd be in full blown bi-otch mode.
-What, whats this? No Fatima! The news was out. This time her kid was rushed to the hospital for the flu, and a scary high temperature. -Oh. I felt sort of bad.
But shes gone. Yep! Another weekend of peace for me.
Another week rolls on through, I went into work a little happier. I knew something else would be up this week too. Boy did I feel powerful.
-This week her uncle died. She had to fly home to Columbia. -Nah I didn't kill him. It's just a coincedence. Right? Sure, yeah. Should I feel bad?
I couldn't help it though. Something new about my thoughts ever since the ritual had taken.
I didn't care. Besides I didn't know the guy. I knew at the time I SHOULD HAVE felt bad. But the demon had already planted its seed. I didn't, not a bit, feel any remorse.
By now my ego had gone to my head. I felt invincible. Perhaps momentarily, God like.
Dare I dig deeper into this world of magic. This dark magic? It's so promising; nothing like that 'blessed be' stuff I started out with. Somehow I found myself slipping deeper and deeper into a darker new me, with every bit of new information I discovered. It was like a drug. I couldn't stop. I wanted to know more. Know everything.
What would I do to her next!?
Work started out the same the next weekend. Fatima is missing again. Hmm wonder whats up?
Turned out, Fatima went and caught that flu that her kid had 2 weeks ago. Oh now I'm ammused. These incidents, could it possily be, I caused them?
So she's still not dead. Probably because I forgot that last little herb I needed. Oh well.
So it was 2 months she was gone. A series of misfortunate events.
She didn't bother me anymore though, when she came back. It's almost as if her subconcious mind warned her off.
I no longer dabble into these darker things. There was a time though, where the things I played with behind closed doors, consumed me; and I no longer consumed them. This is why I no longer play with fire; you do get burned. The stories I could share. Perhaps another time.
Here's just one story though. The beginning.
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