Rosalie has always lived in a cave on a mountain. Mother would never let her see the city below them, until she got very ill. Since mother would always be the one to go to the city and get everything that they needed, Rosalie didn’t know what to do when she needed to get mothers medicine. She walked around for hours upon hours, but when she finally came back, mother was dead.

“Someone was here.” Rosalie thought to herself. Her mother had a wound that wasn’t there when Rosalie had left. Rosalie had to go back to the city to find aid, but no one came to her rescue. They all thought that she was crazy, and would call her “the witch’s daughter.” She started to think, “is my mother the crazy witch that she would tell me stories about?”

Rosalie went back up to the mountain and started rummaging through anything and everything in the tiny house. After hours and hours of searching low and high for something, anything. She found something. She went to go sit on the swing that overlooked the city and slowly opened the book. A flash of light came from the book as Rosalie opened it. Inside the book read, “Property of the witch.” Rosalie couldn’t believe it, her mom never told her.

Rosalie was furious, she threw the book off of the ledge watching it as it descended to the ground of the city. The sky was getting dark so she went to sleep. As the sun slowly rose, Rosalie awoke with vengeance in her eyes. As she walked pass her mothers deceased body, she ignored it. She suddenly stopped in her tracks, she couldn’t live on her own. She didn’t know how to cook, how to clean, how to do anything. Without her mother, she was nothing.

She wanted revenge, but didn’t know how to deliver it. So she jumped. She jumped off of the mountain, plummeting to her expiration. And the world was at peace once she hit the ground. She was already gone before she hit the ground. She wasn’t herself after she saw her mother. But now, now she was happy, at peace with her mother again, in the afterlife. And everything seemed normal again. But it wasn’t. Her life still seemed like a lie, a dream.