Blue Witch

Raghu a teenager who was residing in goa with his parents and a very studious kid, one day it so happened that, Raghu looked across the Dining table, to where his father was reading the newspaper. Same old headlines- Matrimonial, deaths, corruption, politics. But then, in the corner-in a tiny blue box-were the words blue witches written in loopy script. Huh.

“Hey, Dad?” Raghu said. “What’s Blue witches?”

The newspaper fell from his hands, and Raghu caught a glimpse of his father’s face. It was horrified, red, and from there purple and blue and red again. Most strikingly, though, was how angry it was. Raghu had never seen him that angry before.

“Get out,” he said.

“What?” said Raghu.

“Get out of my fu*king house!” he screamed. “You are no son of mine!”

His mother, pale and shaking, began to cry, as she mouthed the words “Nor mine.”

Raghu, crying, ran out of the house and onto the bus, still crying.

His best friend, Das, sat down next to him. “You okay, Raghu?”

“No, not really,” said Raghu. “I had a really big fight with my parents. My dad-he kicked me out.”

“Oh, gosh,” said Das. “What’d you do?”

“Nothing!” Raghu said. “I just asked him what Blue witches was!”

The bus screeched to a stop. Das went pale, and the driver marched down the barrier. “Who said that?” he said. “WHO SAID THAT?”

Everyone pointed at Raghu.

“Off my bus,” the driver said. “OFF!”

Das looked at Raghu in disgust. He turned away.

Raghu got off the bus, shaking. He didn’t know what else to do, so he kept walking.

Eventually, a man in a blue van pulled up to him. “Hey, kid, you good?”

“Not really, can give me a ride?” Raghu asked.

“Uh, sure,” the man said. “I work at the docks, down by South Seaport, but if you’re going anywhere around there I could drop you off.”

“Is there a library around there?” Raghu asked. The man nodded. “Then drop me off there, if you can.”

For an hour, Raghu and the man drove in comfortable silence, until they arrived at the library. “So, remember, kid,” the man said. “If you need help, I work down at the docks.”

“Thanks,” Raghu said, and headed inside.

Raghu headed over to the filing system. He looked under “B”, then under blue. Blue flowers, Blue plants-and right where blue witches should have been, a blank, blue file. Raghu picked it up.

It was a photograph of an ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic, written in a Pharaoh's grave. There was the Pharaoh, yes, and the scarab beetle and the god Ra-and then there, in the corner, was a blue witches. And in the text-the blue witches, a deeply symbolic aspect of Egyptian mythology, represents-

Raghu felt someone watching him, and turned around. Uh-oh. The librarian was watching him, and he had the feeling she had been for a while. “Get out,” she said tersely. “OUT!”

Raghu did, and he ran out to the docks. “Hey, you, sir!” he said to the man from earlier. “You think you could give me a job?”

The man studied Raghu. “I guess so. Not on the docks, but the cruise ship leading today needs more Technical staff. I could hook you up with a job.”

And he did, and that day Raghu set off for the Bangkok, hopefully leaving all this blue unpleasantness behind. He worked in the scullery, illegally, as a twenty-year-old, and gradually moved up in the ranks. Sight boy, watch boy, assistant technician-by the time he was twenty-four, Raghu had been made head Deck cadet.

Four years of his life had gone by, four years without home, family or love. He’d travelled the world, sure, but did he have anyone to love him? He stared out over the water. That fu*king blue witches. It’d taken everything away from him.

“Hey, Raghu, buddy, you okay?” asked one of the Officer.

“Not really,” Raghu said. “I just want to know something. What’s blue witches?”

The man blanched. “What?! The wind’s strong, maybe I misheard-”

“I asked what a blue witches was,” Raghu said. He wasn’t very bright. He had trouble recognizing patterns. He had an IQ of 83. “A blue-”

Raghu was cut short as the man pushed him into the water. He blacked out.

For days, Raghu drifted, holding onto a log for safety. At last, he washed up upon the shore, dehydrated, starving, weak. Concerned and curious faces hovered around him.

“Excuse me,” Raghu mumbled. He stumbled away, away from the water that had almost been the death of him, away from the crowds that reminded him far too much of those that had abandoned him.

He walked and walked and walked, and it reminded him of all he’d walked away from. Where was he going? What was he running from? He walked faster and faster.

And stopped. Because there, there in the parking lot, was a blue van. A blue van, with white looping script that read blue witches. A man emerged from the van, wearing a blue witches shirt, and waved at him.

Raghu began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. He sprinted across the street, getting closer and closer and closer-

Until he was hit by a car and died. And that is why you must always look both ways before you cross the street.