wicked witch

“Have you heard? Camela the Witch is back, and I have an assignment for you!” Annie exclaimed. Despite her enthusiasm, I couldn’t care less.

“Not interested,” I snapped back as I took my mop and continued my work. “... And get a job,” I added as I rolled my eyes.

“It’s so hard to find a job nowadays, thanks to all these damn machines and AI,” Annie replied. “The job market is so crowded and the competition is insane. And the cost of living? Oh boy, it’s through the roof! And don’t get me started on those rich companies with their damn perfect technology…” she muttered.

I didn’t say anything and chose to ignore her.

“Come on, you love juicy gossip, right?” Annie leaned in and lowered her voice with a hint of excitement. “Here, I have just the thing.”

She wrapped a watch around my wrist. “It’s a camera disguised as a watch,” she explained. I studied the watch curiously. “Where on Earth did you get this?”

“I invented it myself,” Annie replied proudly. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at her arrogance and glanced at my coworker who was busy setting up the stage.

“Fifty-fifty.” I sighed, covering the watch with my sleeves. Despite my conflicted feelings, I knew Annie was counting on me.

Annie and I worked as gossipers. Well, not literally; Annie was a good-for-nothing journalist who specialized in digging up dirt on celebrities and public figures, all for the right price. I was her “assistant”, tasked with doing the unsavory tasks and dirty work she didn’t want to get her hands dirty with.

Taking pictures and invading people’s privacy was just a part of the job, but it didn’t sit well with me. It was unethical and, of course, illegal. But I couldn’t turn down Annie’s offer–especially when my mother’s bakery was struggling. I needed every penny I could get to save her shop.

The sound of a staff member’s voice echoed through the hallway and took our attention. “Miss Camela is here!”

“See you later,” Annie said as she ran away.

Like clockwork, everyone immediately sprang into action and lined up at the door. The glass door was opened by staff members as we all bowed our heads.

“Welcome, Miss Camela!” The staff greeted her warmly.

I saw a young girl with beautiful blonde hair and mesmerizing red eyes, dressed in a stunning red dress and a fluffy white scarf. As she entered, she ignored everyone’s greetings as if she was the center of the universe.

I rolled my eyes.

Unfazed, the girl walked past everyone without a single glance. An older man in a suit approached her, handing her a flower and embracing her warmly.

“Camela,” he greeted her as she hugged him back. “I’m so happy you’ve finally decided to visit me and our company.”

“You mean your company, grandpa,” she retorted with a hint of annoyance. “Which will soon be yours,” he responded.

“And I will make sure to crush it into tiny bits and sell this company to the highest bidder, dragging it to hell with you after your death–which will be very soon,” she responded, looking at the flower with disgust before trampling it.

What a brat, I thought as I watched the girl cause a scene.

After the drama, we were given instructions to search the area and ensure that no paparazzi were lurking nearby.

“I’m definitely not paid enough for this,” I mumbled as I roamed the area. But my attention was suddenly drawn to the watch Annie had given me earlier. I glanced at it, remembering her request.

I guess it won’t hurt to try and sneak some photos that we could profit from, I thought.

Slowly and carefully, I positioned myself, readying to snap some pictures without being noticed. I decided to take a strategic position near Camela, quietly waiting for any gossip-worthy material. Casually observing her, I noticed she was enjoying drinking with two men.

A whore, indeed, I thought as I judged her even more than before. I couldn’t understand how someone could be such an ungrateful brat, especially to her own grandfather.

As I glanced back to check the situation once again, I smirked as I noticed her kissing one of the men. I quickly pulled up my sleeve in an attempt to take a picture. Unfortunately, there was a loud clicking noise accompanied by the shot, and I scrambled to cover up the watch.

Before I could react, Camela grabbed my wrist and ripped off the watch, smashing it onto the floor. The delicate device lay shattered in pieces.

“You think you can get away with this? Taking pictures of me with a cheap… watch-camera? You’re nothing but a lousy, insignificant paparazzo.” Anger filled her arrogant voice as she yelled.

She then landed a hit on my cheek, which shocked me so much that I lost my balance and hit the ground with a thud. As she gazed down at me, I could sense her mocking me. She poured water on me, making the humiliating moment even worse.

“You paparazzi pigs think you can profit off my private life. You live as a lowlife, sneaking around and invading people’s privacy. You deserve to be treated like dirt.”

Her words dug deep, and I felt a knot form in my throat.

A female staff member ran toward us with a concerned look on her face. “Miss Camela, let’s start with your rehearsal. We need to practice and get ready,” she said as she tried to persuade Camela.

“I want to practice alone,” she firmly replied, turning her back as she walked away from me. “And I want him fired. No room for discussion.”

I rubbed my cheeks, still feeling the sting from Camella’s blow. “What’s her deal?” I muttered. It pissed me off that she had the audacity to act as if nothing had happened.

“I’m not going to let that girl bully me,” I declared. The girl’s behavior was clearly getting under my skin.

As I made my way backstage, I was met with darkness, except for the spotlight illuminating the stage where Camela stood. The theatrical setting was complete with rows of empty chairs arranged like those in a cinema.

The first line I heard Camela sing was tinged with a hint of melancholy.

“Why does pain seem more comfortable than happiness?” she pondered aloud.

Her performance was undeniably a beautiful display of art. My heart skipped a beat as a flicker of awe passed through me. For a brief moment, I forgot about her earlier behavior and was completely captivated by her performance. The way she moved and the emotion behind her movements were so mesmerizing that it made me forget about the annoyance I felt earlier.

“Perhaps it’s because misery is more familiar, more understandable. We know the way of pain, the predictability of suffering, but happiness–true happiness–is elusive and uncertain…”

Despite the sadness in her tone, there was a hint of beauty in her words that could not go unnoticed.

“... As our eyes, blinded by the veil of lies, fail to see the truth that is right in front of us.”

I watched as she picked up a wine glass and nonchalantly took a sip. To my shock, she suddenly collapsed to the ground.

Is this a part of her practice, or has something gone wrong? I thought.

The room buzzed with whispers as the others reacted to Camela’s sudden collapse. A man, whose silver hair and glasses glistened under the bright light, dashed to her side.

“Camela! Camela!” he called out desperately. Then, he turned to the rest of us. “Everyone out of the room, now!”

The staff quickly obeyed and hurried out of the hall, leaving the man alone with Camela upon the stage.

As I watched the commotion, my thoughts drifted back to the camera.

“She hasn’t paid me for the camera yet,” I grumbled to myself as I chose not to get involved in the chaos. Then, I noticed something unusual spilled on the stage.

Is that… blood? i thought as i noticed bloodstain of the floor