My Magic

Places are sometimes more magical than we can understand. There is a place in the Mississippi Delta that houses the strongest magic I’ve ever seen. When your business is magic, you come to know a few things. The only thing I’ve come to know is that sometimes magic isn’t controlled, it controls you.



I was just passing through the Delta. I hadn’t meant to be there for any reason. What reason could you have to see all those fields? They are all the same. Sure sometimes the crop varies, not often though. I stopped for some gas and snacks at a Mayberry looking “filling station.”



The attendant filled the gas tank while I sat in the car. As I sat and waited I noticed an old cemetery. The gas station sat on the corner of an old highway and an older dirt road. Where the roads crossed you could see dirt tracks on the paved highway. I thought that meant the dirt road was used more than the paved highway. The cemetery from across the crossroads called to me. I felt it all the way down to my bones. I waited until the attendant had finished filling my gas tank, but I honestly don’t know how. I drove to cemetery and walked under the black wrought iron archway. As I passed through the invisible barrier I felt the temperature drop like walking into a restaurant freezer. I don’t know if everyone felt this or if it was just my extraordinary magic sense but it made me feel stronger than I had ever felt before. The strength coursed through my body and left me shivering more from an excitement than from the bitter cold making it possible to see my breath. I could feel this power coming from the cemetery dirt that housed so many souls passed from the living so long ago. I forced myself to slow down and read some headstones. The bodies buried here were from before the civil war. This was a slave cemetery. There were too many souls to count and they were mad. They demanded blood from the ones who had done them wrong. They didn’t want my blood. They wanted me to gather blood for them. They wanted me to bring them blood and offer it to them for the wrongs done to them two hundred years ago. I didn’t feel like I could refuse but I couldn’t do this. I’m not a killer. Well I wasn’t a killer. A force too strong to overpower controlled me and force me to fill my mountain dew bottle with this slave cemetery’s dirt. As long as that bottle is with me it controls me.



It’s been five years and 32 souls and I can’t get rid of the Mountain Dew bottle of slave cemetery dirt.





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