Today’s genre: Fantasy/Mystery/Historical
Word count: 415
The weather outside the small stone building was very sunny, and it would be for a few days more; at that time however, I was forecasting a dull, dreary day with constant showers and low temperatures – I was right. I am not referring to the weather when I mention an unfavourable outlook, rather I am talking about the family inside that building of stone – a family of five with barely enough food to sustain a singleton. Each and every day they’d make their way to the dining area for breakfast, wooden bowls and spoons held out ready for the broth from mother’s ladle; the children would be dressed in oversized rags and slacks, father would be donning the same dirty shirt and braced trousers that he had worn to the factory every day, and mother would be wearing a very worn dress with a grey-white apron that frayed at all edges. Unclean faces, sunken cheeks, bony limbs...
One awful morning, the wind ravaged and roared through the building, bursting through their uncovered windows and making the overhead cutlery rattle and clang nervously, and something was very different about the broth. Once all of the family’s portions had been rationed out, mother turned around to look into the empty black pot – it was as full as it had been before the first serving. The same thing happened each and every morning after.
The broth had an unusual texture and was the definition of ‘bland’, but they could sustain themselves on it while they afforded other commodities: another set of clothes for the children, some shoes with proper soles, and even a little bracelet for the eldest daughter.
No-one knew how the unending broth was conjured up or why it had decided to happen at the time that it did, but they were extremely thankful. Mother concluded that it was God taking mercy on them; the scuffs on her knees from praying night and day grew, as did her children (into handsome young men and women, let me bear witness).
That family had been on my radar for a long time before I decided that I wanted to intervene – they were very modest, kind, and never complained about their situation, even though they suffered more than most. Using up the only magic that I could exert until the next century, I made it so that they would never run out of food.
No thanks is necessary, it’s what any decent person – or witch – would do if they could.
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