by Andrea Lena DiMaggio

They stood in a circle around the table in the middle of the old, roofless church. Moonlight illuminated the figures that held hands and spoke in a low, almost indiscernible tongue. On the table lay a man, barely conscious, but still able to see his captors loom over him.

He writhed, pulling against the bonds. Three women, all clad in black, stood over the table where the man struggled in vain to free himself.

“Are we agreed?” The first said, pulling her cowl back to reveal raven hair and a terrible beauty.

“We must, for it is the only way to restore the balance of the realm.” The second woman said. She too, had her cowl removed, displaying a shock of long red hair. She glared at the man, whose eyes widened in terror at her words.

“Yes…there is no other course of action; we must act now before midnight strikes. It is time.” The third woman said, pulling her own cowl back, uncovering a face filled with sadness.

“I wish I had a choice, I really do,” she said to her sisters, but she looked at the man bound before them, noting his fear.

“It will be over quickly.” She almost smiled, indicating mercy, but her voice filled with sad sarcasm. What they were about to do would be over in moments, to be sure, but the effects of their efforts were permanent.

“I don’t want to…I’ll do anything you wish…just please don’t do this.” The man plead, but it was clear that they would not be swayed. He must have committed some unpardonable sin, whatever that was in their eyes, and he was going to pay, and dearly. The moonlight cast an eerie pall on his prostrate figure, partially shadowed by the remnants of half-lost stained glass and broken lead filigree. The hourglass sat on a large stone in the middle of the church next to the table. He looked at the quickly escaping sand fall into the bottom half, marking his impending doom.

The women reached into their robes, pulling out identical wands, which they quickly crossed directly over the man’s forehead.

“It is time,” they said in unison, “Time to restore balance!” A crackle of static sounded, growing louder even as the final grains of sand fell into the globe below.

A blood curdling scream escaped the man’s throat, almost guttural and beast like. In moments, the scream had subsided, replaced almost with the sound of a contented purr. The women looked down, and in the place of the man who had plead only moments before, seeking mercy…lay a beautiful woman, clad in a robe similar to their own. The black haired beauty pulled back their new sister’s cowl, revealing long blond hair, curly and full. Her face was beautiful. A new sister was born, no longer evil or twisted or cruel, but understanding, compassionate, and caring.

Across town, a figure lay on a bed in a room above a dilapidated garage. The neighborhood dog could be heard barking through the broken window. The glare of the street light pierced through a partially torn curtain, revealing the figure to be that of a sixteen year old boy. On his wall posters displayed his love of animals; he wanted to be a veterinarian. Pictures of cats and dogs filled his room. A large cage held an old flop-eared rabbit along with a brindle-colored guinea pig.

He lay asleep after a fitful unrest, his pillow stained with tears, and not just from this night. A copy of a bridal magazine lay half hidden under his bed, and he gripped a stuffed kitten tightly with his right hand... He wore a soft, cotton night gown and one felt slipper still clung to his left foot. No one stood over his bed…he was alone in his pain, wondering if he would ever live a day without sadness. He was kind and considerate and such a lovely boy whose only offense to his neighbors and class mates was that he wanted to become…no, she wanted to be known for the girl she already was.

Above the house, looming almost like monoliths, but living and beautiful, stood four giant figures, all women, all clad in soft, gossamer gowns. They peered through the broken window and saw the boy/girl writhing in pain, much like the man in the church, but she was bound by the constraints of convention, held fast by lack of acceptance and resource, shackled by fear and ignorance.

The oldest of the four turned and shook her head as tears streamed down her cheek. Her weeping was soon joined by the other three, who spoke silent but futile and powerless prayers. Upon closer look, the women weeping over the girl were the very same trio who had now welcomed the new sister only moments before.

“Why can’t we intervene?” The redheaded woman asked her sisters. “Why could we transform the meanness and cruelty into beauty, but be helpless to do anything for this poor innocent creature?” She plead desperately, as if she knew the poor child.

The older woman looked down at the sleeping girl and then at her sisters and simply said,

‘An imbalance of power….It was magic that changed the evil man into something good; it always works that way.” She smiled gently at the newest member of their group before looking to the girl below, who had awoken and was weeping into her pillow once again.

“But why not her, why not this poor hopeless child?” The fourth woman asked, her own weeping echoing the sad girl's sobbing.

The older woman looked upon the sad girl before urging her sisters to depart, while pointing to the girl on the bed one last time, saying,

“Because this, my dear sweet sisters, is real life.”