TITLE: Middle Grade novel
You can hear our voices
in the roars of beasts,
whispers of wings and wind
running through grass
and the leaves of trees.
From the mightiest to the least:
We are the voices of this island, speaking as one.
Listen close and listen well -
time has a way of unraveling stories, turning them to shreds.
Story land witches ride broomsticks to the moon.
Everyone has forgotten that real Witches have wills of steel
that can grind every soul to sand beneath their heels.
No one wanted the Witch to come.
Yet she did as she pleased
and here we sit,
turned us to stone,
unable to flee.
But the memory of what we were is alive,
humming and thrumming
where our hearts used to be.
Now we can only wait -
For someone who can see more than these hollowed out husks,
someone who can see life is still burning deep inside of us.