The senex stared at the garlic, the little cast-iron pot. Should she summon the Old One? What would it demand this time? But half her staff had been taken, the other half, turned. The chorus-women deserted. Once again the child zealots had led them astray.
She removed the pot, chanting:
The Outsider’s here, siddle-siddle, hiss
Lay the garlic in the pan, make yourself a wish
Round about it go, dance in despair
I’m the one who betrays with a siddle-siddle, kiss.
If only there were some other way to be re-elected.
But at what cost? At what cost??
word count: 100 written for Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers click on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields's hand-drawing of the frog for more tales of a hundred words or less. And join the fun!