Wicked Witch is my friend, didn’t you know…
Have you read my back story? Read it. Like so many of my friends and sisters, we have not become evil or wicked overnight. We were definitely not born evil.
Moreover, who says we are evil? Storytellers, kings of neighborhood kingdoms, men who cheated us or on us, women who could not be like us? Are they sincere? Are they telling absolute objective truth? Are they to be believed? I do not think so.
Good and evil are universal truth. The rest is angle and perspective.
Who is the wickedest of these two? There is no clear cut answer, one would say. Well, there is one for me. The white, fluffy, smiling girl is evil incarnate, if you ask me. The green, deep soul is just what it is: deep, living, feeling, hurting soul.
I won’t bore you with multitude of stories of witch hunt, of women burnt on the stake, of Ninon de Larroque and alike. Let’s leave it in the fairy-tale domain.
My dear friend Wicked Witch, my distant cousin Maleficent, myself and many others wear the thorny crown of ‘wicked’ ‘evil’, ‘damned’ even with certain pride and contentment.
Being titled so, being excluded, defined even makes us safe, protected. Really. These titles protect our past and loved ones. These definitions steer clear from our secrets and soft spots. Our green, purple, black facades play a role of protective gear. The damned storytellers made us evil but saved us from scrutiny, from prodding and poking. We must be grateful.
However, there is a new generation of storytellers who are trying to see the other side, to see beyond the green facade. We let them be for now. We’d like to have our story told…to a point.
Wicked Witch of the West… doesn’t it remind you of anything…