They begged for me to disappear. They prayed and prayed for me like they did my mother. "Unholy" they call me, as they eat their shellfish, wear blended fabric, and gossip about me. That is correct, I have read your bible, obsessed over it, wishing to purify myself of the sin that you claim I committed by simply being my own person. By refusing to follow blindly a mindset which is set out to hate and destroy that which is different, which was thrust upon me. I refuse to be driven to the point that my mother once was, to the point of abandoning her morals and being "reborn" into a society that never cared about her in the first place. That never cared about her little girl with the ugly name. That always questioned why she named me Cornucopia.
Well I mean it's sort of a weird name, but it's supposed to be a blessing, as I was born on the Harvest Moon. The cornucopia is the horn of plenty, my birth was meant to bring a plentiful harvest and yet I was still condemned by my neighbors. Since the cornucopia came from Hellenism, it absolutely must be against God. But I guess the 17 years of barren crops showed them what God really thinks about their disrespect and judgment. But I know I have my gods behind me because I could never judge someone based on what they believe in.
I remember when my mother first abandoned her beliefs, it was about one year ago. We were sitting in the dining room having breakfast. I could tell that she was lost in thought as she picked at her food, not seeming interested in taking a bite. Once she finally scraped her words together she posed the most surprising question I have ever heard escape her lips. "What do you think about going to church?" I chuckle softly. "Why would we do that?" I respond, but my smile slowly fades as I realize that she's serious. "What would we need to go to church for? I mean you always said that going is just an excuse to gossip and make sure other people don't question your piety." "I am aware of this," She says. "But I feel that now is the time that we atone for our sins." Atone for our sins huh? I've been told all my life that I am sinful, the first time I heard those words I was around 5 years old.
It was my first day of school, our town is small so the institution wasn't very large, a single story with a class for students up to grade 6. After this age, they must either be homeschooled in their family's trade or head off to the boarding school two towns over. I was going into kindergarten and I was so excited. My mom helped me make my first spell jar for good luck. I wore it as a necklace with a smile of unbridled pride in myself and excitement for the day to come. Almost as soon as I entered the school building I had already gathered a crowd, I was excited at first. After all, everyone was interested in me! But I quickly realized that their stares weren't of innocent interest, rather one of persecution. As their eyes wandered to my chest, or the pendant pressed against it, one of the other little girls brought about the question that I'm sure was all of their minds. "What's that on your necklace?" She questioned. "A spell jar" I responded. "Spell? Like a real spell? Like what witches do?" "Exactly!" I state proudly. This triggered the murmurs, those swiftly whispered secrets shared with everyone but me. I wanted to know what they were saying, but I quickly regretted that wish. As one of the boys said what I bet everyone was thinking.
"You know that you're going to Hell right?"