Mark sighed as he walked around the castle for a long time. He didn't have a plan, he had heard one, but it was a stupid plan. He sighed as the laughter started again. His eyes got big, and he ran toward the laughter. He stopped as he saw someone old sitting on a chair, just laughing for now reason.
M'kay . . .
Are you scared again?
Get out of my mind. . .
Once again, make me.
Mark rolled his eyes as he walked up to the old lady, who he now realized was a witch. He jumped up for joy, then fell again. He moved his air out of his eyes, then looked at the old witch.
"Can you help me . . . ?"
He asked with a sweat smile.
"No."
Was the old lady’s answer. She didn't even move her lips, and her voice was like nails scratching a chalk board.
"But . . . "
"No."
Mark sighed, he had to do something. He could get the hair, but how would he make her cry? He looked around the room and saw that the old lady was making soup. He could only hope. He ran over to it and saw what was needed inside it. Onions. He smiled as he stuck his hand in the boiling pot, burning his hand in the process.
"Aye?"
The witch asked as she looked at Mark.
Mark ignored her, then ripped off a piece of the onion and squeezed it in her eyes. On the cue she started to cry. He pulled a bottle out of his pocket, collected the tears, and ripped some hair off of her.
And then . . . he ran . . . fast.
M'kay . . .
Are you scared again?
Get out of my mind. . .
Once again, make me.
Mark rolled his eyes as he walked up to the old lady, who he now realized was a witch. He jumped up for joy, then fell again. He moved his air out of his eyes, then looked at the old witch.
"Can you help me . . . ?"
He asked with a sweat smile.
"No."
Was the old lady’s answer. She didn't even move her lips, and her voice was like nails scratching a chalk board.
"But . . . "
"No."
Mark sighed, he had to do something. He could get the hair, but how would he make her cry? He looked around the room and saw that the old lady was making soup. He could only hope. He ran over to it and saw what was needed inside it. Onions. He smiled as he stuck his hand in the boiling pot, burning his hand in the process.
"Aye?"
The witch asked as she looked at Mark.
Mark ignored her, then ripped off a piece of the onion and squeezed it in her eyes. On the cue she started to cry. He pulled a bottle out of his pocket, collected the tears, and ripped some hair off of her.
And then . . . he ran . . . fast.