Looking through old computer files I found 2 documents related to a story I was working on in early '08. The story itself, however, is nowhere to be found. Like all my unfinished stories (and for the record, I've finished very few of the stories I've started writing) this story was a rambling character exploration without a clear idea of where the plot was going. It focused on a couple, Simon and Samantha. Samantha has a bizarre allergy to water, is extremely ugly by even the most accepting standards, (wicked witch without the magic) and is verbally abusive to Simon, but loves him dearly. It's just her way. Simon understands and doesn't mind. He's an extremely submissive person. Their relationship works because they wouldn't work with anyone else; Samantha is too big of a bitch, and Simon's too much of a pushover.

I got the idea for the story after read Wicked, the Oz revisionist novel. I really liked that book, and the scene that stuck with me the most is when the protagonist, the witch, is running through the snow on a mission and has to cover up because she's harmed by water (which, of course, you know). Shortly after finishing the book, we had a snow storm and I began thinking of what it would be like to have that sort of weakness in the real world.

The document that I lost is the very beginning of the story wherein nothing really interesting happens, but I spent a lot of time with it establishing who these characters are, and the nature of their relationship. What I still have is a letter from Samantha to Simon (which is probably among my favorite things that I've ever written), and a scene I thought of in which Samantha gets tried as a witch by an extremest church, and is left tied between to large poles to die in a rainstorm.

Check this out:





My Dearest, Detestable Simon,
   
    I weep when I think of you, and for that I curse the day we met. Your memory brings burning tears from my eyes which roll down my cheeks leaving scorched flesh in their wake. Despite my better judgment, I miss you terribly and long for the day when I can once again look upon your pathetic face with that obnoxious grin I’ve come to both love and adore. I’m not worried that you’re being unfaithful; your taste in disgusting creatures such as me leaves your choice of potential lovers in my absence extremely limited. Truly, you are as stupid as you are annoying, and for that, if nothing else, I love you.
    To satisfy your nosey concern for my family’s well being, know that they are all well, except of course for my dearly departed grandfather. Mother asks about you incessantly. It’s no wonder you two get along so well; you both seem to have an uncontrollable urge to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. She misses you, and wishes for me to convey to you her hope that we’ll be married someday, though I assure her I would never burden you with my hand in marriage. Even a little toad like you deserves better.
    I can almost hear you asking “enough about Mother, how was the funeral?” Well, it was everything a funeral is supposed to be, dismal and boring. I don’t remember much about the wake afterward. I was very, very drunk. You know how close Grandpa and I were. Even now, weeks later, I feel the sting of his absence.
    I know I’ve been gone longer than I had originally planned. The death of someone as wealthy and influential and Grandpa leaves much to be done by the family, and it’s taken longer than expected. In the years you and I have been together this is the longest we’ve been apart, and I’m sure you miss my cruelty as much as I miss your submissive pandering. But be comforted by the fact that we are almost done with our work here, and I will be home soon. And God help you if the place isn’t spotless when I return.

With all the love this black heart can muster,
Samantha

P.S. Have you been feeding my cat? If he’s lost a single pound under your care I shall string you up by your toes and beat you about the head with a fire poker until it cracks open like an egg.
Hugs and kisses, yours forever, so on and so forth,
S.


***

    Two large men held Samantha by the front doors of the church. She was naked, bleeding from the nose, and terrified. In front of her at the pulpit the minister pointed at her.
    “This creature is a witch, brothers and sisters! If her vile countenance isn’t enough to convince you, consider the acts of fiery destruction to befall us since she entered our midst! Consider the result of our tests!” At that, one of the men holding Samantha lifted her left hand up, still red and swollen from being submerged. The congregation all stared at her, mumbling their agreement.
    “Godammit I’m not a witch you bastards!” One of the men holding her punched her in the gut, knocking the wind out of her.
    “Silence, you fiend!” The minister was now leaning so far over the pulpit to point at her he was practically falling over it. “You have been in congress with the devil! I can think of no better punishment than that which the Almighty has already sentenced you to. May God have mercy on your soul!”
    At that Samantha was turned around to face the doors as two women opened them. A scent filled the church. Samantha recognized it, and it filled her with terror. It was about to rain.
    The scent also brought back memories of Simon. Back home during storms, he would open all of the windows to let the smell of the rain fill the house; another way to let Samantha experience water without being hurt. In the midst of the fear and panic swirling in her mind as she recoiled from the cold, damp air, appeared a glimmer of regret for the way she had always treated Simon. If only he were here, just so she could see him one more time.
    She was dragged outside and placed between two large wooden stakes in the ground. Thick ropes hung from them which were tied to her wrists. The congregation had come out to form a semi-circle. Samantha immediately began struggling with the ropes, trying to get her hands free, but it wasn’t long before a tiny spot on her arm started to burn, then another on the other arm. As the sprinkle escalated to a shower, Samantha got a glimpse past the open doors of the church. Before she lost her wits to the pain, she saw a familiar looking blonde woman, who had been kneeling at the alter, stand and turn towards the doors. With a blank expression, she walked forward reaching out to close them. In her last cognizant moment, Samantha shouted the name of her enemy. Inside, even with the heavy doors now closed, Cynthia could hear. She turned back to the altar to continue her prayer for forgiveness.
    Steam rose from Samantha’s body as she stood writhing and screaming in agony. Only a few of the parishioners seemed to show any sign of compassion, which even with them was limited to looking away and covering the ears.
Samantha’s world had gone black. She couldn’t hear anything, not even her own screams. The smell of the rain had vanished; there were no smells of any kind. All that existed was pain and remorse.