My Ernest Hemingway inspired quote for bakers - "Bake hard and often, for all things and all times."
Hope is such an odd thing. It comes at you when you don't expect it at all, and in ways you could not imagine. It becomes a part of your very existence, and one day hope becomes a butterfly - matured and attaining fruition - It is no longer a may, but has blossomed into definite colours and patterns, spread its wings, and lifted your life to beautiful heights.
But there is another side to hope - a dark side. It comes and when it doesn't sprout wings, it begins to feed on your dreams of tomorrow, it tortures you with memories and takes out your gut in malicious vengeance.
How odd it is, isn't it? You cannot live, or die without hope; And if you are without hope, are you alive at all?
"Burn. Burn, witch, burn!" The crowds were around me, covered in unwashed, grimy clothes and hair, and eyes screaming for blood.
I could make out children, adults, adolescents - each with a different leer of anticipation, anxiety and... was it hope?
I looked up one more time and met his eyes - a promise that this witch would have her vengeance. He would have nightmares till the day he died.
There was an eternity of excruciating pain, and the tears and screams flowed out of my body despite my protest. It was endless, this searing burning of my core. And then, it was over.
I opened my eyes and found myself sweating. I turned around to look for him; I heard the unmistakable sound of tens of thousands of feet coming my way, and voices chanting. Slowly, the words took shape, "The witch must die!"
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