Dark. Chocolate. Flawless.


The dark liquid caresses my fingers and slavers down into the pot.

I dip my hand into the pot and blend the mixture. Softly now.

Dark. Chocolate.
Dark Chocolate.

Shadowy fingers reaching out…touching me, stroking me, singing to me.

Whispers fill the room, and wade out into the witch-woods, the hills, and the sleepy towns beyond.



And then wewait.

*  *  *

The fire danced in shapes across her face- the warts and the wilts.

The witch’s eyes roved around wildly. Are you still here? Why are you still here?

I looked into her eyes- the red nightmare in them long replaced by age.

Go after your brother, run along girl and never come back.

The hag felt about with her clawed hands. Are you still here?

The chocolate which had cradled her in darkness drew away from her.

And I saw her for who she was. Nothing without them.

The taste of the chocolate lingered in my mouth.

Dark, chocolate, dark chocolate, flawless.


Take us.They sang. Take us, love us, feed on us. And the whispers grew stronger. Feed us.

I felt them lickmy skin, creeping into my cells, swallowing my soul whole…chocolate breathed in me.


I held her hand and drew her to the oven. I opened it to the blazing fire and looked at her.

Her hollow eyes gazed at the space behind me for moments.

Thank you, she said and stepped into the oven, closing it after her.

I did not look away from the eyes that stared through the grilled window.


And westood and welistened till the fires had become smoke and dust.

*  *  *

“Your house is made of chocolate!” The little girl’s eyes were wide open with wonder.

I smile and hold out a piece of the cake. “Dark, chocolate, dark chocolate, flawless.”

She reaches out to me.

And we reach out to her.


Chandrica Barua

3rd Year



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