The Cursed Donut by Izzy B

story and illustrations by izzy b

Gathilda had a dilemma.

     In the past she cursed children left and right. Poisoned apples flew off the shelf. Children were pretty naive, and apples were all the rage. One bite of her cursed concoction, and ZAP!, she’d have herself a nice newt or a fantastic frog.

    But lately, Gathilda had a hard time tempting children.

    Apples didn’t cut the mustard. And even if she did find a child who loved a tasty apple, the child  had to know where the apple originated from and what chemicals were used in its growth process. 

illustration by Izzy B.

    Gathilda had no idea! She just wanted a newt.

    So one morning the worn-out witch decided to give it one last hurrah. She set her sights on a little neighborhood porker named Peter. The kid ate everything.

illustration by Izzy B.

    Being Gathilda’s final cursing, she decided to pull out all the stops. She’d conjure the most cursed concoction she could contemplate. This meant researching the most desirable delights and plating it like a culinary queen.

   In her research Gathilda discovered the world’s tastiest of treats. A donut. Sprinkled with heaven and smeared with sugar glaze. One look and Peter would stuff his chubby cheeks. She’d have her newt no doubt.

   Gathilda set out to find the finest ingredients. She sifted. She stirred. She simmered and stuffed. Then she marveled at the majestic wonder she wielded. One bite was all it took.

   The next morning, Gathilda waited by the bus stop. She wafted the scent and smiled. Peter caught the smell in the air and licked his lips.

illustration by Izzy B.

    He quickened his pace and stopped ever-so-often to smell the air again like a sugar-crazed bloodhound. With one final sniff he found her. 

    “Good morning, Peter,” Gathilda said sweetly. “I have something for you!”

   Peter bit his lower lip and twiddled his fingers together.

   “Looks yummy,” he said.

   “Yes. It is. It’s a donut of  my very own recipe. Made from scratch!” Gathilda said.

    “FROM SCRATCH!” Peter yelled. “That won’t do.”

    Gathilda was taken aback.

    “What’s wrong, deary,” Gathilda said waving the donut in front of Peter’s nose.

    “Well, I can’t eat it unless it’s gluten free!” Peter yelled smacking the plate to the ground. “Gluten gives me gas!”

    Gluten! By the bones of Bartholomew, she’d never heard of the stuff. So Githilda went to a health food store. She purchased the appropriate ingredients and started over with a less desirable donut. Now without a trace of gluten.

      The next day, she waited and wafted again. But the results were the same. 

     “This donut has granulated sugars!” Peter screeched. “It will increase my ADD!”

      Gathilda repeated her process with some fancy sweeteners only to be saddened again.

      “HIGH-FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP?! It makes me lethargic!”

       Then again.

       “NO RED DYE! That will increase my ADHD!”

        And again.

        “ARE THESE SPRINKLES CRUELTY FREE!? I’m an animal lover.”

        Again…

       “VEGAN! MUST BE VEGAN! I have high blood pressure!”

      Day after day, this cursed donut became so healthy Gathilda couldn’t believe someone in their right mind would eat such a flavorless mass of mess.  Her final attempt seemed like a sad, shriveled excuse of a dessert, but she was desperate. She followed Peter’s instructions down to the letter.

illustration by Izzy B.

      She waited and wafted one last time. She gagged from the scent she sent, but it still seemed to bring Peter her way. She closed her eyes and held out the plate.

      “This… is... everything you asked for,” Gathelda stammered.

        Then she stood up straight as Peter took the plate. He smelled it. He nodded. He took a bite, and Gathilda shrieked with delight. She finally did it!

      But....

     nothing happened. The moon faced menace chewed like a cow with its cud, untouched by the curse. Bite after bite after bite. NOTHING! Gathilda swore under her breath. She knew she did everything right.

     “Give me that,” Gathilda said swiping the plate.

     She sighed and took a bite herself. ZAP!

     The world around the witch grew as shrunk into an amphibious state. There she stared up at Peter who ran off screaming down the sidewalk.

     I guess the boy was so beastly the curse didn’t work, she thought.

    With that Gathilda set her sights on a new life. She assumed that if she lived in a world purged of delicious delicacies she’d be better of a newt anyhow. She spent her days in the Peter’s trash, feasting off the glutened, red dyed, corn-syruped sweets that they threw away. And yes, even the occasional apple.