Mom was always good at spell writing. Aunt Piper was always the best potion-maker, being a natural born and college trained chief. Aunt Prue and Aunt Paige were always the super-witches. The ones who did things without thinking and went out of their way to help others.

Pearl, my oldest sister, is the spell writer. She didn't get empathy, premonitions, telepathy, or combustion. She got pyrokenesis. You know, a fire-starter. You should have seen the way she strutted around after reading the part in the Book of Shadows about being 'coveted'. But that only lasted a week before she was attacked and moved on the complaining about it.

Prue, my second oldest sister, gained a lot of the cupid powers my dad had. That, combined with empathy, makes her insufferable when it comes to matters of love and feelings. Her favorite saying is, "Pu-lease, I'm an empathic half-cupid, I know." It's very annoying. I think she got mom's sex appeal; she has to beat 'em off with a stick, if you know what I mean. All of this has led to her being the cockiest witch in the family, right next to Wyatt and the Twins.

I, Poesy Mesilla Halliwell, on the other hand, have yet to discover my power. Or distinguish which of the powers I posses actually belong to me. I think some weird voodoo's been goin' on with me. Pearl, of course, has been complaining, not only about her powers, but mine, as well.

"But, Mom, why does she have so many? She's the baby. I'm the oldest. I developed mine first!"

My mom only rolled her eyes and went back to typing the column of the day. Uncle Leo (Thank You God!) stepped in and explained that I was probably just a telepath taping unconsciously into other people's powers. Pearl gave me the up-an'-down, sizing me up, and told me not to tap in to her powers. I rolled my eyes in a similar fashion to my mom. But before they could finish they journey, I was hit with a wave of orange juice. Being soaked to my skin with such a fragrant liquid made my jump back out of my stool only to get my foot caught on a leg and go crashing to the ground.

I stayed on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Rainbows of colors clashed on the normally stark white plaster ceiling. I wonder when we had it painted. I ask Aunt Piper. Every member of my family that had been in the kitchen at the time tilted their heads back and stared at the underside of the roof for a few seconds. Then they turned worried eyes back on me.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" My cousin, Charlie, squeaked in a panicked voice.

I knew that if either one of my sisters was currently lying on their back in a pool of O.J. they'd be pissed. I looked up at the small boy.

" 'T's okay, Char, I like orange juice," I say in his general direction. But everyone in my family knows that I hate oranges and tangerines and any byproducts coming from those two fruits.

They exchange worried looks for a few moments and Aunt Piper screamed for Wyatt. She stops midway through her sentence and once again, I feel all the eyes on me. I don't see them. The floor under my back is no longer wet. There's a large sheet of orange liquid hovering above me. I reach out a finger and brush the fire-colored water. A few drops fall onto my stomach.

"Hey, Mom! What's wrong? Why'd you call- Whoa!" Wyatt's voice fills my ears.

"Charlie, dear, be a dove and hand me the orange juice pitcher."

Charlie does and I navigate my hands so it pours into the glass jug in a single stream. I set it on the tile and prop myself up, setting my stool back into the upright position.

Charlie puts the pitcher back on the counter. I pick up a piece of buttered toast and take a bite.

"Aunt Piper, what's for breakfast?"

"Pancakes and bacon," Aunt Piper tells me, pouring the soiled juice down the drain. Everyone is still staring at me while Wyatt heals the newly formed bruise where my shoulders, neck, and back meet.

"I think she has a partial concussion," Aunt Paige says to Mom. She is proved correct when I start chattering with Melinda on a third grade level about what flowers are actually drugs in disguise.

Hmm, I think I'll make a good witch.


This story actually has no plot what so ever. I think it's just a character introduction for a story I might write in the future. Before you ask, No, Poesy isn't a telepath. I haven't come up with a name for the powers she has (which basically include the control of ice and liquid), and, Finally, she and her sisters make up the "New Charmed Ones".

Goodnight (Yawn)