Jerimiah had been granted a wish by the senile and ugly looking witch carrying a long stick. He wished to extrude out his sadness for it was getting difficult for him to carry the load any longer. The witch grinned, thinking the task to be a child’s play. She tapped her magic stick three times on the ground. Little did she realize that Jerimiah had a tornado of sadness buried deep inside within him. Of the many things the maelstrom encapsulated, the witch was the first.