What Do You See? — Born Again

9B95A56B-10B4-48EF-B467-FBB7D93BA2ECShe certainly didn’t look anything like a prototypical storybook witch, or at least not how I envisioned what a typical fairytale witch would look like. Quite to the contrary, in fact. She was breathtaking, statuesque, stunning, beautiful. She was simultaneously dawn and dusk, day and night, water and earth, the sun and the moon, fire and ice.

And yet there was no doubt in my mind that she most assuredly was a witch. A real witch, the genuine article. She surely had me under her spell. I was completely and totally mesmerized. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I couldn’t look away, even if I did want to, which I did not.

And then the strangest thing happened. Suddenly I was shrunk down so small that I could fit in the palm of her hand, which is exactly where I found myself. I have to tell you, I was scared. So scared, in fact, that I curled up into the fetal position, right there in her outstretched hand. She held me up into the air and I seemed to burst into flames. But there was no pain, no heat. Just a nice, warm, cozy feeling. A feeling as if I were back in my mother’s womb, ready to be born again.


Written for Sadje’s What Do You See? prompt. Image credit: Pixabay.

Margaritaville

8DB325E1-8727-492A-8515-4784748861F1“I guess it just wasn’t meant to be,” Dave said.

“What do you mean?” Gregg asked. “Are you talking about you and Deirdre?”

“Yeah, she really lost it the other night,” Dave sighed. “She said that we’re just not in the same orbit.”

“What did she mean by that?”

“Who knows?” Dave said. “I think she has a strong dislike for my circle of friends.”

“Wait! She doesn’t like me? What a bitch.”

“Not you specifically,” Dave said. “She thinks my friends are pulling me down.”

“Hey, buddy, trust me, we got your back,” Gregg said, giving Dave a friendly hug. “Besides, do you really want to mortgage your future with some pillow-headed witch like Deirdre? You’re better off without her.”

“I don’t know, Gregg,” Dave said. “I really do like her.”

“I know just what you need, buddy,” Gregg said. “A new Mexican restaurant just opened up on Mission Street. It’s rumored to serve one mean margarita. A few of those, my friend, and you’ll be saying, ‘Deirdre who?’”


Written for Paula Light’s Three Things Challenge, where the three things are “witch,” “pillow,” and “margarita.” Also for these daily prompts: Ragtag Daily Prompt (lost), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (orbit), Word of the Day Challenge (dislike), Your Daily Word Prompt (trust), and The Daily Spur (mortgage).

#writephoto — The Scarecrow, the Witch, and the Wizard

D3D2201B-77FD-47C4-AE2E-A2346009A9F9During the occasion of a full wolf moon, the scarecrow, the witch, and the wizard went out together for a late evening stroll, as the trio was wont to do on nights such as this. After several hours of walking and talking, the wizard mention that he had developed quite a thirst. The witch said that she remembered passing a tavern on the outskirts of town shortly after they began their stroll.

“Ah yes,” the scarecrow said. “I distinctly recall that place because there was a tall sign just outside of the tavern that contained within it a scarecrow’s hat. But despite the fact that the tavern is home to scarecrows, I’d be delighted if the two of you would join me there as my guests.

“I beg to differ with you, Scarecrow,” the witch said. That tavern is obviously home to a coven of witches, since the hat in the sign is clearly a witch’s hat. But despite that fact, it would be my honor to invite the two of you to join me there tonight.”

“Hold on just a second, my friends,” the wizard said. There is no question but that the hat inside the sign is that of a wizard. Be that as it may,” he continued, “I would be happy to serve as host to the two of you in that establishment.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, either of you,” the scarecrow said. “Anyone can plainly see that it’s a scarecrow’s hat.”

“Don’t be daft, Scarecrow,” the witch responded. “The hat a witch’s hat.”

“It is neither a scarecrow’s nor a witch’s hat,” the wizard interrupted. “It is, without a doubt, a wizard’s hat.

“There is only one way to find out for sure,” the scarecrow said. “We shall, the three of us, head over to the tavern, walk right in, and you’ll see soon enough that I was right. It’s a pub for scarecrows.”

“It is not,” said the witch and the wizard simultaneously. Each determined to prove the other two wrong, the companions locked arms and marched straight to the tavern. Upon reaching the tavern, they looked at the sign.

“See,” the scarecrow said. “A scarecrow’s hat.”

“See,” the witch said. “A witch’s hat.”

“See,” the wizard said. “A wizard’s hat.”

Once again, the three locked arms and, together, squeezed through the tavern doors and stepped inside.

All eyes of the patrons inside the tavern gazed upon the three who had just entered. There was dead silence as those already there and the three newcomers sized each other up. A tension filled the room and the atmosphere grew heavy.

There were no scarecrows, witches, or wizards among the patrons in the tavern. Instead, the customers were farmers and farmhands.

The awkward silence of the moment was finally broken when the bartender cheerfully called out from behind the bar. “Welcome to Ye Old Farmer’s Hat Tavern, folks,” he said. “Find any empty table and I’ll be right there to take your orders.”


Written for the Thursday Photo Prompt from Sue Vincent.

MLMM Photo Challenge — Pig Face

img_1030“You are such a pig,” Peggy said to her fiancé. “You embarrass me.”

“That’s a shitty thing to say,” Arnold said.

“Look at you,” Peggy admonished. “You have food stains on your shirt and crumbs in your beard. You look like a hog who has been rooting around the slop in his pig pen.”

Arnold chuckled and let out a little snort.

“Eww, you actually snorted,” Peggy said. “You disgust me.”

“Yeah,” Arnold said angrily. “Well, you’re a little bitch!”

“I’m not a little bitch, Arnold,” Peggy said. “But I am a little witch!” With that, Peggy waved both of her arms over head for a second. Then she pointed them toward Arnold and chanted some words that Arnold didn’t understand. Suddenly Arnold’s nose and mouth transformed into a hog’s snout.

“Never mess with a bitchy witch,” Peggy said, a wicked smile lighting up her pretty face.


Written for this week’s Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge. Image credit: Igor Morski.

Double, Double Toil and Trouble

The small group of rather ghoulish looking creatures made their way through the forest to the isolated cottage to spend Halloween night together with their favorite witch.

As the ghoulish guests entered the cottage, they removed their wet galoshes and placed them just inside the door. Once the last ghoul had his galoshes off, they all gathered around a large, black caldron hanging in the oversized hearth, not only to warm their cold, damp ghoulish bodies, but to inhale the irresistible aroma of the goulash that was boiling inside the kettle.

One of the ghouls asked the witch what the secret ingredients were that made her goulash so incredibly delicious.

The witch cackled, as witches are wont to do, and replied, “If I reveal to you, my ghoulish little friends, you must promise not to tell a soul.”

The ghouls all said in unison, “We promise,” and raptly waited to learn the witch’s secret ingredients.

“You know those two children from the village who went missing a few days ago?” The witch said.

“You mean Hansel and Gretel?” one of the ghouls responded.

The witch smiled. “Such tasty little morsels, they are.”

And then she started her cackling again as the ghouls joyfully danced in front of the cauldron with its boiling goulash.


When I read today’s one-word prompt, “ghoulish,” two other similar sounding words popped into my head — goulash and galoshes. So I decided to concoct a tale using all three words.