Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
He ain't no virgin! "The Witch is back and there's hell to pay." —Winifred, Hocus Pocus The door slammed open. "Bing bang the Bitch is back! I see Donald's up to his usual shenanigans but I'm looking for a virgin." Winifred looked peeved. She always looked peeved. Her exile hadn't suited her. Her side kicks had abandoned her and her used broom was making her itch. "Fleas", she grumbled. "Fleas!" The barmaid hid under a table. The bartender fainted. Winifred didn't notice. She wasn't interested. "Where's that kid?" Max stood up and strode over to her. "Well, I'm old. And don't think you can get lucky again. I'm not a virgin." "Children?" The gleam in Winifred's eye said it all. "Nope." Winifred slumped. "You're out of luck. But... if you need a ride to the cemetery..." Winifred started to mumble and twitch her fingers. "That won't work." Wide eyed but curious, Winifred mouthed "why?" Max laughed. "I've invested in every ward in the world. Would you like a gummy?" Winifred turned and fled as fast as her bad leg would allow her. "I would've given her a ride to the Senior Center if she would've let me." Max sighed. "It's hard getting old, even for an old witch with dementia." © Kåre Enga (29.oktober.2024) ~205 words |