Aethereal Muses: Young Witches and Wonderland

A weekly compilation of collected microfictions composed by yours truly. Follow me on Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram for daily dabs of fiction. If your time is short, these are shorter!

Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.

Featured image art generated by Jason H. Abbott using A.I. and his own editing and compositing.

Movin’ through the country It’s man-eatin’ peaches All throughout the county It’s giant bitin’ peaches Peach mutants from Japan They were dropped here by Rodan In a fly-by of downtown If they get their kaiju way They’ll eat humans every day Sun-soakin’ bastards Go away The teacher stops at Sally Juno’s desk. “Wah wah, wah wah-wah-wah?” “No, Miss Othamr,” the little witch answers, “I didn’t cast a spell to make you sound like a trombone.” “Wah-wah?” “I don’t know who would. Maybe ask the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” The nilbogs stormed the cafeteria, and Mrs. Wormenchunk counterattacked. Spatulas thwapped skulls. Pans flew. Squeezes of Sam’s-2-Spicy Tamale Sauce blinded beady eyes. Milton donned a colander helmet. “She’s a Valkyrie!” “She’s the LUNCH LADY!” Allie shouted. Alice came downstairs. The Mad Hatter, March Hare and Dormouse all sang in unison. “Have a very merry unbirthday!” She shrank from eleven to ten. “If I celebrate too many unbirthdays, do I vanish?” “You’d rather be old?” “Not again. More tea, please.” Hunched over the Flavor Queen table, the minotaur peers at the plastic cup. “It’s pink.” Becca handed him a straw. “There’s strawberries in it.” He slurped, then licked lips perplexed at the kid. “What is this?” “A milkshake.” “Milk? I’m lactose intolerant!” Wolves snap at Podge’s heels, the boy just out of reach. With his long, strong arms and prehensile bare feet, Nim is already halfway up the tree from the same start. “You’re fast!” the wizard’s apprentice yells up. “Nah,” the orc boy huffs. “Humans are slow.” “Bark! Bark!” “What’s wrong, Girl? Someone fall in that well?” “Bark!” He runs to the well and peers down. “There nobody—” The dog pushes him in. A splash. A scream. Gnawing. Then a few bloody bones are tossed up onto the ground. “Good girl. More.”

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