Tag: magic

Remember To Forget

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“You have one wish left,” said the genie.
“Huh?” I said.
Where am I? What’s going on?
I was standing in an alleyway, dirty lamp in my hand with a genie sticking out of it.
“What do you mean ‘one wish left?'” I asked. “Did I have others?”
“Yes,” said the genie. “You had three.”
“Did I?” I said, scratching my head. “I don’t remember that at all. Jesus, I wish I could remember what I wished for.”
The genie vanished, and I remembered that my second wish was to forget my first.
I wish I could forget it again.

Spork Girl

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Jenny got rejection notices from Teen Titans.
“Rejection is a part of life,” said her mother, comforting Jenny. “Come on, show me again what you can do.”
Jenny put a fork in one hand, a spoon in the other, and then put her hands behind her back.
“Abracadabra,” she said.
When she brought her hands back in front of her, she revealed the spork.
“Do you have to do that with the nice silverware, Jenny?” asked her mother. “Can’t you just do that with the plastic picnic spoons and forks?”
Jenny cried and ran to her room, slamming the door.

The Angel

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My wife didn’t go to Florida this year for Christmas, so she put up a Yule tree.
It was a fake tree, prewired with lights and pinecones. And even though it wasn’t going to shed needles, we still got a tree skirt for it.
We kept the decorations simple. And we didn’t put an angel on top.
No, that was for Piperkitty’s photo. She watched us put the tree up, but didn’t live to see us take it down.
As we take down the ornaments, I find her last tinkly collar.
I don’t remember putting it up there.
Do you?

Let there be milk!

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Without the miracle, the wedding feast would have been a flop.
But now that the celebrants were drunk on the transformed wine and the party was coming to a close, it was time to clean up.
“Can you turn the wine back into water?” said Thomas. “The mugs need rinsing. Oh, and there’s some vomit to mop up, too.”
Jesus waved his mighty hand over the pitcher…
Nothing.
“It’s still wine,” he growled.
An hour later, the best he could come up with was milk.
“Well, that sucks,” said Thomas. “I guess we’ll just set this out with the coffee.”

And then there were seven

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I looked up from the battered, scratched pass to look again at her garishly made-up face.
“National Spiritual Advisor?” I asked.
After several checks, National Spiritual Advisor Melinda Gauche’s security pass was stamped VALID.
She smiled. “Ronnie was so nice to indulge his Nancy,” said Gauche, adjusting her veils.
“Follow me,” I said, leading the jangling mysticist down the hall.
When she entered the room and laid her charts on the table, the discussions stopped.
“What’s wrong, Spooky?” asked the President.
“I can’t chart it,” said Gauche. “Uranus is missing.”
I swear, the president turned to the Surgeon General first.

The Iron Baby

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The Iron Baby was a real baby that legend says turned to iron when his witch-mother burned at the stake.
A curse is upon us: ignore or abandon this shrieking monster, and the town will be destroyed.
Each family takes care of the monster for one night, passing it along Harvest Road to the next family when dawn breaks.
Turkel the Blacksmith’s family was next. He’d had enough, so he hammered a horseshoe into a pacifier.
The shrieking… stopped.
As the people prepared a feast to celebrate, the woods caught fire.
Strange winds pushed the flames towards the town square.

Shadow Birthday

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When Bob had his birthday birthdays, he always shared it them with his shadow.
Happy Birthday, Bob!
All of Bob’s friends would come over for cake and ice cream, and so did their shadows for the shadows of cake and ice cream.
Bob blew out the candles, and so did his shadow on the wall.
It was a race between Bob and his shadow to see who could open presents faster. It was always a tie.
Sometimes there was a goofy clown. Other times, a magician showed up to work his magic.
One year, a strange man came to make interesting shadow puppets.
The shadows of Bobby and his friends were entertained by the hands of the puppet-master.
Why? Well, since when have you seen a rabbit or duck turn into a pair of writhing hands?

Roast Duck

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During the winter, the King’s servants and advisors moved into the central rooms to converse fuel.
The oddest couple was the pairing of the court wizard and the head chef.
One night, the alarm was raised: ice demons at the gate!
The wizard grabbed a spell book and raced to the fight.
Without looking, he flipped to the page with Firestorm.
He read off a recipe for Roasted Rosemary Duck instead.
“It’s a cookbook?” he muttered.
The chef handed him another book. “I think this is yours,” he said.
They won the fight, and feasted on Roast Duck to celebrate.

The Witch Doctor

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I carried Bobby’s mangled corpse to the Witch Doctor, begging him to do something.
“Sure,” said the Witch Doctor. “Stand back.”
I stepped back and watched the Witch Doctor mix up various ingredients in a gigantic boiling pot.
He poured out the contents on the broken body and chanted some kind of magic spell.
An hour later, Bobby’s wounds were healed and broken bones were straightened.
Good as new. Almost.
“He’s not moving,” I said. “Is he alive?”
“Alive?” asked the Witch Doctor. “I’m sorry. I thought you were from the morticians’. You want this one alive? Man, you’re fucked.”

Waking up

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Ned was laying on the couch when he woke up.
His roommate John was staring at him.
“What?” said Ned.
“You just appeared out of thin air, man,” said John. “Once second nothing’s there, and then all of the sudden- you appear.”
“Oh,” said Ned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t explain. I always wake up on the couch.”
“No matter where you fall asleep?” asked John
“Yup,” said Ned. “I know why, but it’s hard to explain.”
“Wicked,” said John. “Ever thought about using that to rob a bank?”
“No,” said Ned. “But it did get me out of jail once.”