Witches on their broom-sticks filled the skies.
The now excited wicked witch from the great metropolis, where so many of them had gathered during the time of the Great Wiccaring, cackled the way witches do. She had found him. She hovered, waiting for the great witch of witches to join her. She hovered on her broom-stick above a young lad, not letting him out of her sight. She would be highly rewarded for being the one to find him. Prophesy had it that a young boy would be born that would possess the power to destroy the Supreme Witch, with an abundant spinning. This latter part had always been the subject of lengthy debate but had remained a mystery.
And so, it came to pass that decades of witchery ruled, while these malevolent creatures flew criss-cross over the stricken city seeking him out. And now he was found. The child sat playing with his spinning top. It was made of wood and painted with bright colours that blended into a rainbow blur each time he spun it. The witch had an evil grin as the Supreme Witch approached. At this point the boy stood and ran quickly into the street, then ducking through a series of alleyways came to the airport’s lofty chain link fence. He began to climb.
The supreme leader of the vast community of witches came down and floated directly above him. He sat straddled on the top of the fence. She drew her wand. He took his top from his pocket and lifted it high above his head, smiling. Not to be distracted by this childish behaviour, she raised her wand to deliver her most potent black spell on the unfortunate boy when she heard a noise.
With a gentle ‘phut’, she was instantly sucked into the engine of a Dreamliner.
