NUMBER 99
A flash fiction.
No spelling and riding without a license.
I’d only heard that 1001 times. The hardest part of broom riding? Staying on the dang thing.
My beginners permit allowed me to practice until it was old hat. My final test was tomorrow.
Except, tonight was Halloween. Everyone in the supernatural community would be at the Halloween party. Unfortunately, my date and ride called last minute, saying he had witch-warts, which was highly contagious to magical beings, especially witches, hence the name.
I might have gotten away with riding an unlicensed broom, except the mischievous Westwind snatched my invitation. I cast one tiny return spell. That is the last thing I remember, and the pivoting wind funnel smacking me.
I’d been walking round the boonies forever. Well, not really, I think. My head ached. I wasn’t sure how long I had been unconscious after the crash.
The ground was foggy. No moon. I would cast a telepathy spell to call for help, but this far out, no one would hear me. I had not mastered teleportation yet, even for short distances.
