Freaky Friday

Madam Ophelia sneezed for the tenth time during the last four minutes. She muttered something incoherent and continued cleaning the dust and dirt from the cupboards. When she finished dusting and rearranging what was left of her dishes in the cupboard, she cast a disgusted look at the dirty floor and the ruins of her old fashioned furniture, which lay scattered around the small room. She sighed deeply, this was going to be a long day, and whoever had done this damage to her house was going to suffer a long and painful death.

She put down the old piece of cloth that she used for dusting her small house, washed her hands and walked to the small closet at the far end of the room, where she usually kept her brooms. She slowly turned the knob and peeked inside, as if scared of what she might see there. Just as she expected, there it was, the little round, fluffy, purple beast, sitting in her closet and feasting on her last broom. The little beast was so absorbed in its food that it did not notice the old woman looking at him and at the bits and pieces of her favorite brooms.

Madam Ophelia slowly closed the closet door and leaned against it, muttering about bad luck on Fridays. She sighed once again; she was going to need another broom. She locked the closet, to prevent the beast from escaping, took her small purse and walked out of the house heading into the direction of the nearest shop, where she could by a nice new broom.

The shop was offering a vast selection of different types of brooms and brushes that were neatly arranged against the light blue walls of the shop. Madam Ophelia went from one broom to another, expertly examining the type of the wood and the quality of the stiff bristles, tied together to the wooden stick. She spent half an hour searching for the right type, quality and shape, until she picked a slim light brown broom, made from an oak. She took the broom to the cashier and paid 500 drams for it.

“You have made a very nice choice”, said the woman, standing behind the cash machine, approvingly.

“Indeed, I have,” answered Madam Ophelia, taking the receipt and the neatly wrapped broom, from the woman.

She walked out of the shop and headed to the parking, proudly holding her purchase, as if it was a prize. She stopped in front of a small yellow car, but before sitting in it, she decided to look once again at her new broom. She quickly unwrapped it and held it in her right hand, as if balancing its weight. She raised her left hand and slowly caressed the smooth surface of the handle. This was the best broom she had ever had in all her 340 years. She swung her right leg over the broom and sat expertly on it. Muttered a quick spell and flew up in the sky, heading to the witch mountain, where she intended to buy an anti-monster potion, which would help her get rid of the purple monster locked in her closet.