A Small Tale of Surprise

 Once upon a time a witch shrieked. She had to. She had been surprise.

    Surprises were the worst. This was due to their unexpected properties; being a witch, you never knew if it was going to be a bucket of water to the face, a flaming torch to the face, or a light tap on the shoulder — any way it happened, you screamed. Although, in this case, it was the last one, so given the waste of kinetic energy, she probably should have screamed louder. Just to even things out.

    The witch whirled around, her knife in her hand at that slanted angle that said, jugulars beware. Her protege flinched.

    'Must it be every day, Stanley?' she said.

    'Sorry, miss,' Stanley said.

    'It's as much my fault as yours,' she said with a sigh. Then, 'Surely there's got to be a better way?'

    Stanley shrugged.

    'I could get a pole?' he suggested.

    The witch looked Stanley up and down.

    'Yes,' she said, 'I think you'd better.'

    'Yes, miss. Same time, miss?'

    The witch nodded, following Stanley and mulling over better ways to be called into tea.

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