The Wonderful Witch

ON THE TOP FLOOR of a magnificent NEW YORK high-rise lives a young woman.

As the morning sun breaks against the tall, glass windows, it illuminates a Jackson Pollock hanging off the white marble walls. If one were to take a closer look, it would appear as if the streaks of paint were dancing in the light, the colors flowing in celebration of the new day. Electronic music happily blasts from premium hi-fi speakers, flooding the lofty salon with beats and grooves.

The young woman pirouettes into the middle of the room, her dark, black hair a streaking disco of lights, sparkling in the golden glow of the sun. To the beat of the music, she hop-skips around a great, black cauldron, the rich contents of which bubbles and steams above a hot, crackling fire.

She sings:

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that… maybe I’ll throw in the wings of a bat!” And with a flick of her wrist, the neon, lava-like liquid explodes and crackles in a firework of colors.

She leans over the wafting cauldron and, with a little sniff, scoops out a dollop using a wooden spoon and takes a taste.

The floor falls away under her. She drops! — and then flies, high over the crimson skies! She sits on a broom and laughs ecstatically, passing purple clouds and rainbow-colored birds, her heart bursting with joy and love. She swoops and descends into a realm of light, overflowing with music and sweet, sweet honey. She skims the canopy of a tropical jungle, bewitching tigers and unicorns with hugs and kisses from above. And then… darkness.

She awakens in the salon, well-rested and refreshed. The room, now cast in the moon’s silvery shimmer, is quiet but for the smoldering embers under the cauldron. The fire has gone out.

The woman rises. She smiles in anticipation of the next day. What a trip!

“Tomorrow,” she whispers, “a mushroom here, a mushroom there…” and she takes herself to bed.

Sometimes in life, all you want to do is get high off your own supply.

THE END