I was so happy when I first got my broom.
They said it would take me four weeks to get used to flying.
Well, as I’m the winner of the overachiever of the year award, I aimed for three.
It all went well, I could kick start within two days, hovered steady in a week.
Two weeks and six days after I first learned to fly, I snuck out of the academy with my broom, and flew to the forest in under ten minutes.
Just when I started to feel elated, the broom started to make put-put noises.
I thought nothing of it, until I started to float down to earth. It did not take me long to realise what was going on; I forgot to fuel it with magic before take off.
Just as I prepared the spell, I noticed where the broom headed, a huge old house in the centre of the forest, very well hidden by the trees.
It looked decrepit, like one of those houses in zombie games.
Even they wouldn’t want to live here.
And then I noticed bats emerging from the broken windows. I shrieked.
And then I lost all control and the broom fell.
It went right for the big chimney in the centre. Right above it, the broom stopped put-putting, and it fell. I swear I could hear the damn thing laugh when I got stuck halfway down the chimney with my skirts up past my ears.
So there you have it. No one to rescue me, because no one knows where I am.
The teachers believe I am gathering herbs in the mountains with friends.
If only I had learned telepathic communication first.
