The clearing

Wisps of smoke rise from the bubbling pot.

The witches chant. “We invoke thee, young one. Come to us!”

Slowly, the maiden walks, trancelike, into the clearing.

They beckon. “Closer!”

The maiden pulls a toy pistol from her pocket, fires.

Water lacerates their skin. They shriek and turn to ash.

Thank you for reading my 50-word micro-fiction story. Your comments are welcome!

I wrote this story when I ran a weekly micro-fiction writing contest, and I would also often contribute my own piece, just for fun. This story was my piece for the prompt, “witch.”