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Merlin’s Travelling spell goes wrong. Short Story

Short Stories

“I’m sorry,” said a burley man, as he bumped into me on a crowded byway.

I stood up and backed into an open room away from the crowds, but was thrown forward to the floor by an invisible force. “What!”

“Careful,” said the strangely dressed man. “You’ll break the glass.”

“Glass?”

The man picked me up, “Yes glass,” he said, tapping on the invisible barrier. “What are you doing, promoting a play.”

“I have no idea, what is this place.”

“Oxford Street. I assume you’re lost, here let me show you.”

From nowhere he plucked a black box and showed me a picture, all lines and squiggles and red dots.

“Here you are. Where are you going? I’ll set it up.”

“I’m here to see King Arthur,”

He tapped the black box, “Ah yes that’s on at the Odeon, just up on the left past the Virgin shop.”

“Uhh thank you.” I replied, a little amazed. “There’s a shop where they sell virgins, how interesting.”

“Sorry?” asked the man.

“Nothing,” I said making my way through the crowed market place, full of people in the strangest garb.

My last travelling spell had obviously transported me to a major town with all these people, but what were those big red square boxes, full of people, moving along the road without horses.

“What’s the matter with you,” said a young woman as I brushed into her. This one was dressed in more respectable clothes of a lady of the court.

“Sorry, miles away,” literally I thought.

“Love the outfit.”

“Outfit? Oh, you mean my clothes.”

Because of copywrite in fringements, you’ll have to buy the book once published to read more.

 

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Flights Of Fantasy

Short Stories

“Do you need a lift,” said a growling voice beside Casey, as she walked along the country road, making her turn and jump out of the way.

She hadn’t heard the car draw up beside her, but when she turned it was not a car at all but a purple eyed flying dragon.

“Where are you going,” she asked, thinking it best to humour the scaly monster.

“The hills,” said the dragon, between its huge whiter than white teeth. Trails of smoke drifting out of its wide nostrils.

“There are many hills around here,” said Casey, edging further into the hedge.

“But only one that matters.”

“Why does it matter?”

“It holds my stash of gold.”

“And no doubt the charred bones of unsuspecting maidens.”

“Only the ugly ones.”

“Not the gold diggers?”

“Oh yes, maybe a few of those as well,” said the impatient Dragon, growing tired of trying to make conversation.

“Where do you think I fit in?”

“Well you’re very pretty of course.”

“How would you know. I thought beauty for you would be another lady dragon.”

“Few and far between these days.”

“Dragons or lady dragons?”

“Both. St George has a lot to answer for you know.”

“Yes, bit of a tyrant that one.”

“Yes, he killed my father. Mind you he was a bit long in the tooth.” said the dragon, baring his foot-long incisors.

“Well he was attacking the village, what do you expect.”

“He used a long sword and that wasn’t in the script.”

“There was a script?”

“Figure of speech. Talking of which you do have a fine figure.”

Casey twirled around. “You think so?”

“Yes, so what’s it to be?”

“I prefer to keep my flesh on my bones.”

Because of copywrite in fringements, you’ll have to buy the book once published to read more.

 

 

 

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