Stories

In The Broom Cupboard.

A quip on the Creative Writing Group on Facebook asked for a short story that started with the sentence:

“I kept waiting for a big guy to break down the door and tell me I was a wizard.”

And this is what I came up with:

It is rather dark in here, and I do wish someone would turn up. And the smell’s getting to me as well. I mean, you know how it is when you’re old. If it’s not forgetting something, it’s the need to go to the toilet. Only, well, you know how things are when you put down your spectacles and you can’t quite remember where you put them and of course that’s the very moment nature calls. So there I was, having found my way out into the corridor trying to find the door to the toilet; and what with one thing and another, I found myself in a little room. Only it wasn’t a toilet, it was a broom cupboard and there was no handle on the inside.

Well, of course, I fumbled around in the darkness and found a bucket, but it’s not the same, you know. I put the blame on too many cups of tea, only there’s so little else going on in one’s life at this age. Oh, and of course, I blame myself for putting down my spectacles. That’s the trouble with being a professor, you do tend to be a little absent minded.

Anyway, after a while, it got to be a little dull, what with there being no light, and only a broom for company. I mean, brooms are fine and all that, but you need room for them. Like a broom cupboard. It’s when things go wrong and they start dancing and, well, multiplying. Someone thought it worth making a movie out of, personally I found it a bit embarrassing. I still cringe to this day when I think of brooms.

It is getting a bit whiffy in here, though.

I bang on the door again, but there’s no response. I haven’t a clue what time it is, and even if I had my watch, I’d not be able to see the dial because of my reading glasses. Not the ones I need to see the door on the other side of the room with, the ones that I need to see things close to. It really does make life difficult.

I mean, I can understand what he’s going to say when he breaks down the door. “You call yourself a fucking wizard and you can’t even open a door from the inside?”

There are times one’s memory fades, and it’s been a good six months since I last needed my wand.

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