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An owl hooted in the oak tree. The hostages were long gone, Dad covering his girl’s eyes to spare her the mess. Gary’s arm lay in the mud, thumb sticking out the palm, the femur where the pinkie should have been and finger nails jutting in all directions. The smell of burnt bacon wafted through the woods. Bana frowned and crossed her arms.

‘I don’t think this is going to work.’

Morra trembled and stuffed another mouthful of black puddings down her throat. She gazed at Gary while he cradled the stump of bone and baked skin where his arm had once been. Her shoulders sank, and she hung her head.

‘Bana, didn’t you say something about a spell that let you stick someone’s bits into another body?’

‘Sure, it’s a kinda dicey but-’

‘Right. The arm’s coming off!’ She groped around for the nearest sword, mace or any other chopping weapon. Bana squealed and tried to pry her away.

‘No, no, no, no! So you screwed up, we all do! We don’t want you to chop yourself into bits!’

‘I do.’ Said Gary,

‘You heard the man. Find me an axe, an extra rusty one!’

She grabbed a coal-steel monstrosity engraved with a three headed basilisk gobbling up a lamb, with the words ‘Ball Buster 3000’ carved on the hilt. With a deep breath, she stuck her elbow on a stump and raised the blade. She looked at her bare elbow and teared up.

‘Bye old pal. It’s been a blast.’

Bana fluttered around, rubbing her claws through her hair. There had to be something that could knock a little sense into Morra. She closed her eye and tightened her fist.

‘Here we go. Five, four, three, two…’

The billboard caught Bana’s eye.

‘I think I might have a solution…’

…

A robin twittered in the morning light, landed on the sign for Hector’s House of Helping Hands, and bit the head of a caterpillar. Gary emerged from within, admiring his shiny clockwork arm. There was an egg timer, a magnifying glass, toilet plunger, back massager and even a Swiss Army knife,* and a price tag that read, ‘501 wallabies.’

Morra followed behind, head lowered.

‘You know, I can spare you another coin. Or 80. Just until you’re back on your feet like…’

Bana sprang between them.

‘Ok, that’s enough beating yourself up for one day. Bye Gary!’ she said, ushering Morra away.

He skipped down the lane, fidgeting at the egg whisk installed in his pinkie. Bana slumped, bobbed over to a shop window, gazing at a pair of satin shoes on top of a red velvet cushion.

‘What a day…’

Morra placed a hand on her shoulder.

‘Sorry I fucked up.’

‘It happens.’ Bana turned her head and smiled, but her eyes sagged like a pair of rotten apples.

‘I turned that poor guy’s arm into a kebab.’

‘And you did all you could to fix it. That’s more than a lot of folk would have.’ Morra’s ears perked up, froze and drooped back down. It was still her fault he’d got chopped up to begin with.

‘Mmmm… Do you think he’s traumatised or something?’ She said. In the distance Gary danced down the alley, giggling and mucking about with his thumb-mounted blow touch.

‘Nope, don’t think so.’ Said Bana.

‘Maybe he’s just suppressing it.’

‘He’ll be fine.’ She was right. Probably. But could she know for sure? Gary might eat himself from the inside out, perhaps he’d toss himself in front of a basilisk, or a dragon! Maybe his arm would overload, spark, and start a fire that would turn the county to ash. Her heart thumped. What if the trauma set Gary on a path of misery and vengeance, driving him to become the new dark lord and unleashed a reign of 1001 years of darkness?

It occurred to her she could be blowing things out of proportion. But she couldn’t be certain. She clenched her chest, puffing and panting. Bana took her hand and fluttered up to face her.

‘You screwed up. It’s okay, we all do. I kind of made a mess of that poor kid’s arm.’

‘Maybe a little…’ Her heart slowed a beat.

‘We all make mistakes, even me. Better to learn from them than beat yourself up.’

Morra nodded.

‘You’re right, all this started because I leapt in and let my fists do the thinking. Well, no more of that shite! There’s a new Morra MacLeod in town, and she’s taking it slow and steady!’

‘Help! Somebody’s robbed the butcher’s shop!’ called a voice from down the street. Morra snorted, coiled her tail, seized her axe and lowered her head, poising herself for the charge. Then she stopped.

‘No, no, we’re not doing that shite. Look before I leap-’

‘They took the black puddings!’

Her eye flared red.

‘You bastards!’

...

The End

Description

Previous:

An owl hooted in the oak tree. The hostages were long gone, Dad covering his girl’s eyes to spare her the mess. Gary’s arm lay in the mud, thumb sticking out the palm, the femur where the pinkie should have been and finger nails jutting in all directions. The smell of burnt bacon wafted through the woods. Bana frowned and crossed her arms.

‘I don’t think this is going to work.’

Morra trembled and stuffed another mouthful of black puddings down her throat. She gazed at Gary while he cradled the stump of bone and baked skin where his arm had once been. Her shoulders sank, and she hung her head.

‘Bana, didn’t you say something about a spell that let you stick someone’s bits into another body?’

‘Sure, it’s a kinda dicey but-’

‘Right. The arm’s coming off!’ She groped around for the nearest sword, mace or any other chopping weapon. Bana squealed and tried to pry her away.

‘No, no, no, no! So you screwed up, we all do! We don’t want you to chop yourself into bits!’

‘I do.’ Said Gary,

‘You heard the man. Find me an axe, an extra rusty one!’

She grabbed a coal-steel monstrosity engraved with a three headed basilisk gobbling up a lamb, with the words ‘Ball Buster 3000’ carved on the hilt. With a deep breath, she stuck her elbow on a stump and raised the blade. She looked at her bare elbow and teared up.

‘Bye old pal. It’s been a blast.’

Bana fluttered around, rubbing her claws through her hair. There had to be something that could knock a little sense into Morra. She closed her eye and tightened her fist.

‘Here we go. Five, four, three, two…’

The billboard caught Bana’s eye.

‘I think I might have a solution…’

…

A robin twittered in the morning light, landed on the sign for Hector’s House of Helping Hands, and bit the head of a caterpillar. Gary emerged from within, admiring his shiny clockwork arm. There was an egg timer, a magnifying glass, toilet plunger, back massager and even a Swiss Army knife,* and a price tag that read, ‘501 wallabies.’

Morra followed behind, head lowered.

‘You know, I can spare you another coin. Or 80. Just until you’re back on your feet like…’

Bana sprang between them.

‘Ok, that’s enough beating yourself up for one day. Bye Gary!’ she said, ushering Morra away.

He skipped down the lane, fidgeting at the egg whisk installed in his pinkie. Bana slumped, bobbed over to a shop window, gazing at a pair of satin shoes on top of a red velvet cushion.

‘What a day…’

Morra placed a hand on her shoulder.

‘Sorry I fucked up.’

‘It happens.’ Bana turned her head and smiled, but her eyes sagged like a pair of rotten apples.

‘I turned that poor guy’s arm into a kebab.’

‘And you did all you could to fix it. That’s more than a lot of folk would have.’ Morra’s ears perked up, froze and drooped back down. It was still her fault he’d got chopped up to begin with.

‘Mmmm… Do you think he’s traumatised or something?’ She said. In the distance Gary danced down the alley, giggling and mucking about with his thumb-mounted blow touch.

‘Nope, don’t think so.’ Said Bana.

‘Maybe he’s just suppressing it.’

‘He’ll be fine.’ She was right. Probably. But could she know for sure? Gary might eat himself from the inside out, perhaps he’d toss himself in front of a basilisk, or a dragon! Maybe his arm would overload, spark, and start a fire that would turn the county to ash. Her heart thumped. What if the trauma set Gary on a path of misery and vengeance, driving him to become the new dark lord and unleashed a reign of 1001 years of darkness?

It occurred to her she could be blowing things out of proportion. But she couldn’t be certain. She clenched her chest, puffing and panting. Bana took her hand and fluttered up to face her.

‘You screwed up. It’s okay, we all do. I kind of made a mess of that poor kid’s arm.’

‘Maybe a little…’ Her heart slowed a beat.

‘We all make mistakes, even me. Better to learn from them than beat yourself up.’

Morra nodded.

‘You’re right, all this started because I leapt in and let my fists do the thinking. Well, no more of that shite! There’s a new Morra MacLeod in town, and she’s taking it slow and steady!’

‘Help! Somebody’s robbed the butcher’s shop!’ called a voice from down the street. Morra snorted, coiled her tail, seized her axe and lowered her head, poising herself for the charge. Then she stopped.

‘No, no, we’re not doing that shite. Look before I leap-’

‘They took the black puddings!’

Her eye flared red.

‘You bastards!’

...

The End