Episode 9: Sascha Martin's Pitchy Witch Part Five

Mary-Alice has been looping most unusually in space.

Somehow, time’s involved, and spacetime is a dreadful time and place.

Last we saw her, she was airborne, with her jewel heist complete,

but she gave the haul to undeserving people in the street who, like the family in the hut, and Mr.

Toga, and the knight, thought ‘Befana’ was a thing, but no, it’s not.

It isn’t right.

By the time she sees the ground again, they’ll all have disappeared, and the later fate awaiting her is certain to be … weird.

Mary-Alice lost all count of her adventures in the when.

Every time she flew away, she’d be arriving there again.

Some adventures came by day, and some when day had fully passed.

But her very worst adventure was, well … somewhere in the past.

It began, like all the others, with the islands in the sea, and a turn above the isthmus where she nearly toppled free.

Then the race towards the town, and now it covered quite a range, only no one called ‘Befana!’ which itself was pretty strange.

And the streets were nearly empty, so unusual, and new.

There were soldiers roaming round but, other people, very few.

Straight ahead, a double line of soldiers marched along the street, wearing blue and white, with all their hats on sideways, which was sweet.

But the broom was heading steady up their rear,

so on the fly, Mary-Alice tried to warn them with a gentle, screeching cry that turned them right around and, seeing her, with cries of ’Saucy air!’ down they tumbled in a ditch beside the narrow thoroughfare.

‘Saucy air? You’re talking rubbish!’ Mary-Alice told the ditch.

‘Sorcière. It’s French,’ the broom advised.

‘They’re calling you a witch.’

‘Don’t be silly. I’m a princess. Surely they’re just playing games.

‘It is very hurtful, though.

‘I wish they wouldn’t call me names.

‘But at least it’s not ‘Befana.’

Then the strangest thing occurred: people tumbled from the buildings, calling out that very word.

Further up the street, a soldier, dressed exactly like the rest, knelt and pointed something at her, like, a gun, she would have guessed.

Then a puff of smoke emerged, and soon a nasty little boom, and a bullet whistled past her like an insect going ‘Zoom!’

Well, the cat reached out to catch it, but the bullet moved too fast.

Mary-Alice loosed her anger at the soldier as she passed.

‘Oh my god are you insane? You could have hit me, or the cat!

‘You’re in trouble now.

‘I’m dobbing!

Bet you weren’t expecting that!’

But he wasn’t on his own, and now his friends were shooting too.

‘Loop the loop!’ said Mary-Alice. ‘Loop the eeeee!’ And up she flew.

As she finished the manoeuvre, soldiers scrambled from the ditch, with a bossyboots obsessing at the small, supposed witch.

And there it was, the bittersweetness. She commanded centre stage, but her audience could offer only ignorance and rage, instead of wild applause and admiration, plaudits unrehearsed.

Then the bullets started flying. Ah, the critics at their worst.

Mary-Alice tried becoming inconspicuous and small, but her core would not allow it, so she just abused them all.

And the cat abandoned swiping at the bullets passing near, all the better to express itself, when howling in her ear.

Down below, they kept appearing, soldiers running everywhere, and the air was full of smelly smoke and cries of ‘Saucy air!’ plus the volleys of ‘Befana!’ still erupting from the crowd, who were jostling the soldiers.

It was all so very loud, and so confusing.

There were times she couldn’t even see the ground, but a clearer space ahead revealed a cannon swinging round.

Then the smoke was in her eyes, and she was seeing in a blur, but they kept the cannon turning till it pointed right at her.

‘This is bad,’ she thought.

‘There’s never been artillery before.

‘On the whole, I think I might prefer to splatter on a door.’

But the choice was not available, and she was flying straight, on a beeline for the cannon with its crew of maybe eight, plus a fancy-looking someone (what a try-hard! Overdressed!), who was pointing with a sword in her direction for the rest.

Something smoky someone lowered to the cannon gave a crack, and the cannon spouted fire from its mouth, and jolted back.

She gave the cat a squeeze, got bitten, heard the cannon blast, and she fancied she could see a dark projectile coming fast, to snuff her out, the cat as well, her only friend in all this gloom.

‘Oh my god just take me home!’ she screamed in panic at the broom.

Is this it for Mary-Alice?

An adieu?

Or au revoir?

Is the universe about to lose its brightest little star?

Is her light to be extinguished in the fog of some old war?

Can she not escape, to plummet to the islands as before?

For the cat and Mary-Alice, it’s as Schrödinger has said:

till we look inside next episode, they’re both alive, and dead.

To be continued.