Page 44 - WTP Vol. V #2

the Harpy’s neck and peeled her out of the wall, the Harpy managed a gargled moan to- ward the Sea Witch.
very pliable. Then I turned to you and that what- ever he was, honestly, I wish you would be a little more reserved in your choice of company, Bertie. He said he was an old boyfriend.”
“This is unprecedented! I’m out of hooch and about to get plucked by this psychotic redneck! Please get out your wand and get us the #@$% home!!” The man tightened his grip and violently shook her. It looked as though a comforter had exploded. The Harpy resigned herself to sinking into a black abyss.
“What happened? How did it end?”
When the Harpy opened her eyes, she found her- self suspended in a great, rolling skyscape filled with billowing clouds. There were towers of searing gold and brilliant red so fantastical that nothing on the earthbound plane could compare. She was majestic, regal and fearless; absolute in her angelic perfection.
Tears ran down the Harpy’s caked-on foundation in channels. The pasty flecks pooled together with the eye shadow and lipstick, giving her a garish yet wistful expression.
Somewhere in the distance she could hear some- thing like a shrill siren, but she ignored it. This was as close to happiness as she’d ever been and she felt completely consumed by her sublime surroundings. The ends of her feathers radiated a pure, unadulterated light.
“Maybe it isn’t worth going through this world alone. I don’t know. I’ve always been something of a loner, but maybe I need to soften my edges a bit. After all, what’s the point of inflicting misery upon the innocent if there isn’t anybody around to enjoy it with? Isn’t that the fun of a shared ex- perience, having witnesses around to watch the carnage unfold?”
But the noise fired up again. It became louder and louder, a horrible grating sound ringing in- side of her head. Something hard and gritty was smashed up against her face. It took a moment for the Harpy to realize that she was face down on the floor and the horrible noise was coming from her own mouth, so she closed it.
The Oracle took a sip of her seltzer. It had, re- markably, stayed upright.
Slowly and carefully, she raised her head and caught sight of overturned tables and chairs, broken glass and splintered wood. A sharp pain ceased her movement as she tried to turn her head and she began to cry.
The future was bright for these magical, super- natural gals. Finally, after so many centuries, they had the perfect opportunity to band together. The Harpy, Sea Witch, and the Oracle promised each other they would get right down to the business of unleashing their col- lective fury and fitful, repressed minds upon the world of mortals, as soon as they learned how to play Bridge. The End.
“Bertie?”
The Sea Witch was holding an ice pack to the Oracle’s head. The Oracle’s magnified glasses were crooked.
“What happened? I thought I died. It was nice.” She sniffed and started to sit up again.
“I turned him into a bug. We were going to put him in this glass and save him for you, but he was accidentally trampled by someone on the way out.”
“Thou unholy coupling with yonder allegorical green beast is hauntingly vexing to mine own senses! Thee has’t caused great cataclysmic up- heaval of dank and odiferous drinking establish- ment!”
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“Everything happened so quickly. I ran over to Agnes and assumed the worst, but look—she’s
Peper is a visual artist and a writer. In 2016 her essay, “Middle-Aged Yoga; A Review” was published in Knee-Jerk Magazine. She has collaborated in several art exhibitions, including at Otis College of Art and Design, the Queens Museum, and Briarcliffe College.