She ran toward the monument. Four men were on the scaffolding, attempting to maintain the monument while the witch stood at the bottom, her head tilted upward and a grin on her face.The witch had planned this and she knew it.
“Well,” the witch said in a high-pitched voice, “if it isn’t little red coming to stop the big bad wolf.”
“If you harm those men, I swear…”
“You’ll what? Fight me?” The witch laughed shrilly, “You don’t have an ounce of magic in you, dear.”
“I don’t need magic.” She raised her fists, ready to defend herself. The witch laughed again and waved her arms, throwing her 30 feet back. She groaned and grunted as she sat up and stared at the witch.
“I believe,” she muttered, stand up, and sprinted toward the witch. “Ya!!!” She shouted and extended her arm. Out of nowhere, glittering gold shot out of her hand. The witch screamed in agony and in the blink of an eye, the witch became nothing but a pile of goo on the ground.
I am participating in Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writer, where we write a piece between 100 and 150 words (more or less 25 words) in length inspired by the photo prompt above.