“The Bus that Waited for No Wizard”
It all began with toast.
More specifically, with the last piece of toast—golden, buttery, and tragically flung across the room when the boy, Alfie, accidentally elbowed the plate in his hurry.
“By the stars, Alfie!” exclaimed the old wizard, Professor Wigglewand, brushing crumbs from his beard. “That was my toast!”
“No time!” Alfie cried, hopping into his oversized shoes. “The bus! The bus leaves in three minutes!“
Professor Wigglewand grabbed his pointy hat (which was still dripping with marmalade from breakfast) and hobbled to the door, his robe flapping like a bedsheet in a gale.
The two of them burst into the street, Alfie leading the charge, the wizard puffing behind. The bus stop was just down the hill—but naturally, the hill had recently been repaved with cobblestones so slippery they might as well have been made of banana skins.
“I told you we should’ve used the teleportation spoon!” puffed Wigglewand.
“You turned it into a ladle last time!” Alfie shouted back.
Ahead, the Number 19 Magical Express was already revving its enchanted engine, clouds of cinnamon-scented smoke puffing from the tailpipe. The bus driver, a grumpy ogre in a tweed cap, eyed them with mild disinterest.
“Hold it!” Alfie shouted. “Wait!”
The bus hissed and squeaked and began to pull away.
Wigglewand raised his wand and—poof!—turned his walking stick into a pogo stick. With one mighty bounce, he shot into the air, over Alfie’s head, and landed squarely in the middle of the road, arms flailing.
The bus screeched to a halt.
“Nice one, Professor!” Alfie said, panting as he caught up.
They clambered aboard, both out of breath and covered in toast crumbs and triumph.
“Cutting it fine, eh?” the ogre grunted, as the doors swung closed behind them.
Wigglewand winked, adjusted his marmalade-streaked hat, and muttered, “Better late than toastless.”
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 