The Witch and The Vulture

The sun was high in the sky, beating down on the dry, baked, desert.
A girl with long, raven black, hair lay spread-eagled in the sun. She was dressed like a witch with her hat sitting beside her shoulder. There were three vultures hanging around her. The girl jolted upright and grabbed her hat .
“Oh, hello vultures, what are you doing?”
“Us? We were seeing if you were dead little witchling.”
“Well that is just rude, Mr. Vulture, I was only sleeping.”
The two extra vultures squawked and flew off, leaving the witch with the vulture she was talking to. The witchling stood up pulling her hat onto her head, in an effort to keep the sun off of her face.
“Do you have a name, Mr. Vulture?”
“No, witchling, Mr. Vulture will do just fine.”
“Okay, well, my name is Darla, and it’s very nice to meet you.”
“Witchling Darla, hmmm,” Squawk! “Perhaps you’d fancy a small game?”
Darla looked at the vulture thoughtfully.
Everything around the witchling blurred and fuzzed, it was very briefly replaced by a disgustingly dirty, mouldy, room before the desert reasserted itself.
Darla look about, panicked, “What was that, Mr. Vulture?”
“What was what?”
“That! Everything flickered!”
“I’m afraid I didn’t see it, little witchling.”
The witchling screamed, “It just did it again!” Darla looked around skittishly, “Mr. Vulture? Mr. Vulture?!”
The vulture had completely vanished, there was absolutely no trace of where he had been perched. Darla was all alone in a flickering world. The flickering stopped. The witchling was looking at the room, looking for any trace of the dry, dusty, desert she had just been in. Her hat had turned into a filthy, holy, cap, Darla began to hyperventilate. She curled up in a ball on a pile of empty pill casings.
The LSD had worn off.
The witchling wasn’t really a witch, and the vulture had never existed.