He was useless.
He couldn’t remember his times tables. He hadn’t got a clue about algebra and he could only just about tell the time on an analogue clock. When the English teacher had made him read Macbeth out loud in year 7 the other kids laughed because he didn’t know what the words meant or how to say most of them. That was partly his own fault and he knew that; school was difficult and loud and full of people that treated him like his mom and stepdad, so he just didn’t go.
He didn’t stay at home either. He spent his days hiding from the wag man in the park, or wherever he could find shelter on the rainy days.
His English teacher said he was useless. The Maths teacher told him he wasn’t even good enough to sweep up floors and that he would never amount to anything.
And know he was here trying to save the world. How the actual fuck had that happened?
‘So, you going to make me carry him on my own then?’
‘You’re not going to help?’
‘Cast a spell. I’m not your skivvy,’ said Joe.
Agnes put her hands on her hips and huffed. ‘Really? You’re not going to help?’
‘Cast a spell,’ he repeated.
Agnes bobbed her tongue out at Joe.
‘Very mature,’ he said. God, it was like having an annoying big sister.
‘You do realise you’re spoiling my fun.’
‘Just cast a fucking spell.’ Joe was losing his patience.
‘Alright, Mr Grumpy! God, you’re no fun!’ She turned to look at the woodcutter’s body. Holding her arms about two feet apart, her palms facing the ground, Agnes commanded his body to rise with a simple word, ‘Astigan!’
The woodcutter’s body began to slowly rise into the air. As it did so, his arms began to droop underneath him, the axe still clenched tightly in his right hand.
‘Well, that was easy,’ said Joe. Why couldn’t she have just done that in the first place? Why didn’t everything have to be so difficult?
‘But not as much fun,’ replied Agnes with a wink. She turned gracefully on the spot and began to skip off into the woods, the woodcutter following after her, his axe dragging across the ground.