In March 2011, inspired by the Arab Spring blazing through the Middle East, fifteen boys in Daraa, Syria, graffitied their defiance of their country’s corrupt government. The boys were consequently detained, and one was brutally tortured and killed. Their treatment sparked more protests and more killings — and the Syrian civil war had begun.

In his story “Seven Months with the Witch Who Had the Broom,” the Syrian writer-in-exile, Mustafa Taj Aldeen Almosa, fictionalizes the experience of one of countless protesters persecuted by the Syrian security forces. Collected by The Odd Magazine in its anthology A Song For Syria, the narrative steps away from conventional war tropes and embraces fantastical elements to subvert a reality with no possibility of redemption. As the story goes, a boy hitches a ride with a witch on a broom, but this is no ordinary broom: this is a vacuum cleaner with a no-smoking-on-board policy. And this ride, far from being ordinary, is saturated with a wish-fulfillment quality before it spirals into a macabre nightmare.

Written in a single paragraph, the story forges a unique geography of thought and advocates for fiction’s imaginative capacity to leap into the impossible and emerge defiant.

— Raaza Jamshed for Guernica Global Spotlights

I do not know them. I have never met any of them. They say they know me! Oh my God, they are crazy. Seven months ago, I was standing at the door of our house. I sighed while I smoked. I missed the city market so much. One year had passed, and I could not go there because of the despicable military checkpoint in the entrance of our alley. Suddenly, a witch with a broom landed beside me and said to me, “I’ll take you to the market. Come on, ride behind me.” And I rode behind her on her broom. Her broom was not made from straw like brooms you hear of from those old folk tales, but it was a vacuum cleaner! I asked her, wondering why, “Is it for the need of the modernization of the tales and also the technological development of tales that you imposed this on me?” She looked over at me and said, “Your smoking is bothering me.” So I threw out my cigarette. A bird flying beside us caught it and continued smoking it. We flew higher passing over the military checkpoints. Once we arrived at the market I ran between the people with joy. I hugged the vegetable carts and kissed Haj Kassem vendor of the cakes. Two hours later I came back to the witch at the entrance of the market. She turned on her vacuum cleaner and I rode behind her to take me back to the house. And so this went on for seven months. Every day the witch was taking me to the market and then bringing me back to the house for free. When we passed over the checkpoint areas we were spitting on the soldiers and laughing. Once in flight and without her notice, I urinated on the soldiers below. A soldier lifted his head and shouted with joy, “Yes! It’s because of the prayers for rain, which our great leader prayed for yesterday, otherwise there wouldn’t have been this rain.” Once, while we were in the middle of the sky, I whispered to the witch, “In the North of the city there is a private swimming pool exclusively just for women. What do you think, should we fly a little above it?” She turned to me while she was flying her vacuum cleaner and screamed angrily, “Oh you are very inappropriate.” I replied, “I only meant to fly above the women’s swimming pool in an innocent way with no bad intentions. I only want a glimpse. It’s not like I intend to throw explosive barrels down!” She replied, “You’re extremely bad-mannered.” Oops! We almost collided with a cloud. This witch was flying her vacuum cleaner amazingly. The last time we flew out and while we were in mid-air the vacuum cleaner stopped working. We began to fall and the witch screamed to me, “We have run out of charge, last night I forgot to charge the battery.” I hit the ground, it was a hard hit and I completely lost consciousness. Days, weeks, months…I did not know, but I was dreaming during the absence of my consciousness, a scary nightmare. I saw thin and weak bodies, a great fear, strangled voices, crazy torture, human body parts, heard cries of pain, coagulated blood, electric currents being passed through bodies, satanic cackles, crushed skulls, broken bones, subhuman monsters were playing and having fun with human beings in the dark cellars, a piece of meat similar to a tongue dumped on the ground, rotten bodies, a darkness and a congestion and…I woke up slowly, my body was in great pain. I realized I was lying on the sofa surrounded by people I did not know. They said they were my friends and family. A pale woman said she was my mother. She was explaining to them how I was arrested seven months ago in front of our door on charges of participating in demonstrations. She explained how I was brutally tortured until I lost my memory. Beside her stood a wacky looking teenager who said he was my brother. He proclaimed proudly in front of them that my slogans and cheers were the most beautiful in all the demonstrations. Oh my God! From where did they bring this strange talk?! I tried to talk, but failed, someone had stolen my tongue. After everyone had gone the pale woman covered me and went out with the teenager to another room, leaving me alone in the darkness with my great sufferings. After hours, the witch suddenly approached my sofa. A strong light surrounded her. She bent over to put her hand on my hair tenderly; her whiteness had increased from last time. She whispered to me, “We’ll go now on a new journey, a beautiful and final one.” When she carried me all of my sufferings disappeared as if they were never there. She walked to the porch, and put me on her broom behind her and turned it on. And we flew, we flew quietly. We flew high in the sky, higher than all the previous times, to the end of the heavens. I asked her, “Why don’t you teach me how to drive this vacuum cleaner?” She turned to me, smiled gently and muttered, “As you like. After we get to the other world I will let you know how to drive the vacuum cleaner.” I asked, “Is there a swimming pool for women in the other world so we can fly above it?” She replied, “Yes, there is and we can…” Oops! We almost collided with a cloud again.

Originally published in the anthology A Song For Syria by The Odd Books, 2021, an independent publishing project of The Odd Magazine, based in Kolkata, which describes itself as being “born out of the need to give voice to the misfits, the weirdos, the left-outs — the ‘odds.’”