Here's a little story about my faerie friends. I got the idea for this from a writing prompt on Writer's Digest site. I might try to do this every Wednesday write a little story that will included the Confuzzled Faeries.
Enjoy and Please Let Me Know What You Think In The Comments!
Birthdays are a human celebration. I, on the other hand, am not human. But my adoptive parents were.
Turning 18 is not as important a mark for an elf as you might imagine, considering we live for a couple hundred years. But because I love my family, I put up with the birthday celebrations. I see the chocolate bunt cake in the waitress’s hands and hear them singing the traditional human birthday song. Maybe if I say what I have been thinking right now during the singing, they wouldn’t hear me, and my revelation would feel like it had never been revealed even though…. I sigh.
I just might as well get it out.
They are almost done singing. I keep that fake smile going and open my mouth to speak, and that is when the group of fae I befriended decides to crash the party.
These curious and cute faeries could turn this restaurant into chaos if not handled right. Many of them are playing with women’s hair or hopping into purses and dumping items out. They really like eople with hair since they don’t have any.
I roll my eyes and rub my forehead. Why does this have to happen now?
I have been handling this group of fae for a while, and they're not very bright. In fact, most things in this world confuse and enchant them. We call them Confuzzled faeries, and I am their faery herder.
That's what I was about tell my family, that I have decided to become a faery herder and not take the internship at Santa’s workshop, which is probably going to upset them. You see, faery herding is not really as upstanding as being one of Santa’s elves.
I hear a scream from the backroom chefs and see flames in the open area. Uh oh, now that is a problem. I jump from my seat and pull the magical net from my bag -- these faeries in particular have to be caught like butterflies. Speaking to them is a lost cause because most of the time they don’t understand. I often wonder if that's because they don’t have mouths.
I catch two faeries as I make my way to the back. First I run into the one I call the artist faery, because she paints with her toes. I scream, “No!,” when I see her painting in spaghetti sauce on the wall. I pick her up and put her in the net, which magically makes the fae tired.
There are 10 to 15 more faeries to catch. I try to remember my training and think of a way to distract them and make the herd come towards me, which would make things much easier. Then I remember what I love the most: theatrics.
I run back to my bag and pull out a book of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night's Dream. My mother looks at me, still not understanding what's going on. To really get the faes' attention, I'll have to speak pretty loud. So I pull out what looks like a cough drop and say a few magical words to make my voice sound like I have a microphone.
As soon as I start performing, the Confuzzled fae come toward me, and each one is collected in the net. Then applause erupts from the surrounding tables. Even my family joins in.
Somehow, I don’t think my job choice is going to be that bad.