Archive for the ‘Sara Genge’ Category
Changeling
Thursday, April 5th, 2007
The changeling girl held a bazooka out of the window of the house and waited for the leprechaun to try to steal her stash. Leprechauns were the only beings in magical creation too dense to understand that fairy gold wasn’t real, just glamorized bits of leaves and dust, and they spent half their time trying to steal it and then wondering why it disappeared the next day.
Last night the leprechaun had made a dash for her gold Barbie doll. Sharon bit her lip. She’d had it. It might not be a real gold gold Barbie, but it was her gold Barbie and nobody was going to take it away from her. Just let them try.
Her arms hurt from pulling back the string of the sling that she’d glamorized to look like a bazooka. She wondered if the stones would hurt more if she changed it into a missile, but realized that they probably wouldn’t. Her only hope was that the sight would scare the leprechaun off and that he wouldn’t dare come back. Keeping this farce up was too stressful and Sharon had nobody to help her.
Nobody understood her. Life was hard on a changeling fairy trying to fit in among humans. She wondered how her human mother would react if she ever found out, and the bazooka trembled in her hand.
“Mom, Dad, you guys don’t know it, but I’m adopted. Your real child is in fairyland being forced to work for their bread or something.” Didn’t sound right.
Frustration welled inside and she wanted to cry. Why me? She thought. Why my Barbie doll?
“Sharon? Come down to dinner, darling. Now.” The girl hesitated. Nobody cared about her. Why should she even bother going down to dinner? Why should she bother eating? Why not just waste away and leave a pretty corpse? She bit back her tears.
“Honey?” her mother was climbing the stairs. “Honey, I want you downstairs right now. Don’t make me come up and get you.”
The changeling dropped the bazooka, grabbed the Barbie and hid it under her clothes. Then she put on her best slouch, opened the door and went downstairs to join Humanity
Fairy Western
Friday, March 30th, 2007
The outlaw walked into the fairybar.
“Gimme all you got,” he shouted at the waitress.
He didn’t have a gun, but the fairy knew better than to argue. She glowered at him but emptied the register on the bar.
“Put it in the bag. There, that’s a good girl.”
The waiting-fairy’s wings fluttered from fright and her hands tightened into two white fists as the man retreated towards the door. She was a properly brought-up fairy, not one of those changelings spoiled by humans, and pacifism ran through her blood, from her butterfly wings to her pink ballet points.
The outlaw surveyed the room with a smirk.
“I don’t believe in fairies,” he said. The waitress gasped as a customer dropped dead on the table. “That’ll teach you girls,” the man said. “I don’t believe in fairies, I don’t believe in fairies, I don’t believe in fairies!” Customers fell like flies.
“I don’t believe in outlaws!” the waitress shouted, trembling hands digging into her pockets. Her cheeks turned crimson and the hairs on her head stood on end, charged with negative energy. She felt bad karma swelling inside and realized she’d have to go through a session of crystal cleansing to get rid of it afterwards.
The outlaw guffawed. “That won’t work with me, I’m not a sissy little fairy.”
“Will this work?” The fairy took a miniature gun from her pocket, which, to the outlaw’s dismay, expanded into a full-sized AK-47. She cocked the rifle and let the man realize how badly he’d screwed up. Then she fired.
The fairy sighed: she felt too good. Crystals alone wouldn’t take care of her homeostatic imbalance but she didn’t look forward to two hours of Om Mani Padme Hum.