The night smells deliciously of thunder, that of clean air and wet earth. My skin prickles, anticipating something. Tiny hairs rise along my arm and energy crackles in the veins of my wings.
I touch my tongue to my bottom lip, as a thought forms. The party will shift to Petri tonight, as thunderstorms are his to host. And so must I change, the pink collection of strategically placed dew drop petals would look ridiculous now.
I rifle through my boxes of wearable items. As it stands - it’s not much different than my boxes of medicinal items - but such is the life of a pixy.
I pull out a swath of steely pelt, wrapping it concentrically from my shoulder. I smear metallic dust from temple to temple, in an alluring mask. I shake out my hair into a wild mess, tucking an occasional bolt of lightening here and there.
Cracking open the window, I take one last look into the yellow glow cloaking my bedroom. As this is maman’s glowering hour, she won’t send someone to check on me. She won’t be doing much of anything. I should have wiped up the mud I’ve tracked to the window, and stuffed my bed with a row of pillows. I should have tossed water into the fire, and pretended I slept at night. But as it stands, I’m a lazy piece of shit and I leave it for tomorrow.
And so without anymore consideration, I stepped out of my window onto the fluorescent glow of a mushroom cap. It’s my favorite, if one can have a favorite mushroom, in a troop of them. I can perfectly bounce from it to a series of four others down to the grassy hill skirts my home. The glowing pinwheel of green and pink aren’t particularly special as the entire colony that surrounds our house look very much the same. But for some reason, I find my mushroom’s cap the fluffiest, and its gills billow the prettiest in the breeze. When I look at it, I can’t help but smile.
My bare feet hit the ground, I straighten the give in my knees, relishing how the phosphorescent grasses tickle between my toes. The grass where I stand light brighter than the others. I walk a bit away from our cottage, and the history of my footpath fades a few steps behind.
“What, are you going as chaotic neutral?”
I glance up at Pip. He dressed for Petri’s, which means he smells it too. He straightened a cuff of freshly wrapped White Dindle leaf secured with a vine of tiny flowers of dark gold and grey. He wrapped layers of the pointed leaf of a Screaming Needle around his hips. He hadn’t even bothered to pluck the fruit off of the stems. The fruit is mouthwatering on a bad day. I rolled my eyes at the intentionality of his choice. He dragged his fingers through his hair, flexing the swirls of ink that wrap his arms. “Like I can be anything else?”
“We could skip it. Stay here. Fuck.” Pip picked a direction and began walking without me.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Not that he even waited for my reaction. I rushed to catch up, hopping from one of his glowing footprints to the next before I came up beside him again. “I could use some thunder. My energy is off somehow.”
“How’s your mother?”
“Fine. A little better. Same. I don’t know. Can we go back to talking about me?”
“I was.” He absentmindedly picks at his fingernails, as if he is only half paying attention.
“Sun, snow, nothing I syphon evens me out.” I twist as we walk to show him my back. My wings coloring reflect the imbalance I feel in my bones. The bright blue iridescence on my left side fades to nothing, while the veins that interrupt each pane of membrane glow fluorescent. “It’s beginning to make me self conscious.”
“You look fine.”
“Fine?” I cringe.
“You barely use your magic anymore, so what does it matter? So you’re a little off. You’re always a little off.”
I catch the quick glance I throws in my direction. It’s heartbreakingly adorable. His little smirk lands like an emotional punch in the arm. “Fuck off,” I say, but I snake my arm in his, giggling.
Want to print your doc? This is not the way.
Try clicking the ⋯ next to your doc name or using a keyboard shortcut (
Chapter 1