My Writing Meme Responses
Tagged by karnythia, I wrote:
None of their bed time stories prepared them for fairies wielding machine guns and an evil witch out to save the world. Daydream and Hopeful Ensler had been raised by well-meaning hippies who had never told them any fairy-tales to begin with, but they were pretty sure none of their friends had ever been told about Tinkerbell cutting someone in half with bullets.
So when the little flitting thing burst through their bedroom door with a machine-gun just her size, Day and Hope did nothing but screech; identical sounds, though they weren’t identical twins. The covers pulled up over their heads had held off many an under-the-bed threat, but those had been imaginary; this little pixie-thing was very, very real.
Smashing across their dresser, bullet-holes in the wall, the fairy spun around, clearly looking for an exit.
“Open the fucking door!” She hissed at Day, who shook and burrowed himself even further under his rainbow quilt. Hope, on the other hand, kept a little more of her calm, and though her hands shook, she managed to get the window open just in time.
The fairy zipped over there, snarled at Hope, and took off through the window. They could hear her miniature gun-sounds hitting almost everything in sight even as she disappeared into darkness.
Just behind her came the witch; beautiful and somehow old at the same time, with tattoos covering her skin that moved and shifted. She stood in their doorway and let out a cry that was one voice, and two voices, both at the same time. Her black hair moved like snakes on her head and her eyes were very green.
“Oh,” she said, as if surprised by the little boy and girl staring at her from their respective beds. “Oh,” she said again. She took a step. “She went out the window?”
Her voice was scratchy and somehow the whole room smelled like green things, like grass when they pushed their noses into it but a little bit like the compost pile out back, too. Hope nodded, nose wrinkling against the smell.
“Good.” The witch smiled, and turned to leave.
After a moment, she stopped and looked back.
“I’m sorry about your parents,” She said, and then she was gone. They heard the front door open and close, and then absolutely no sound at all.
Daydream pushed off his blanket and turned to Hopeful with wide eyes.
“… what do you think happened to our parents?”
The sound of machine gun fire started up again somewhere in the woods outside their house.
None of their bed time stories prepared them for fairies wielding machine guns and an evil witch out to save the world. Daydream and Hopeful Ensler had been raised by well-meaning hippies who had never told them any fairy-tales to begin with, but they were pretty sure none of their friends had ever been told about Tinkerbell cutting someone in half with bullets.
So when the little flitting thing burst through their bedroom door with a machine-gun just her size, Day and Hope did nothing but screech; identical sounds, though they weren’t identical twins. The covers pulled up over their heads had held off many an under-the-bed threat, but those had been imaginary; this little pixie-thing was very, very real.
Smashing across their dresser, bullet-holes in the wall, the fairy spun around, clearly looking for an exit.
“Open the fucking door!” She hissed at Day, who shook and burrowed himself even further under his rainbow quilt. Hope, on the other hand, kept a little more of her calm, and though her hands shook, she managed to get the window open just in time.
The fairy zipped over there, snarled at Hope, and took off through the window. They could hear her miniature gun-sounds hitting almost everything in sight even as she disappeared into darkness.
Just behind her came the witch; beautiful and somehow old at the same time, with tattoos covering her skin that moved and shifted. She stood in their doorway and let out a cry that was one voice, and two voices, both at the same time. Her black hair moved like snakes on her head and her eyes were very green.
“Oh,” she said, as if surprised by the little boy and girl staring at her from their respective beds. “Oh,” she said again. She took a step. “She went out the window?”
Her voice was scratchy and somehow the whole room smelled like green things, like grass when they pushed their noses into it but a little bit like the compost pile out back, too. Hope nodded, nose wrinkling against the smell.
“Good.” The witch smiled, and turned to leave.
After a moment, she stopped and looked back.
“I’m sorry about your parents,” She said, and then she was gone. They heard the front door open and close, and then absolutely no sound at all.
Daydream pushed off his blanket and turned to Hopeful with wide eyes.
“… what do you think happened to our parents?”
The sound of machine gun fire started up again somewhere in the woods outside their house.