A Fae, A Werecat, and A Pink-haired Monster
Hello wonderful people! It is once again Friday!
For today’s post, I’ve decided to share some snippets of what I’ve been writing lately – an unofficial side project about a (partial) fae and the odd children that attach themselves to her. Found family vibes.
(That said, it’s a rough draft, so it needs work).
Part One: Jae
No one – at least, none of the freshmen – knew what Jae’s official position was. Some speculated that she was a student herself, a senior who was living on her own. Others said she was a school counselor or a healer. Jasper held that she was a substitute teacher for Professor Jackson, who, in twelve years of teaching, had missed a single day of teaching: rumor has it, he was about to be drafted into the Fae War of ’12, and in a single day, ended it, so that he could continue teaching.
All of them were partially right. Jae had been a former student of the school. She was, unofficially, a counselor – students often came to her cabin in search of advice, and were met with empathy and tea served in large earthen mugs. She was a healer-in-training, and a substitute teacher for Professor Electra. Somehow or other, she had aquired the cabin, where she grew a garden, formed pottery, and guided the lost and broken children who cane to her, for she was once as lost as they.
Those who came to her didn’t know her story, her position, nor even her club. All they knew is that when you don’t know where else to turn, you go to Jae. It was an unspoken rule, a quiet hunch.
This hunch is what lead Flask to fall asleep on her porch, Kevin to steal her flowers, and Eliza to climb over the rock wall and break down crying October 29th.
Part Two: Flask
“Why won’t you tell me your name?”
The boy raised a dark eyebrow. “It’s not important,” he muttered.
Jae set the kettle down, steam rising from her mug. “How am I supposed to refer to you then?”
“Don’t refer to me. Talk to me. Describe me. Don’t hide your intentions behind a name.”
“What if I need to call you?”
“We’re the only two here,” he said, gesturing to the empty cabin around them. He was being more hard-headed then he needed to about this, he knew, but at this point, he really didn’t care.
She sighed, sipped her tea, and stared at the floor. “Why are you so against telling me your name?”
“I have my reasons. Besides, you’re a fae – names have power for your kind.”
“Can I at least have your intials?”
Pulling out a match from a drawer, she lit the pink candle on the coffee table. “Fine. But I’m going to have to call you something, and if you’re going to be this stubborn about it, you don’t get a say in what it is.”
“Whatever you want.”
She glanced at him sideways for a moment before closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of strawberry shortcake. “Flask. Your name is now Flask.”
“Fine by me.” He put in his earbuds and pulled the quilt over his head. How had she been able to guess – oh well. At least she didn’t know yet.
Part Three: Eliza
I’m ugly. Looking in the mirror, I can’t ignore it. Cracks and scars cover my skin like a rundown city. My fangs jut out at odd angles and my ears are too big – “donkey ears,” Jeff called them. I’m a monster. Or rather, half monster, which somehow makes it worse.
My hair is pink – I dyed it with dragon blood, just like my big sister does – but it doesn’t make me pretty. What’s pretty hair on a monster? It’s too big anyways.
I try not to cry. My dad said crying makes you weak. But I don’t want to think about all the things my dad said.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Eliza, are you okay?”
Eliza. I hate my name. Why couldn’t it be something pretty, like Andromeda? A tear slips down my nose and off my chin, splattering on the floor.
“Eliza, don’t listen to what anyone says. Jeff is an orc-face.”
I’m an orc-face I think dully, trying to avoid my reflection.
“Eliza, you’re beautiful.”
But I’m not. I’m not, and I never will be. “Go away,” I tell Katie, sniffing as quiet as I can.
“No, I – .”
I don’t hear what she has to say. Using all the strength I can muster, I climb on to the windowsill, and, checking to see if the coast is clear, I jump out the window and on to the soft, crunchy leaves. I land in a pile of dragon poop. Of course.
Jumping up, I wipe my hands on my jeans – ripped and torn hand-me-downs – and run as fast and as far as I can. I don’t think about where I’m going, I just want to get away from Jeff, the ugly notes in my locker, the dead cat, the cafeteria with its weird smells, and Katie with her perfect nose and ears.
The sun dips lower and lower under the horizon as I run. I reach a rock wall and clamber over it, nails and claws scraping the granite-gray stones. There’s a crevice in it, which I take refuge in, finally allowing myself to cry. Snot-bubbles clog up my snout-nose but I don’t cry. I curl into a ball, shoulders and chest shaking violently like an earthquake with the sobs.
I want to go home, but I don’t have that. Never really did.
I want a warm, safe bed, and a mom to tell me bedtime stories, and hot chocolate on rainy days, and a stuffed bunny. And no fathers. I want to be held in a blanket, and sung to. I want a place where I don’t feel ugly, and where I’m not a monster, I’m a daughter. I just want love.
Warm hands wrap around me and pull me close. At first, I fight back, growling and clawing like the monster I am, til I see her eyes – the compassion, pain, and empathy.
“Shh, shh,” she says, pulling me closer. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
For a moment, I don’t believe her, I don’t want to believe her, but eventually, the cold and tired sets in and I let her carry me to her cabin.
The cabin smells like cinnamon rolls, and my stomach growls.
A blue-haired boy startles when we enter, and when our eyes meet, I see they’re yellow and share the same hurt that mine do, and I wonder if he’s a monster too.
Part Four: Kevin (the great)
“Yo Flask, do you want some oreos?”
Kevin (the great) enters the living room, dressed like the Phantom of the Opera. A very disgruntled toad glares out of his pocket at the pile of blankets.
Somewhere from the giant heap of blankets and pillows emerges an arm and a muffled “sure.”
“They’re in the kitchen. Jae says that if you want them, you have to get your lazy bum out of bed and go get them.”
Flask is now more disgruntled than the toad.
“I feel obligated to tell you that if you don’t get out of bed in the next ten minutes, I will have eaten most of them.”
Well people, we’ve made it to the end! I hope you enjoyed reading my random snippets, and that the rest of your summer is amazing!
See you soon,