#DFQWBS : I Think That Went Well, Don’t You?

I stood on my hind feet, balanced on my tail so I could stay upright. “Well, dear,” I said to my wife, “The Dark Fairy Queen and the Wizard of Moog are now married. We pulled it off.” Of course, it came out more a string of squeaks, chirps, and clicking sounds.

“Indeed, we did,” she replied. “But it wasn’t pretty.” I had to admit her voice was very pretty to listen to. Of course she wouldn’t think it was pretty. I was temporarily a four-foot long, albino chipmunk and she was a bird of paradise. “How long do you think it’ll be before…” She let her question trail off.

“Oh, I’m certain it’ll only be a few days. A week at most.”

It had been quite a wedding. All the friends of the Dark Fairy Queen sat on the left side of the clearing. All the friends of the Wizard on the right. The groom wore his best wizard hat, a full three feet tall, in royal purple, with pure gold stars, crescent moons, and comets artfully displayed on it. He wore a royal purple robe, trimmed in solid gold with a six-inch diameter gold clasp holding it around his neck. He word white bamboo sandals, purple and gold Bermuda shorts and a tie dyed purple and gold t-shirt with a picture of the Dark Fairy Queen herself painted on the front. He looked absolutely regal.

When they saw him, everyone on the queen’s side of the clearing broke up laughing.

The queen wore black from head to toe. Skin-tight black leather jeans, a black corset that made her bosom virtually impossible to avoid staring at, black leather stilettos, a black lace veil, and black lace gloves that ran up her arms, past her elbows. She had on black lipstick and black eyeshadow.

Everyone male on the wizard’s side of the clearing drooled.

Everything went well until the Wizard turned to me and said, “The ring.” I opened the box, and the ring wasn’t there. I’d looked at my fingers. I started going through my pockets. “The ring, if you please!” the Wizard asked me a second time. I took off my tuxedo jacket, and started turning its pockets inside out. The two groomsmen race from the clearing, retracing our steps, looking for the ring.

The Queen echoed through the clearing, “You lost my ring!” Everyone in the clearing scattered, fleeing into the forest, seeking safety.

“I haven’t lost it. I’ve just temporarily misplaced it,” I tried to explain. The Wizard stepped to the side, leaving me to face the Queen. She waved her hands in the air above her head, glitter floated everywhere, and she screamed, “#MOOGHOOHAH!”

Presto! I was a giant, four-foot long, albino chipmunk. It was actually a good thing, because as my tuxedo fell away, the ring fell out where it had gotten stuck between my belt and my tummy. “The ring! I found it!” I squealed.

“What have you done to my hubby?” My wife, bless her, should have known to not say anything.

The queen faced her, laughed, looked at me and asked, “You married her?”

All I could do was nod. One simply does not lie to the Dark Fairy Queen.

The Queen shook her head as she turned back to my wife, waved her hands in the air again, causing more glitter to float around, and once more screamed, “#MOOGHOOHA!” And I was married to a beautiful bird of paradise.

I handed the Wizard the ring. He put it on the Queen’s ring finger, “With this ring, I thee wed,” he boldly proclaimed. I squeaked, my wife sang, and the Queen and the Wizard kissed. The Wizard waved his arms, and in a puff of black and white smoke, he and his bride were off on their honeymoon.

I laughed, which sounded like a string of chirps, and then chirped and squeaked out, “I think, all things considered, that went well, don’t you?” And I really hoped we both would return to normal in a few days.


A toast to the couple.

When you wake, 30 years from now, may you both realize you love each other more than you ever have before.

Mark.


Now, go read the rest of the stories in the Dark Fairy Queen Writerly Bridal Shower. And don’t forget to make a toast to the happy couple.

Stories : The Bullies And The Late One

It was time for another story from the old man. The village campfire was strong and warm, pushing back the chill of the night air. We’d gathered around the fire, taking our places on hour logs and benches, the children sitting once more on the ground. We watched the old man move slowly, carefully through our midst, greeting each of us along his way to his log. Once he was there it was time for his story to begin.

It was a day like any other day. Jillian woke to the sound of her alarm clock, and fell into her routine of getting ready for another day of work. Years ago she’d learned to set the alarm as late as she dared, giving herself just enough time to get to work without being late. She’d fallen into the habit of always rushing through her morning routine, cursing beneath her breath at having to endure another day of work, in a job she didn’t really like, with people who didn’t care if she lived or died as long as they got paid. She rushed through her shower, drying her hair, getting dressed, getting her makeup on, grabbing an energy drink and a cold slice of pizza to eat as she raced out the door on her way to work.

Tommy woke to the sound of his alarm too. He dreaded what he had to do. The daily nightmare he had to face at the school bus stop, and all day long at school. He wished he could say home, not have to endure another nightmare day of being insulted, being called names, being pushed around, shoved out of lines, sitting alone in his classes, and at lunch. They laughed at him all day. Called him a klutz. Called him Sally. If only his parents understood what he went through, but no, they didn’t. His Dad always said, “Buck up, little man. It’s life. Get used to it.” He spent all the time he could in the safety of his home, before he stepped through the front door and made his way to the bus stop.

When Tommy arrived, the fun began. The biggest boys at the bus stop took his book bag. They pulled everything out, until they found his lunch. One boy took his sandwich, another took his apple, one his cupcake, another his little box of fruit punch. Tommy tried to take things back, like he’d tried a million times before. But it was no use. The other boys were bigger than him, and stronger too. They pushed him around, and all the girls laughed about how funny it was to watch.

Tommy reached for his book bag, trying to grab it from one of the boys. That boy bellowed out, “No you don’t!” and shoved Tommy away. Tommy staggered back, stepping off the curb, where he tripped and fell.

Jillian never saw him. She was late for work. She was in a hurry. She knew there were kids at the bus stop, but she knew they were smart, and wouldn’t be out in the street. She’s raced past that bus stop so many times before. But suddenly, there Tommy was. Stretched out on his back in the road. Right in front of her. She never even had time to hit the brakes. Her car bounced twice, like she had hit a bump in the road.

Little Tommy got his wish. He didn’t ever go to school again. He never got picked on again by the bullies at that bus stop. He never got laughed at.

When Jillian finally got her car stopped, she leaped out and raced back to see what had happened, pulling her phone out of her pocket, calling 911 for help. But it was too late. Tommy was already gone.

No one admitted they’d done anything wrong. Jillian was just doing the same thing she’d always done. Just like everyone else. Racing to work, so she wouldn’t be late, so she could keep her job. The bullies at the bus stop didn’t do anything wrong. Tommy just fell, they said. And the girls agreed with them.

But everyone knew the truth. If Jillian hadn’t be racing to work, if she’d been driving her car like she knew to, paying attention to the world around her, she’d have seen what was going on.

If the bullies at the bus stop hadn’t pushed and shoved Tommy around that day, he would have never fallen off the curb into the street in front of Jillian’s car.

If Tommy’s parents had listened to their son, they might have know what was going on, and been able to stop the bullying before it was too late. Before the son was gone.

Yes, no one was to blame.

Because everyone was wrong.

With those words, the old man bowed his head as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, and walked once more from the campfire to his home.

#ThursThreads Week 48 – I Just Wanted To Be Sure

Samantha screamed. Jimmy dropped his DS3D on the sofa and raced into the kitchen. “What? What is it, Sam? What happened? Are you OK?” Samantha was standing on a kitchen chair, pointing at the floor. She was so terrified, she couldn’t speak. All she could do was point.

Jimmy looked where she was pointing. That’s when he saw it. A big, dark brown roach. He nearly laughed. Samantha and her fear of spiders and bugs. Especially bugs more than 1/4 inch long. He never would understand why she didn’t just step on them. Especially when she was wearing shoes.

“OK, Sam. OK. I’ll get it. I’ll take care of it.” Jimmy dashed across the kitchen and then stomped that roach flat. “There. It’s dead, Sam. I got it for you.” He helped her down from the chair. “You gonna be OK?”

Samantha nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be OK.” She gave Jimmy a hug. “Thanks.”

“Any time, Sam. Any time.”

Jimmy started back toward his DS3D on the sofa in the next room. As he did, he stopped and turned, because he heard Samantha stomping her foot several times. He looked at her, and at the totally destroyed, smeared on the floor, carcass of the roach. “Damn, Sam. What was that for?”

“I just wanted to be sure that little bastard was dead.”

Jimmy laughed so hard, his ribs hurt, and it took him 20 minutes before he could play his game again.

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I wrote this little tale for the 48th #ThursThreads, hosted by Cara Michaels. Please, go read all the other entries for this week. They are all well written.