Playing around more with fantasy and also second person point of view and present tense. Happy reading, and don’t forget that Trolls for Dust, Season One is only $1 this month on amazon.com and bn.com. 🙂
April 25, 2010 (Story One Hundred Seven)
You never really know if you’re going crazy or not. Sometimes you see things like little flicks of movement at the corner of your vision. Perhaps it’s a cockroach or spider or mouse, but when you jerk your head and nothing is there, you feel foolish and hope that no one saw.
Sometimes you sit up late reading a book and you sense that someone is standing there just in front of you and off to the side. Slowly, fearfully, you lower the book and look over the top of the pages, only to find just the dark doorway or a coat hung over a chair. You decide you just need more sleep and go to bed only to lay awake and listen to every creak of the house, every whisper of the wind. When morning comes you feel worse than ever.
Worst are the moments when you wake from an experience, only to find it is a dream and then you start to wonder if everything is a dream. Reality seems far away. You sit and you pray and try to find some peace and when you finally do, that flicker of movement captures your attention once again. This time, you smile with the confidence of knowing it is in your imagination. You turn, look and scream at the little elf sitting just there next to your desk. He says you’re not crazy, but what does he know, he’s an elf.
The elf tells you that he has been trying to get your attention for some time. There is a dragon and there is a princess, he says, rolling his eyes. Why do I always get this job?
What job? You ask.
Finding the knight, of course, for there is always a princess and where there is a princess there is always a dragon. Why don’t they ever come up with something new, like a polar bear or a very large beetle? And why can’t the princess ever fight? It would save a lot trouble.
You nod and say, yes, of course it would, but maybe the princess likes to be rescued.
Sure, why not, when after she gets good and kissed. The knight likes it too, by the way.
Ok, well, it was nice chatting with you but I need to get back to my work…
No, not really you don’t. You think you’re crazy and if you are, what’s the point of working at something sensible like accounting? And if you’re not crazy, why not rescue the princess and get good and kissed? The elf has thought about this often; he says he has the time.
You ask him why doesn’t he rescue the princess if he’s so keen to be kissed?
That’s not how it works. You know the stories, you know the drill. Everyone knows. The elf jumps back suddenly, off the desk and onto the floor where he hides behind the waste basket. Your mother knocks on the door wondering who you’re talking to.
No, mother, I don’t have a girl in here, but wouldn’t you be happy if I did? Just think, grandkids soon on the way. Look everyone, my son is actually a normal, social person who connects with people not just graphic novels and fantasy board games.
You hear her sigh and shuffle away. You rub your eyes and think about getting more sleep. The elf hops back up. He has created a portal, he says. Just step this way into the waste basket and… Of course I am serious, he says, putting his hands on his hips. And you will fit into it, don’t worry about that. He tugs at your pant leg and up you stand and shuffle to the basket. A swirling foggy thing sits at the bottom of it. Two balled up post-it notes get sucked into the vortex.
It’s not a portal it’s a black hole, you say. This is it, this is the crazy, and you laugh and the elf looks at you strangely, because clearly he does not think it’s funny.
Standard portal, I’m just doing my job, and give me a break why don’t you?
But what if I want to come back?
Oh, buddy, you think you’re coming back? You must be going crazy. The elf tips you ever so swiftly down into the waste basket.
–Original story by Pixie Beldona was previously published on pixiebeldona.com. It has been edited for this post.–
Trolls for Dust 
Reblogged this on A Life of Story.