Chapter 1. Untitled Fantasy.

I watch as her fingers dance over the spoons, each joint lingering, poised as another propels itself forward in an awkward jutted motion finally to grasp the metal instrument. It’s almost a mechanical movement, but with the human dithering as she decides which one she shall use. She lowers it into the mug filled with tea, gazing idly at the cinnamon spotted liquid. She always puts cinnamon in her tea. I never had a particular liking for the spice personally; although I must admit I have never cared to try it with tea. Besides, where I’m from the seasoning quite different, well, it’s a little more exotic. And we never drink tea…
I refocus my mind back to her. The discomfort she feels in this surgically decorated house is painfully obvious. She glances at the white walls, metal sink, white counters, metal chairs, white and grey…and I can imagine her thoughts. I’ve always been rather empathetic, or maybe it’s just because she’s an open book, but I know she’s dreaming of the days when she’d walk down the stairs and be greeted with the scent of home cooking, eagerly meeting her senses and inviting her to embrace the comfort. Now she is confined to simple recipes and take-outs. How she must wish that she listened to her mother all those years ago when she tried to teach her how to make a casserole, or a stew. The regret is beautifully laid out across her face. I despise clichés, but her eyes, they were like windows into her soul. The deepest brown, like bottomless pits, they are constantly graced with a watery glaze, as though she is on the brink of tears, but not quite there. She’s never there. I don’t understand why she can never cry. After all she has lost.
She squeezes the tea bag with her spoon and flings the limp sack along into the sink. Stirring again, she places the spoon aside and drinks deeply. She doesn’t burn herself. She always takes care not to let the kettle boil, as she is never patient enough to let the drink cool down, and neither is she patient enough to allow it a lasting presence, and so it is gone in a few swallows. I suppose you would assume the tea is quite purposeless, due to this quick dismissal, but it has a reason I assure you. It quenches for a short time the seemingly everlasting thirst brought about by a few too many salty take-outs, and it has also become the source of a lift in her life. The caffeine entertaining her perpetually darkened moods with a burst of energy, and a warmth that would flow through her, eliminating, temporarily, the cold that pierced her layers of old second hand jumpers. She had given up on attempting to look anything near pretty in the past few months, and despite the fact it was autumn, and not exactly cold, there was a coldness inside her, penetrating her bones, that could not be permanently removed.
Her eyes glisten in the late afternoon sun. Never weeping. She had not allowed herself this indulgence since childhood, even when her father died, and though she was surrounded by the grieving heartache of her family, she would not allow herself to cry, as though it were a forbidden indulgence.
Alas, I cannot speak a word of the forbidden! My existence upon earth is allegedly just that. You see, I should not be here, and I am well aware of that. I am fae. Or a ‘fairy’ as you most likely would know me as. I am also well aware you most likely doubt my existence or dismiss it with a smirk. The very concept of my being may be completely alien to you, and I don’t blame you. In fact, most of the poorly crafted stories are indeed false, and are the work of fantasists, who know not the slightest thing about us. We are so tenderly introduced into the lived of your children, their innocent eyes gleaming as you teach them of our good deeds, and it’s been that way for centuries. However, I must make a few things clear. Firstly, we do not bring you joy, happiness and everything you wish for. We are most certainly not all beautiful and angelic. And most importantly, we are not usually bothered by your sufferings, we are not usually altruistic and we are very rarely nice at all. However sweet we may choose to appear to you, however much you may think we are utterly delightful, in most circumstances, you will end up in the most brutal fucking ordeal of your life.
I suppose I should give you a brief explanation regarding why I am here.
I’m sure many of you have wondered relentlessly why you are here upon earth. It may even be your job to pursue such a question. Your life may revolve around it. But my explanation is nothing to do with my existence in general, or purpose for existence. I am merely answering a question of why in God’s name am I on earth. I’m pretty sure that if my superiors knew, my little faery ass would be blasted into oblivion, and that’s not just a saying, they genuinely like that method back at home.
Well, I’m here because that ‘home’ is not a home to me anymore. It’s rather repulsed nowadays by their methods. I’m following the footsteps of the other fae who dared to explore a wider horizon, and I’m praying -although I don’t know who the hell to– that I don’t meet their fate. Put lightly, it was less than pleasant. I don’t know about you, but I’m not dandy with the idea of having flesh eating bugs going at me.
You see, where I’m from, they really seem to adore a little bit of sadism. Actually, I stand corrected, they bloody love hurting people. You wonder where all the missing people go when there’s no trace of evidence? Have you ever wondered how it was possible for people to just disappear? My dears, when the human race conceived the idea of aliens I almost died laughing. How wrong you were! We are indeed alien, but I don’t recall ever seeing a green fae! We tend to abduct you! For our simple pleasures! Of course, once the alien thread starting going about in the 70s, we got worried you were onto us, and gave ourselves a 50 year limit on this planet to continue our torture. Now that period is nearly up, most of the fae are gone. They’ve moved onto another planet. I’m still here, hiding. I don’t want to re-join them, as I’m bored of the mindless torture. I’m trying to be a good person I suppose (and I use the term person in the loosest fashion of course).
In short, I want to defy my stereotype, I want to live with humans and share their happiness. I don’t want to cause them pain anymore. If I am found, I’m sure to be given the most dreadful fate imaginable, but I love that, you know? The chase, the terror, the fact that I’m doing the most forbidden thing. I was never a conformist, and I was always a thrill seeker.
I want to know more about the humans. I want to be close to them. I was always pained by their cries for mercy in the dark rooms. I’m observing them day to day, and maybe one day I can join their society. It’s going to take a shit-load of work though. Well, I’ve got another couple of centuries left. I’m not doing too badly.
Another point here, the fae are nothing like humans either, as you’ve probably guessed. We life on average about 300 years, and we always look our best. It’s like we’re fixed at 75 years. For some, they’re damn ugly anyway. Some of us have extra limbs, deformed faces, and most of us are pretty hideous. I guess I’m pretty lucky. I look outrageously human. I may not have any ears, but other than that, I was actually bullied all through my school years for looking like a human. When I was 47, some assholes tried to beat me to pieces for it.
I’m the most human fae you will ever hear about. Although that does not mean I’m denied the fae ‘gifts’. If I want, I can go anywhere unnoticed. I can practically read you mind. I can control you if i have eye contact, and if looks could kill…well let’s just say, I can kill you in a look.
I am a sadistic evil bitch by nature, and I’m trying to become a lovely, model human.
Wish me luck. Shit, I’ll need it.