Ludakris

Yes, I misspelled 'ludicrous.' It is all intentional in every way. :)
Here's the intro to my latest idea.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past million millennia or so, you probably know who we are. No, I didn’t mean to say ‘what’ we are, because as far as I’m concerned, we’re more humane than you things. Now, if you’re one of those deprived souls who will forever remember their childhood as bleak and dark (like the dwelling of beneath a rock), then allow me to explain.

Pixies, fairies, nymphs, whatever you call those beautiful creatures you see in nature, those are us. It’s actually funny how you would create dust candy and name it after us, but that’s a whole other novel. For those of you fantasy-obsessed, bug-eyed people, yes, you’ve been lied to. Pixies are not evil fairies, and nymphs are not naked women made out of leaves or drip drops of the pond you were urinating in. We’re all the same thing, just twisted with your terrible story-telling. You know, for being so bug-eyed and obsessive, you’d thing you could see and remember your encounters with us, but so far not so much.

I must immediately take back what I said about the rock-inhabiting theory. Some of us like it under the rocks. Most of us consider those the ‘anti-socials’ as you would put it. Frankly, I think getting a slight tan is fairly healthy, but if rocks float your boat, then by all means, lurk away. Yes, we fairies (for the sake of ink and time I’ll stick to this name) do tan, and we are not the size of your feet. We’re slightly taller than that…just slightly, but still significant enough to point out. Our pretty transparent-ish wings actually do exist, but we’re never blue or purple or anything similar to that of a Smurf’s leprosy. Flying isn’t something we do very often. In fact, we have vehicles like your cars, but better. We’ve got better ways of fueling our hunks of transporting genius. Unfortunately, we can’t share the secret. You’ll get there eventually.

If you don’t believe we exist and say so, not a single one of us will die, so don’t stand there crying like a baby, clapping your hands like it’s the Fourth of July. Like I said, you humans love to story-tell like idiots, meaning Peter Pan is not my great-grandmother’s best friend forever. If I ever saw a little boy covered in a tacky green suit and flapping his arms in hysterics while ‘crowing,’ I would run like any of you humans would. Don’t even try to contradict me because you know it’s true, unless you are once again one of those rock-people who find this sort of behavior to be common, if not attractive.

Another usual, if not stupid, mistake you humans assume about us is that we’re nature freaks. Leaves and twigs fill our wardrobes, our manure is what starts spring; our tears make it rain for hours, and so on. First of all, I made those up, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one of your little dreams is crushed when I tell you that those, too, are not true in any way, shape, or form. May the big man upstairs smite me before I wear a leaf to school and eat butterfly eggs for lunch. Could you imagine that?

“Hey guys, how’s it going? I have butterfly eggs for lunch!”

“Kris, that is so gross. Where do you even buy those?”

Which brings me to another point! We fairies are very organized. We’re not like the monkeys free to do as they wish, such as throw waste and eat a banana with the same hand for pure entertainment…or should I say, impure (if you catch my drift). I deem us to be civilized, considering we’ve been here ever since those gigantic screaming Godzillas left craters in the mud whenever they danced. Oh yes, they danced. You wouldn’t believe how well they could. It was something like your waltz, but more sophisticated.

Now, I could get into our economics and politics and all of those boring things your rotting corpses of ancestors would be intrigued to read about, but frankly, that’s not my forte. I maybe sort of flunked those classes. Besides, this story has nothing to do with that junk. This story has excitement, glory, and more excitement! I’m getting excited just thinking about it! So without further ado and with my short and sweet introduction complete, here is the real reason for the killing of trees to print out this tale.



I think it was Christmas. There were too many people outside doing things and breathing air, so it must have been some sort of a holiday. I don’t know where it is on your map of the world, but it was in the Southeast Region for us fairies. I had just learned how to conjure an invisibility bubble, so I could walk slowly without having random people pointing and yelling, “You’re slightly significantly taller than my foot!” It’s unpleasant, for one, and it lowers my self esteem. You may be wondering, “Well that’s odd. Why would it hurt a fairy’s feelings to point out its characteristics?” Oh, how I would love to run up to you dirty humans and say how hideous your teeth are or how your Buddha belly never gives anyone luck, but I can’t. I won’t. Besides, that’s not the point. I was and still am the shortest of my class, and my high school was unforgiving of us ‘short ones.’

So, whilst strutting my strut up your gum coated park trail, I heard a ‘fellow peer’ of mine squealing my name as if someone had ripped off her wings.

“KRIS! Oh my gosh, Kris! Wait for me! I have something you’ll love!”

“If they’re not cheat-sheets for tomorrow’s Physics test, then I don’t care.” Holy hairy spiders that fairy was too annoying. No one can squeal like that unless it’s the one and only Furn. Yes, her name sounds like the plant. It made me pregnant with jokes until I gave birth to the famous “Leaf me alone.” Haha, I’m proud of that one.

“No, no, no, Kris. Even better! I have an amazing study guide Mrs. Symons gave me! It’s only a few pages long, but all of that studying and hard work pays off, and you feel wonderful knowing you passed honestly!” She was now panting, having run between legs and infested shoes to catch up to me. “Come on, Kris. You need to actually learn something. You can’t cheat your way through life and succeed! It’ll bite you later.” She frowned at me and stuck out her lip. My goodness she was ugly.

“You know, your face will stay like that forever if you keep doing that.” She stuck out her lip some more until it looked like she’d get stretch marks. “Or I could smack you in the face with my bag and swell up your lip so badly it’ll never go back in!” I smiled one of my toothy grins and she immediately sucked in her face. Finally. I was starting to go blind.

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you have a job but can’t do it because you’re a lazy man moocher!” Her radiating pale face wouldn’t even turn pink in the cold.

“Ugh, whatever. Just let me do what I want, Furn. You’re so—” BAM! That’s when one of your clumsy butter boot humans punted me in the face and stumbled over Furn. She had distracted me from my walking, and lo and behold I got kicked right in the nose. Nothing good comes from rock-dwelling fairies.

The stupid kid that hit me was probably in her teens. Her trip knocked me out and completely annihilated my invisibility bubble. That took me forever to make, by the way. Furn tumbled into a bush (ironically) and stayed hidden like a good little fairy. I, however, was supposedly lucky that the teen was the only one relatively near enough to see who I was. Anyone a few feet away would have assumed me a squirrel who thought it could fly and failed miserably, landing in front of the girl’s blue boots.

The next bit is hazy for me. Okay, to be honest, I don’t remember a thing. Furn later told me that the girl saw me and decided an inspection was called for. The Sherlock gave me a good poke and a long eye-drying stare. Hah! Like she’d never seen a fairy before! Nonetheless, once she was satisfied with her investigation, she stuffed me into her lunchbox either in guilt or with the intentions of Frankenstein. Into her bag I went, until it creaked open to the sound of church bells and dim lights squeezing through slits of wood. I presumed I was dead, but it was worse. Much worse. I was discovered.