Um…if you live in a trailer and/or trailer park and fit the stereotype…you probably don't want to read this if you're easily offended. I know that people really aren't like that. I just needed something to work off. No offense meant to anyone! No flames.
By Wonk
Chapter One
The box was chafing me, and I was getting a headache. The road smelled of a mix of bus fumes and magic dust, and a nice smog was lingering around the roadside and sweeping through the inner city's pathetic excuse for trees.
I had walked the three miles from the bus stop to…this. Yes, I had been expecting bad. From most of the trailer parks I've been to, I'd found the people to be quite respectable, but in various states of income and not always had the good fortune to be well on their feet. I had been expecting something like that. But I had not been expecting hell.
Numerous MagiPizza boxes littered the front drive, leaving a steady trail into the "park". I sighed and kicked one along, pushing my way through the purplish fog into my new residence. I finally broke into the living area and immediately thought "This totally wasn't worth the three miles." The air smelled of manure, booze, and trash, and the sounds consisted of the howling of wolves, the quiet bleating of sheep, high-pitched laughs, and the numerous twangs of wands doing their business.
The full moon, the size of a silver dollar, beamed down into the numerous trailers, illuminating the aluminum siding and gleaming off of the dirty windows. The road had turned into a dirt path that wove throughout the homes, and was dotted with litter and purple glitter.
Why didn't I just get an apartment?
Oh yes, there was I…the starving artist/musician that carried nothing but a guitar and a few pennies in her pocket. Now I had found a new home next to: fairies that had lost their butts in the stock market and gone a little crazy in the process, a wolf with expensive hospital bills for triple-bypass surgery, and the last little pig that had found that his brick house had to be repossessed for his failure to pay property taxes.
A rusting metal sign, that looked as it was held together only by faulty magic (undoubtedly), read "Welcome to Fairyland."
"Thanks," I muttered as I walked past. It glowed a bright blue and returned to its normal color.
I reached my own mobile home, one that looked like all the others except for the sheep spray-painted in neon blue on its side, and I fumbled for the key inside my pocket.
"Oh crap…" I dropped the box and dug further. It wasn't there! I next searched through my coat pockets, and then rummaged through my box. But it was nowhere to be seen.
I would have to go to the manager's office. Just what I needed, some drunk jerk on the phone with a "special" hotline, while goggling at me while I asked for the key. I knew I wasn't the most attractive person in the world, but I was a woman. That was sometimes all that people needed to know to be attracted to them. Sometimes even that seems like a high standard. Ugh…
I left my box on the porch and walked back down the steps, a cloud of dust flying around my old sneakers as I stepped foot back on the dirt road. My hands stuffed in my pockets and my shoulders hunched, I followed the glowing fairy lights, which spelled out "Mr. Charming's Office - Manager" somewhere ahead.
I sighed. "Stupid parents…can't even support their only child…"
I approached the mobile home, sided in painted wood and quite a bit nicer than the others, and knocked rapidly on the door. It kind of echoed a bit, and I realized that it had grown quiet. I waited for a moment.
"Come in," a man's voice said from inside. The door automatically swung open without a sound.
I stepped inside and was a bit taken aback. Yes, Mr. Charming wasn't exactly what I expected. He sat behind a magnificent dark wood desk, stacked with papers that glowed in changing fluorescent colors, stopping the metamorphosis every few seconds to make various rude noises. Confiscated wands hung in plastic bags off a pegboard positioned on the wall behind his desk, vibrating slightly, as though angry. The office smelled vaguely of melted plastic, and I noticed that the bags holding the wands had been charred somewhat where the tips met, where the wands had been apparently trying to get themselves out. The ghost of a water spot lingered on the floor underneath, evidence that Mr. Charming had taken care to put the fire out when it began. My eyes fell back to his desk, where a bronze plaque read Mr. Prinze A. Charming.
But the office was nothing compared to the young, handsome and probably rich (just to be well rounded) man sitting behind the desk in hunting uniform, his legs propped up unceremoniously on the keyboard pullout tray. He was tall and athletic, with broad shoulders, a finely shaped jaw, and a fine head of wavy chestnut hair. His hazel eyes sparkled as he smiled at me and motioned me to sit down.
What's a fairy tale…even in a trailer park…without its Prinze?
He put his legs down and straightened his spine, turning to face me, hands collapsed together and sitting on the desk.
Well, my first impression was that he certainly was…charming.
"My new tenant?" he asked. His voice was deep and rich, but relaxed.
I nodded, not quite able to find my voice. I couldn't help realizing that I no longer cared if I was looked at like a piece of meat by this man, ruefully, I was even thinking that that would be an accomplishment.
He nodded at me encouragingly. It took me a few moments before realizing that he was waiting for me to state why I was here.
"Uh…oh." My voice cracked and my face was beginning to feel hot. "I seem to have misplaced my key." I blushed furiously, knowing that I wasn't making a very good first impression.
Sure enough, he rolled his eyes as he turned and began to rummage through one of his desk drawers.
"I'm sorry," I pleaded, "I don't usually lose things…"
"No, no, it's not you," he said quickly, emerging from the drawer and flinging a bronze key across the desk. Attached to the key ring was a tag with my name scrawled across it.
"You're Gwen, right?" he added, sighing.
"Um…yeah." I hadn't wanted to cause him trouble.
"No, it's not you," he said again. "It's those damn fairies. They like to make the new female tenants' keys…disappear."
I heard a faint giggle behind be and turned just in time to see a purple glow fade from the window, the curtains waver a bit.
"I think they're jealous," he continued. "Or they went mad somewhere between Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella."
I nodded silently, and he carried on.
"I keep threatening to evict them, and they keep threatening to turn me into a frog. I don't really have a choice," he said with a sarcastic grin. "I wouldn't enjoy the amphibian lifestyle. I'm not a big fan of water."
"Yeah…" I replied, still a bit astonished in the slight fortune I've had with at least getting a good looking landlord in a hell hole like this. "Um…I guess I'll go settle down now."
"All right." Mr. Charming climbed to his feet. He was a good seven inches taller than I, which is a feat since I'm rather tall for a girl. "I'll go with you to make sure you don't cause any trouble with the neighbors."
"All right, thanks." I swallowed and got to my feet; he held the door open for me and followed me back to the trailer where my stuff remained untouched.
"You play the guitar?" he asked, staring fixedly at my beaten, duct taped guitar case. One of my theories: duct tape was the tool of the gods. I used it on anything.
I nodded. "Kind of a dead-end career. I live up to the term "starving artist" well."
He didn't pay attention to what I had said. "I love the guitar. I used to play until I was "blessed" with the gift of every instrument I ever attempt to play to turn into a flute." He rolled his eyes. "I play a mean rock concerto."
I laughed. "That must suck."
He stared down at the case; I could tell that he was desperate to play again.
"Tell you what," he said suddenly. "How about you come over to my office every Friday and play for me, and I'll give you a dock off of your rent."
I was astounded at this second stroke of fortune. I didn't know what to say.
Erm…how about yes?
"That would be great," I said finally.
He broke into a smile. "Thanks a lot. I can't even play CD's here; the magic screws up the magnetic fields. You'll notice, if you have any fridge magnets, they'll prefer to stick to the walls rather than the refrigerator itself."
"Thanks for the warning." Crap, I'd miss my music.
"Night, Gwen," he said, shaking my hand. "Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, too," I replied, shaking eagerly. His handshake was firm. "Thanks for the help."
"That's my job!" He jumped down from the porch and ran off to one of the other trailers, where thick blue smoke was billowing out of the doors and windows.
"Hey!" he yelled. "Hey! You can't do…"
A small, undamaging explosion interrupted him mid-yell. I laughed a bit and turned to my door. I turned the key in the lock…and it opened! I breathed a sigh of relief, and immediately thought that the place wan't too bad. It was covered in a thick coat of glittering dust, and the air smelled sickeningly heavy of roses, but it would definitely do.
I dropped the box on the floor inside the entryway, rousing a cloud of purple glitter up from the beige carpet. I coughed and waved my hand in the air, clutching my guitar tightly in my left hand.
All the furniture was navy blue, the kitchen decorated with tiles and appliances of the same color. The walls had been painted a deep red. From a glimpse through the doorway, I saw a heavily draped four-poster hung with burgundy curtains. The colors were a little too dark for my taste, but at least it was furnished.
"Hello, my dear," a man's voice said out of thin air. "Be assured you have not to fear."
I dropped my guitar with a dull thud on the ground and spun around, expecting to see Mr. Charming standing in the doorway, his athletic frame leaning against the doorpost, smiling at me, but the door had closed with a soft slick behind me, and no one was there. I peaked into the bedroom, but no one was hidden in the heavy velvet. The shower and hallway closet were also vacated.
I went back into the living room, shoved my hands into my pockets, and looked up at the ceiling.
"All right, what and where are you?"
"Over here, little dear."
I spun to my left and noticed that there hung a silver framed mirror, where an expressionless theater mask floated, shrouded in a thick white mist.
"Eh?"
It cocked its smooth white eyebrow, and prompted me anxiously. "Mirror, mirror on the wall…"
"Look, I said impatiently, approaching it with my hands outstretched, ready to tear it off its hook. "I've had a really long day, and I'm quite sick of magic, there…"
"Who's the fairest of them all?" The mask frowned, dissatisfied and obviously annoyed, and added through clenched teeth. "You're throwing off my rhyme."
I grasped the edges and tried to pry the mirror off the wall, but it didn't budge.
"You're trying my patience," it whined. "And um…crap." It's deep rumbling voice was pensive. "What's a rhyme for patience?"
I sighed and let go of the frame, then crouched by my cardboard box in search of my pajamas. "I'm going to bed," I grumbled, starting to walk toward my new room.
"Good night, sleepy head!" It called cheerily after me. I groaned and slammed my bedroom door shut.
My bedroom, with its heavy canopy bed and thick beige carpet that muffled each footstep, was quite grand for a trailer park. I took this as a hopeful sign that life here wouldn't be so bad.
I just hoped, that through the fairy dust, I could live like a normal human being.
Huh, fat chance of that happening.
Please review, and no flames.