I am bored.
Palms were read, potions were sold at Mom's booth and the cat was fed. You may be confused at why I am touching random people's hands and practicing witchcraft. The Atwell family: Robert, Wrenne, Lexi, and Emily (me), work at the Fare. This is a different type of fare; not one were you'd find cotton candy or bull riding, I wish it was then I'd be normal, but a fare with: spells and potions, aura photography, demonologists, and physic readings. And let's not forget Florence's (My best friend and resident 2,000 year old bloodsucker) booth which guest go to for their runes and palms read. I am paid to work there part time after my schooling is done, by Paul and Marie Gasteroff, German twins in their late thirties who run the Fare. Paul does magic shows with the help of his sixteen year old son Johan, were he sometimes changes Clyde, his highly trained white Andalusian horse into other things like crowd members or Johan. But when Paul does real magic it's the kind that give you goose bumps.
Marie Gasteroff is a telepath (a pushy one at that.) Marie and I don't get along well because Marie thinks she knows about my 'special abilities' but has yet to find any proof. My sister (who is now back in the states at college) and I try our best to keep her from finding out with the help of mom and dad, and Florence Aniston. An Upírka or Cursed One (they don't like to be called the V-word) who was born in England in 1603 to some aristocrats. Unlike their male counterparts female Cursed Ones do not drink blood or burn in the sunlight, and believe me, do I wish they did because Florence has the prettiest tan that goes so well with her thick straight as can be platinum hair that never is out of place or greasy and almond shaped eyes the color bluish-steel of a midwinter sky, full of happiness and love. Grr I wish I looked like her, but no God has to be unfair and give me too big for my face boring brown eyes and dull chocolate hair that's all curly at the ends and flat and lifeless at the top that goes down to cover my barely even lumps breasts (Florence's are a lovely C-cup, insert frowny face.) The only thing I have going for me is my never ending legs. Those of which mom swears that will make me famous. She has even paraded me up and down Hollywood Boulevard numerous times in hope to get me noticed. It didn't work.
Now have you read the expression 'idle hands are the devil's playthings'? That is exactly what got me, your lovely protagonist, in trouble. It's not my fault of course bad news seems to follow me everywhere. Now that I had finished my chores and things for the day I had nothing to do. I didn't feel like reading or drawing, my two favorite things to do. The latter I'm not good at (despite all the protest saying otherwise from mom and Florence.) with it only being 9:30 at night and the sun hasn't even gone down. The bands that come with the fare, this week's being called Bloody Toads, I think something is lost in translation ( the band being Gaelic from the town Acrgar, Kilkenny Ireland. Which the Fare is currently in.) hasn't even began playing yet, the goth bands that put on shows after the booths close down are what brings in the large groups of people. I headed for Johan to assist with setting up the stage for the band. Johan has been my friend since I was fourteen when Mom moved my family to join some of her Wiccan buddies in their Gathering. There are seven classes of Wiccans and Moms a class five Witch, she only dabbles in white magic. I wish she could teach me some curses, they would have been useful in sixth grade with the bullying. But nooooo she caught me researching dark spells and grounded me for three months.
Johan is two years younger than me, but the only person my age. He does random things round the place that his father (Paul) doesn't have time to do. One of those was assisting the bands set up and take down their stage set. I was weaving in and out of the throngs of people, listening, but not understanding the different languages that made up the Fare-goers. I arrived at the white van full of amps, instruments and what it looks to be a whip? The leather pole is removed from my view as the lead singer scampered away the bottom of the basic U shaped that is our Fare. The stage is at the base with two wings on either side that houses the individual tents. The 'Talents' on the right and the vender tents like the tattoos and piercings on the other. These tents weren't your average camping pavilions; they were made of heavy fabric in various wild, neon colors based on the owner's preference, everyone's was open-fronted with slender steel poles for strength. Some of them could be taken down easy when we moved on after a week staying in that particular town or village. Johan noticed me approaching and gave me a toothy grin and waved or as much as he could with a coil of steel cables in his arms. I quickly grabbed it before he dropped it.
"Here let me take this before you break a foot." I said with a smile.
"Thank God, that vas heavy and I don't vant to be yelled at in Gaelic by those idiots." He nudged his head towards two men decked out in leather with perfectly done guy liner. I laughed and replied.
"I wonder if I could ask him do my make up? He does it better than I do." He chuckled and blew some dirty blond hair out of his russet eyes. I started to walk away. Johan called a 'see you later' after me with his thick German accent. I was strolling along trying to pull down my dark gray Yale tee-shirt that had bunched up when it got snagged on the wooden part of the coil stand when my sky went black at the sound of tires screeched to a stop.
A/n: Hi guys and girls thanks for reading my story don't forget to tell me if you like it. I'm sorry for grammar and spelling mistakes just tell me and i'll cry about it later. This is my first story on Fan-fiction as you can tell so feel free to leave comments to tell me how to write better, just don't be mean. I have feelings too! I have a few more ( ten in total) chapters ready to go so tell me if you want it to continue please!