She had failed. She had failed to be there when little Bea had fallen. She had sworn to protect the children that fell into the Underground. Such a simple task, she couldn't even do that much. The pain and fear the child must have felt, waking up in a patch of flowers in an unfamiliar place.
Cutting a large slice of pie from the counter— perhaps too large. But she had seen how Bea had stuffed themselves with the butterscotch pie, cheeks bulging and shoveling mouthful after mouthful into their mouth. The disappointed glare they gave the fork for not being larger, the pleading gaze they gave her when their fork hit nothing but an empty plate. Only for today, she told herself, she would let herself spoil them.
Laying the slice on a plate, she carried the treat to Bea's new room. Knocking twice she asked "Bea, are you awake?"
After waiting a few seconds she opened the room and immediately noticed Bea curled up a bit, the bed was too small for her.
Her face looked so soft and carefree, one look, and anyone would have known that she was a kind soul. Her chocolate brown hair ended a bit past their armpits. The collar of her blue T-shirt was visible just above the blanket, dusty with some holes littered about. She would have to find some new clothes for her. Adjusting the blanket, she made sure the child's neck was covered. It wouldn't do for her to catch a cold.
Watching the small child curled up in the bed, she decided that she would not let any harm come to them.
Laying down the plate in the middle of the room, she quietly closed the door. Perhaps they would be comforted when they saw the pie lying there on the floor, unhealthy as it may be, it might help her get settled in. This was her new home after all.
—
Something felt strange. No birds were chirping outside, no gleeful screaming from other kids, no sunlight streaming from the bedside window to slap me in the face. Silence, just silence. Wait, where was I?
…
Oh right, monsters are real, so was magic—which I could use, hooray!— unfortunately I was quite a bit more than six feet underground, and I feel quite good despite the list of things that happened to me… yesterday? How could so much possibly happen in one day? This felt like a fairytale. A random orphan is living their boring average life and then BAM a life-changing event happens. They are introduced to the mystical world hidden in plain view where they must use their wits to survive.
The plot of most stereotypical young adult fiction. It felt more like a fever dream than something that could possibly happen, yet here I was.
Getting and stretching to get all the kinks in my muscles out of the way, I trudged my way to the lamp on the stool, my mind protesting at the absence of the small warm and fuzzy blanket, but I continued with great courage.
Turning on the lights, I immediately noticed the drawing pinned to the wall. It was a good drawing, a yellow flower with five golden petals, adorned on a curved stalk, one leaf at the base.
Opening the chest below the drawing I saw piles and piles of drawing supplies, color pencils, watercolor, brushes, and crayons— the white crayon was more of a rainbow crayon, the mark of a truly spirited artist.
Toys neatly lined up in a row in a drawer: little cars, action figures, dolls, crayons, puzzles, all things for children, no books though.
A little bin sat at the foot of the bed holding shoes of all shapes and sizes, a bit too many to be honest.
Who had used this room before me?
"The amazing detective Bea used her unparalleled detective-ing prowess to analyze the clues that they had" I whispered.
"A bed sits in the corner of the mysterious room. Something a layman would gloss over, but it holds everything this particular genius would need to crack this case wide open."
"With a circumference of 20 feet, meticulous craftsmanship, and a comfy blanket. The genius lay down to investigate the evidence. Hmmm… A perfect bed, flawless except for one thing." I mused as I twirled my handlebar mustache "it's too small!" I declare as my trusty invisible sidekick gasps.
"The detective knew their own height, of course they did, all detectives prided themselves in knowing everything as everyone knows. A glorious five feet, the perfect height"
"If the length of the bed is too small for our gifted detective, it must be less than five feet! The average height of a twelve-year-old is less than five feet. If A equals C and B equals C, A must equal B! Whoever used this bed was twelve years old or younger!"I said as I continued to scan the room for clues.
"At the foot of the bed, we see shoes in their natural habitat, in a bin. This particular species bonds to its mate at birth. In this particular bin, shoes of different styles, sizes, and colors can be found."
Too many for one person, how many children lived here before me? Feeling confused and a bit worried, I continued searching for more clues to the mystery.
That's when I saw it, there in the middle of the ugly salmon-colored carpet on the ground.
The glorious butterscotch cinnamon pie. I kneeled down and gently lifted it off the ground. I would not allow it to fall. If it did, I would surely burst into tears— as strong and stoic as I was.
Unfortunately, there was no fork to be found. Not beside the plate or under the plate. No spoon either, nada there, nothing here.
Everything else was going to wait. I needed to eat this pie.