Note: I shouldn't be doing this. I have a million things to do. I'm stressed and overwhelmed and nowhere near accomplishing what I need to. But this was as close to therapeutic as I could manage.
on the other side of tomorrow
so where do you end up exactly
when you
J
u
m
p
into a h o le
_______(a fissure really)
to chase a purple-clad fairylike person?
.
--in a bar?
--in a dream?
--in the year twenty-two-twenty-two?
.
Joe couldn't tell you,
_______(at least not at the moment)
as he's firmly planted, face forward
against the ground
_______(well, he thought it was ground.
_______In reality,
_______or maybe reality isn't the best term…)
the floor's much softer than dirt,
feeling more like finelycrushed denselypacked
. . . . . f l o w e r s.
.
Joe sneezes.
"Pixie dust?"
It's his first thought
upon touching the gold-flecked
powder between his fingers.
.
But before he can really uncover what that means, he's interrupted by a sharp stab to his side. With a loud, "Ouch!" he turns himself over and sits upright, though not particularly gracefully.
Standing over him is a little blue-skinned boy with feathers for hair. "I told you it was alive, mother," he says to the much taller figure beside him.
'Mother' is holding an obtrusive green rod and jabs Joe with it once more for good measure.
He ducks out of the way, on his feet now. "Sheesh, Lady! What's your problem?"
The Bird-lady squawks a little and ruffles her ginger feather-bob while strutting away, herding her son in front her.
"But, mom, I want to see what he is," the boy complains.
"Just human, trash, baby. Nothing interesting about that."
Joe should probably be offended, but his brain can't get beyond the strangeness of the world around him, now having caught a proper glance at it. He's in a garden. But it's not like any garden he's seen before:
Giant chrysanthemums cast shadows
over miniature-oak-trees lining the
~w ~ i ~ n ~ d ~ i ~ n ~ g~
goldglittered pixie-dust path.
Stars
_______(yes, actual gaseous nebulae)
dangle in midair, hanging on strings
held up by a non-existent ceiling.
.
And there's a party going on.
.
He can tell because of movement in a corner of the garden, just barely within visual range. More stars are lit-up in that area and people (this term is debatable, as very few of them look like what Joe would consider people) are grouped together around oddly shaped tables.
He considers joining the festivities (after all, what's a party without him), when two imposing figures clutch him--each grabbing him by the back of the arm. They drag him (despite much protest) and a single word lingers in his mind--
h e l p l e s s.
But what surprises him most is
how familiar the feeling is,
like he's been this way
_______(trapped)
for a long time,
even if the w o r d
only now connects.
.
When the guards let go of him,
he's kneeling (uncomfortably)
in a spot that might be some type
of dancefloor
or chessboard
or carrotbed
_______(Whatever; it's a flat patch of land
_______and Joe's in the middle)
with a growing group of strangers
standing around him and above him
_______(trapped, again
_______trapped always?)
.
"Intruder," one of the guards explains.
The crowd murmers.
An old, dark-skinned man uses his checkered cane to life up Joe's chin. "A young one" he says, squinting to look more thoroughly.
"Look at his clothing!" Says a freckly girl. "It's so bizarre."
Joe looks down at his school uniform, custom-made by Stella. It does look bizarrely tame in this world of ultrabright colors and shoutingpatterns. He's trying to figure out something to say. Something other than 'Hi, I'm Joe' or 'Have you seen a purple girl go by here?' because that probably wouldn't be effective with these people. How about 'I come in peace'? That always works in movies. Oh wait. Nevermind. It's what people say in movies, but never actually works. Go figure.
"But his face has an interesting shape. He might make a good wall ornament."
"Whoa," Joe says, whipping around to look at who suggested such a thing (a plump woman with scary eyes and a cat-shaped hat). "I'm not gonna--" But his words falter when he notices a nearby figure.
It's her.
Dark messy hair falling everywhere.
Purple fairyskirt. And eyes he's seen before
but never with such... f i r e.
And again he forgets to breathe because it just can't be. Her? She's his mysterynymph?
.
"Macy?"
He says the word aloud, but it comes out a croak.
She's blinking, evaluating him with the rest;
her eyes f l a s h i n g,
but without any semblance of recognition.
CatHat woman frowns, amazed. "He speaks! Though I don't recognize the tongue."
"Bea?"
_______(This is CatHat's name, apparently)
She turns, her hat hitting a fox-featured man behind her. "Yes, Duchess?"
Macy looks at her. "Can't I have him, please? I do so need a new errand-boy. You heard what happened to Pepper. And," she looks over at Joe with a raised eyebrow, "I think this one can be trained."
CatHat looks torn. She was thinking this one would look good next to her window treatment... but it might be useful to have the Duchess owing her a favor... Useful, indeed.
"Alright, dear," she purrs. "You can have him." As CatHat turns to leave, joining the mingling of the party once again--the small crowd of spectators follows her.
And just like that--he's alone with her.
.
Macy has her back to him, making sure every last creature has lost interest in him.
He's strangely silent.
When she finally turns around, it's her--the Macy he knows (well, sort of; at least the recognition is there)--only she isn't happy to see him (the Macy he knows is always happy to see him). She's terrified. "What are you doing here?"
She pushes him along, leading him away from the gardenparty, away from the path in general. "Don't you realize how dangerous this is?" Her voice catches, trembling, and she shakes her head. "No, of course you don't."
He doesn't know what to say. His mind just can't keep up. Is this really Macy, superfan? The girl he so carefully avoids?
"How'd you even get here?"
"I--I followed you. You were running down the football field, and I came after you."
She looks at him like it's the most ridiculous answer in the history of the universe. And maybe it is.
They've stopped in front of an old tree with wraparound branches that twist around everything in sight.
Macy glances behind her, looking over Joe's shoulder. Not once but twice. Finally, when she's sure the coast is clear, she pulls out a locket formerly hidden in the folds of her blouse. With a few twists the locket becomes a key.
Joe can only stare. Amazed. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you, Macy?"
She looks up at him, her expression unreadable. And returns to business at hand. With three knocks on the base of the tree trunk: thump, thump, thump—a key hole appears.
She opens the door and stands aside. All Joe can see inside is blackness.
She looks at him and says "You have to leave. It isn't safe. The best thing you can do is forget—forget this place. Forget you were ever here. Step through and you'll be home."
She looks at him and, for the first time in this neverland, touches him.
It's brief;
a hand on his shoulder.
but he almost gasps from
the sheer BAM!
of one tiny touch.
And it makes him want more.
So much more.
.