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A Fairy Glimpse
Prologue
As I began to step through the door of my two-story light blue trimmed with gray
house, I froze, stilling in the doorway between indoors and out as though between worlds,
my right hand still wrapped around my set of keys, one of which was still lodged firmly
into the lock. What in the world?
The first thing that caught my attention was the scent of soil. The smell of earth
filled my nostrils so thoroughly that it blocked out all other possible scents, as though it
were all over the place. I should smell the scent of my plants, of greenery, my
breathtaking lilies and daffodils, not the soil that gave them life. I glanced at the floor of
my living room.
All my plants were scattered in disarray across the floor. The rich brown soil full
of the nutrients necessary for my plants was now a light brown, the texture that was soft
and moist now looked rough and gritty due to the sunlight shining in from the wall of
windows, which used to be home to my plants, opposite the soil on the floor. It was all
over my handmade, pricey oriental rug. Though I didn‟t care about that. I had worked
hard to get my plants to grow, and I was more a black thumb than a green, and now they
were lying across the rug. Already it looked as though they were done for, their healthy
green stems, now deprived of the sustenance they required, were lying listlessly at an
unnaturally curved angle, the newly sprung open flower petals‟ edges were now curling
back into themselves.
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I continued gaping at the dirt, then scanned the soil for some trace of footprints, a
boot, a sneaker, hell, stiletto heels, I wasn‟t picky as long as I could find a way to find out
who was responsible. But there were no prints anywhere. I removed my key from the
lock, placed it in my black suede purse and slowly shut the door. After placing my bag
upon the burgundy stained wooden stand on my right beside the door I walked straight
down the hall, past the living room, then turned to my left where the stairs leading to the
second floor were, and raced up the stairs. I felt like an investigator, piecing together the
pieces of a heinous crime, the destruction of my beloved plants and I would methodically
search each room until I had a substantial clue as to who the perpetrator was.
On the second floor there was one long hallway, going both to my left and right,
though the hall on the right directly overlooked the first floor and front door so some of
my friends claimed that it was more a balcony then a hallway. I turned to my left first and
stepped to the door on my immediate right. Gripping the brass doorknob and pulled down
and thrust it open. After one quick walk through my small study, my eyes alighting on the
numerous books on the three pine shelves, a glance at my burgundy table, where my
desktop still remained secure and untouched, the portable cd player that was on the
windowsill, I realized that nothing was out of place and stepped back over the threshold
and shut the door again. I continued down the left of the hallway for only a few feet
before reaching the last door on this side of the hallway. Following my internal procedure
I flung the door wide and gave it a cursory once-over. It was simply a guest bedroom on
those rare occasions when I invited friends to spend the night. The bed was full size and
the sheets on it, though clean, were unremarkable. The only other thing in the room was
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the wooden nightstand and lamp on the right hand side. Nothing was out of place. I shut
this door then went down the hall past the staircase to the hall/balcony.
So far there was no sign that anything had been tampered with, except for my
plants. Was there even such a thing as a robber whose sole goal was to rob in-house
plants of life? I stepped to the next guest bedroom; same standard look of my other
bedroom, full-size bed, clean sheets and a nightstand on the right of the bed with a one-
foot lamp perched atop it. Again there was nothing out of place in this room. As I
traveled farther down the hall I gave a quick glance above my head where the door to my
attic and bedroom was still locked securely with no visible signs of tampering, so I
continued to the last room on this floor, which I had dubbed the „Relaxation Room‟.
Inside there was several large pillow chairs scattered on the floor for me to lay on
while a read a book for recreational purposes. There were also more plants in this room. I
had one big flowerpot at least two feet in diameter, which I had moved from my outdoor
garden to this room, in the center of the room. I had a larger stereo system in this room on
the floor equipped with speakers that were much louder than the miniature ones in my
study and beside them were cds of various artists whose music I enjoyed. Mostly eclectic,
I had big band, swing, jpop, jrock, and many other genres of music. In all corners of the
room there were plants, more lilies, daffodils, and roses. Opening the door to this room
would at least answer the question as to whether or not there was a possibility that a plant
robber existed. I placed my hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath, saying a silent
prayer to any above who might hear. Then, wasting no further time, I opened the door
and threw it wide.
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As I walked back downstairs and went, once again, to the living room my mind
was still trying to piece together the answer. The plant robber idea was gone, and with the
exception of my plants dying on my rug, there was no other sign of anything being
damaged or missing. With the plants dilemma once again at the forefront of my mind, my
eyes returned to their place on the rug. What had happened? Even more important, what
was I going to do now? Was there a way to save them? I needed to at least try and bring
them back to life again.
With this thought I froze for the second time today. I hope this wasn‟t a portent of
things to come. Understanding and realization dawned within me and I cursed my own
stupidity. There was a possible culprit, here all the while, though this wasn‟t exactly their
style. Still, I needed to check and be sure. I raced into my kitchen styled in the same red
stained wood as most of the furniture in my house. I liked wood as it seemed more alive
and less sterile that metal. I quickly made my way to the kitchen cupboard on my right
above my sink, where a plate, fork and cup I had forgotten to wash earlier lay awaiting
their bath, and I grasped the bold brass knob securely and tore open the door of the
cupboard. Glaring inside, I barked, “What the hell is your problem now?”
Within the cupboard, behind the porcelain tea set trimmed with lilacs, which I had
recently purchased on a trip to a flea market, something stirred. As it stepped into the
light, its iridescent wings shone with a kaleidoscope of color similar to what children
joyfully searched for in the skies after a storm when the sun reappeared. Also on its
wings were golden dusted specks, which reflected the light so spectacularly that the entire
wing seemed to be showered in twinkle lights. Her hair was a light blue that almost but
not quite appeared white, eyes sparkling green and slanted upward giving her an elfin,
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pixie quality. She was garbed in stylish rags of blue and pink, lightly layered with the
same golden dust that adorned her rainbow wings. She gazed at my silently for a moment
with her glittering eyes and then, finally, she spoke.
“It was so nice out today in your home that I decided to take a turn about the
living room and the alcohol that I‟d drunk earlier seemed to have given more trouble than
I‟d thought. I‟m very sorry m‟lady.” She emphasized this apology with a dainty curtsy of
in her bare feet and a tiny hiccup.
I sighed. “It‟s alright. Can you at least save my plants? There almost dead.”
With an impish grin and shining eyes she replied, “Of course.”
That was done then. Why the hell I hadn‟t figured it out earlier was a little beyond
me, but tiredness did have setbacks such as these I was sure. I couldn‟t help but say,
“Finger-sized mischief-maker,” as I closed the cupboard door. At least my plants would
be saved, now I could worry about my expensive rug.