Yamless baked in the sunshine, slowly rocking back and forth on her porch swing. She was a vertically-challenged Feral Faerie, standing only three and half hands in stature, and had to will the swing to move with sheer determination and core strength. Birds fluttered in their bath, merrily flapping water at one another, but Yamless could only stare at them blankly as she pondered the universe and all of its mighty powers. Her mind spiralled into a deep, dark place. The world, as it was, had a shortage of fineliner markers. To some it may have seemed minor in comparison to the other issues out there, but to Yamless, a seasoned colorist and artist in her own right, it meant danger and uncertain times. Coloring brought joy to her fellow Faeries, calming them, and uniting them after a long period of lifeless existence. No, Yamless thought, it simply wasn’t acceptable.
After much contemplation, the small Faerie slid to the edge of her seat, dropping her stumpy legs over the edge. They were too short to reach the ground beneath them, and so she slid herself down the chair, into a standing position as she had done so many times before. From her moment of silence, Yamless concluded that she, and she alone, would find a solution to the obnoxious problem laid before her. She would walk to the ends of the earth, if need be, to bring these beloved markers back into circulation.
First, Yamless thought to herself, she would need to pack for the adventure, and then she would need to inform her gnome-lover, Pitan, of her plans. She knew he would fret, tirelessly reminding her to pack extra socks, napkins, wet wipes, disinfectant spray, dust masks and multitudes of cutlery so she wouldn’t have to battle any unnecessary sauce, mess or germs in her travels. But, ultimately, Pitan would wish her well and understand her need to bring color back to their people. Once out of Pitan’s sight, she thought, she would dump the excessive supplies he insisted she bring in order to lighten her load for the laborous trek. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
As Yamless approached the entrance to her wood-clad abode, she heard the unmistakable sound of uneven steps behind her. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was Small Fry, her semi-unhinged Feral friend, coming up the cobblestone path her and Pitan had put in so many years ago. Sure as the mountains are tall, when Yamless swung herself around, there stood Small Fry, hair bigger than her.
“Oooph. Yamless!” Small Fry’s drawn-out voice yelled. She shook her free fist in the air, as her other hand clasped a mid-day margarita, topped with a cherry-filled doughnut. “I tripped on your stones again! When are you going to fix this shit?”
“What now, Small Fry?” Yamless scurried ahead, hoping she could reach the door and lock herself inside before Small Fry caught up. She had too much to do and didn’t have time for the inevitable hours of banter charging her way.
“Did you hear?” Small Fry snorted, already cracking up about her news before she managed to spit it out. Yamless had no choice but to turn back around to face her friend. She knew Small Fry would just yell at her through the door, stirring the neighbors, if she didn’t.
Small Fry snorted again, slapping her knee in a hysterical motion. “I’ve been named Master Baker!” she shouted, “Can you believe that hogwash?” By this point, tears streamed down Small Fry’s rosy cheeks. “Master Baker! Burritos and cheese spray for eternity!” She yelled.
Yamless couldn’t help a little giggle, herself. Master Baker was a prized position within their community and Small Fry was, in and around, the last Faerie in all of the realms to receive such an honor. She imagined the smoking mirrors Small Fry must have positioned in order to fool the elite into naming her with such a privileged title. “Well,” she said, “congratulations!”
“Thanks!” Small Fry skittled up the steps, standing beside Yamless. “So? Whatcha doing?”
“I’m going on a trip,” Yamless said, trying not to reveal too much.
“A trip? Where to? I’m coming!” Small Fry waved her hands in the air, busting into a disturbing dance move. Her frazzled hair bounced back and forth on her head, as she took a long swig of her margarita.
“Yes. I’m coming!” Small Fry cut Yamless off. “I’ll be back in a jiffy. Just need to slam some crap into my knapsack and we’re off. I love adventures!” Without another word, Small Fry skipped off the porch and disappeared back down the path.
Yamless shook her head. There was no point fighting it. Okay, she thought, Small Fry is coming. How bad could it possibly be?
© 2017, Anisa Claire. All rights reserved.
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