Fantasy
Fairies and Elves, Unicorns and Dwarves. It's important to note that here there be dragons--most of them, anyway.
Say you've got a problem. Might be big, might be small. Almost always to do with money. Maybe you can't afford to feed your kid. Maybe you can't make the rent. Maybe you've thought about all the different ways to get yourself out of this hole, and they've gotten bigger and crazier--theft and fraud and suicide and murder--and you're just about ready to start trying the worst of them.
Here's what you do.
When the Bargain was first made--so the stories went--the leaves on the trees had just turned. The world was dressed in rubies and gold, and autumn rains darkened wood to ebony. But each Bargain lasted a year and a day. As the seasons cycled, the day of sacrifice crept through the winter. This year, a spring ice storm sheathed the sprouting branches and new leaf buds in a silver thaw. From everywhere, crystalline brilliants flashed and winked.
The Sacrifice stood on the approach to the Keep, though neither of them deserved their titles. Enid was just a scared girl, and the keep was less like a dwelling built by men and more like the cocoon of some great larval insect. Brittle, colorless stone dribbled down from an amber-glass dome to grip at the hilltop like the fingers of a keloid scar. The entry causeway stretched before her like the gullet of the great beast she was slated for.
"No, sir, I don't think your problem is with the fridge elf." I watched the technician bend his thin frame behind the refrigerator as he spoke, flashing his light through the cooling fan into the inner recess of the unit. "He looks pretty happy. He's got himself satellite TV and a case of Fritos. If the writer's strike isn't over when football season wraps up, you might have a problem, but you should be fine in the meantime. He doesn't have a clue about anything going on around here."
I recalled the nametag on the technician's blue coveralls had read "Ed." Ed shifted to his stomach, peering into the inch between the linoleum flooring and the bottom of the refrigerator. "Ah ha! Just as I suspected," he said triumphantly.
Jonathan ate elves because they were high in protein and vitamin B, and he fed them to his wife for the same reason. She was three months pregnant and couldn't stomach most foods; only elves satisfied her without bringing on a ripple of nausea in her belly.
He prepared them for her like a tuna fish sandwich, chopping the cooked meat into small, moist chunks and mixing it with mayonnaise and a blob of sweet relish, then smearing the resulting paste between slices of toasted Wonder Bread.
In the days when fairies were still to be found in the world, and wishes could come true, there lived a wishwriter and his wife. The wishwriter was a clever man, but plain, and born with a twisted back that made him stoop. His wife was beautiful, gentle and generous, and she loved him just as he was.
The wishwriter was happy, for this was just as he had wished. His wife contented herself that her husband, too, was gentle and generous, and it did not hurt her to love him.
The invaders kicked down the gate in the village stockade. Eurwen heard the crowd behind her moan in fear, but did not allow herself to flinch as the flimsy barrier crashed to the ground. She raised her hand, as much to still her own heart as to calm her people.
The soldiers marched into the village in perfect step. They moved like wolves, their weight centered and low. As they neared, Eurwen fought to control her rising dread. The rumors of the dragon's army were true. Each man was inhumanly handsome.
Matthew spent half the morning removing rocks from the western fields before he felt the first rumblings through the soles of his feet. He looked up to see a cloud of dust moving quickly down the dirt road in his direction. The ground shook harder and harder as it approached until he had to crouch just to keep from falling over.
It stopped on the point of the road nearest to him, and when the dust cleared, he saw a dragon bigger than his house. It was covered in a thick layer of road dust, which made it seem all the more real. Stranger than that, shields of every shape and size were strapped over every inch of its body. A belt spanned its waist with a lance in a scabbard, and a huge black cauldron served as a helmet, the handle tucked securely under its chin.
I appreciate your showing up. I know. Putting that ad onto OKCupid probably wasn't the best way to deal with this. I just... I didn't know where to turn for help. Maybe I should have just explained outright, but I was worried you might not come. I'll tell you everything, I will.
It started with the caterpillars. Seriously.
High
Fairies and Elves, Unicorns and Dwarves. It's important to note that here there be dragons--most of them, anyway.
by Beth Cato
In the back corner of the barn, the unicorn watched her with expressionless eyes. He didn't tug against the ropes. One cloven hoof tapped the hard dirt. Bandages swaddled his left foreleg from fetlock to knee. Emma had found him a week ago snared in the barbed wire. She brought him home, cared for him, and stroked the silky length of his forelock. It would take him weeks to mend and hold weight on that leg.
Published on Oct 12, 2010
by Amanda C. Davis
Published on May 16, 2011
by Sarah L. Edwards
She smiles to see him so, content, healthy, for dimly she remembers another time when he did not appear so well, before his father returned from the mountains with the gently beating box of stone.
Published on Oct 26, 2010
by Alyc Helms
Published on Nov 4, 2011
by K.G. Jewell
Published on Mar 18, 2011
by Andrew Kaye
Published on Mar 10, 2011
by Mary Robinette Kowal
Even though her parents had always told her they'd come to the mortal world for the sole purpose of conceiving her, even though her childhood had been filled with fairy tales in which she was the chosen one, even seeing their glamour, Kim had never fully believed them. Because the alternative, that she was the first fairy born into the mortal world since the gate closed, was crazy. She gestured at the parchment. "Can I see it?"
Published on Sep 17, 2010
by Ian McHugh
Published on Jul 19, 2011
by Jaime Lee Moyer
My Dearest Miranda,
I must apologize for being so remiss in not answering your last letter promptly. I do hope you'll forgive me once I explain.
Published on Oct 18, 2011
by Damon Shaw
Published on Apr 29, 2011
by David Steffen
Published on Oct 12, 2011
by Sylvia Spruck Wrigley
Published on Nov 28, 2011
