The fairy looked around, she just couldn’t understand how she had ended up in this strange land. She had to admit it was not an attractive place: where were the gnarled trees and sweet blades of grass? Everywhere was cold cement. The air was thick and heavy – her diaphanous wings felt grimy. Not a single flower to be seen, and people…..people looked strange and rushed past as if they couldn’t actually see her. They looked determined, as if they were on a journey – but not one that lead to adventure.
Nobody looked happy, no face betrayed any emotion apart from weariness.
The fairy suddenly understood that the key to getting back to her own world was imagination. She needed only a single one of those weird creatures to see her – this would denote an untarnished spirit and an un-jaded soul. Through such a person’s imagination she would be able to return to her land which she was starting to miss very badly.
The fairy saw a child approach and her hope rose – children had the purest souls she knew, and untainted imaginations.
Yet this child looked straight through her as if she didn’t exist; it was a young boy – he was gripping a square device and all his attention seemed to be focused on it.
The fairy felt a stab of despair but she quickly admonished herself. She simply refused to believe that imagination didn’t exist in this world – she only needed to be patient.
She settled herself on the ugly brick wall by the side of the pavement and started her long wait for the one unadulterated soul who would send her back to her fairy-tale, where she belonged.
She is still waiting.
Image credit: pygar.deviantart.com