A Failure of a High Elf (Book One)

3.6

Written: 8/7/23
Word Count: 1,100

"Hey, Elf."

The sound of buzzing was followed by the feeling of an insect's cold, disjointed body against my cheek. My eyes opened wide, one hand already out to swat the creature away.

"Aya! Watch where you throw that thing!"

The voice was...small. It sounded like a harping old man, but light. A small pitch, making the grizzled pixie staring at me sound like a little elva.

I swatted again, this time sending two bat-sized figures spiraling away from the general vicinity of my face.

"Oh, we're in fer it now, Pops!" This voice was slower, still a bit squeaky, but slower. Like molasses.

I sat up, my spine ricocheting in pain at the motion. I fell over, straight onto the dewey mosses below my chosen tree. Early-morning rays—somehow harder to look at than their midday counterparts—hit me straight in the face. This tree had no leaves to hide its intensity from me, so it felt like I was being bombarded by a Hesperide spell, the powers of the sun used to blind, to maim.

"Ugh."

"Well, now, wouldya look at that?" The molasses voice commented, awed. "Is she dead?"

"Cut it out, fool," the harping old man continued.

This time, I opened my eyes slowly, keeping them in little slits so I could focus on the two pixies who'd awoken me. Since they'd tried getting my attention, they couldn't be here to rob me. And what would they take, anyway? Herbology graphs and philosophical essays on elven nature?

Have at them.

"What..." my words came out fuzzy, my mouth sticking grossly. I didn't even have anything to drink, for Goddess's sake. How uncomfortable it was, dying in the wilderness, where my grossness was reason enough to perish early. "What do you want?"

The older pixie buzzed back over. I tried not to flinch at the sound of his wings sparking against one another. They really sounded like bugs. That metallic, fluttering ew.

He had a curly beard hanging past his chin, and a spotted yellow hat tilted off his head like a sleeping cap. Matching his aesthetic, this pixie was a yellow one. Well, the only two options were yellow or pink, but this one was definitely shimmering golden.

"You can't sleep here, Miss Elva," the pixie informed me. He dipped his head, holding his stubby hands clasped in front of him. Even his gossamer wings, spread wide like a dragonfly's, shimmered that golden color. It would be pretty...if it wasn't already morning and the sun wasn't already blinding.

A beat pounded at my temple, another worrying sign of my impending death. I was really going to go out in the most uncomfortable way, wasn't I?

"Why not?" I sat up, my spine cracking at least four times. Fighting against the strangeness of talking to two pixies out in the wilderness where I'd slept without being eaten, I busied myself, rolling my sleeves back up, tucking my collar to lie flat, etc. Rifling cursorily through my bag of homework, the only difference was the limp-like quality of the papers, that had stayed out all night and were now as dewey as the ground. Good thing I wasn't going to write on them soon.

Or ever.

"This here's still Pixie Territory," the old fellow answered, sounding downtrodden. As if he didn't want to evict me, but it was out of his hands.

"Really?" I yawned. "I can't even sleep?"

"Not without paying!" The younger pixie leapt forward. This one was yellow, also, but a darker, mustardy kind. The shade even wove through his little eyebrows, his hair jutting in weird, blade-like shapes way above his head. The older pixie wore something like a blue bathrobe and a sleeping hat, whereas this pixie was studded out in cherry-red leather. Buckles, belts, zippers, and all.

I tried to hold onto my laughter as I took in the little firecracker, but it only got muffled part-way through the windup, making it some weird chuff, like I was about to vomit.

"Now, now..." the older pixie began, trying to placate the youngster before a situation could start, but it was no use.

Flittering until he was right in front of my nose, the spiky pixie yelled at me. "What the Yewa! Yer in the wrong, here, Elva. What are you even laughing about? Huh?" With each exclamation, the thing buzzed closer and closer. I even felt those gossamer wings brush up against my eyelashes.

I scooted against the tree, but escape was futile. Trying to reign in a burgeoning sense of panic, I crawled sideways. I had more space to get away if a tree wasn't locking me in place. At least if I was out in the open swamp, I had more options.

"Listen, bub." I smacked the punk pixie away from the area directly in front of my eyes. "I reacted. Reacted. Alright? Leave me alone!"

The angry pixie followed. Further behind, the old fellow shook his head back and forth, that deeply regrettable expression somewhat equally hilarious in his bathrobe and sleeping hat. Quite the characters, these two.

"Can't we just talk this out?" I tried again, my ankle twisting behind me in one of the many dips in the surface of the ground. "I'm sorry! I said I'm sorry!"

The pixie was undeterred. Each time I heard the twitching of those bug-like wings, I braced myself for an angry impact. The fellow was dive-bombing my face. I mean, what was I supposed to do with that? How long could he keep this up?

"All you High Elves are the same!" The punk seethed. His teeth were bared, each needle-like fang so tiny, yet so, so sharp. "No manners! Disrespect everywhere!"

"I know!" I agreed, wholeheartedly. "I'll do better. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

I don't know how far we moved from my bag still sitting by that lonesome tree. How much further will we go? The early-morning sun wasn't as sharp amidst the thick of the fog, though somehow the effect was worse. All-consuming light turned the whole place into a dazzling affair. My eyes burned. Oh, they burned bad.

"You can't sleep wherever you like," the fellow yelled, diving straight toward my left eye. I flinched before the thing was upon me, stumbling over my feet, and sprawling out on the grass. "I'll teach you Highborns not to mess with us."

Or, wait.

The impact of spongey grass never came. The red leather of Punk Pixie's wardrobe became smaller and smaller, and it was then that I realized.

I was still falling.

I had found the cliff sooner than expected.