Please be sure to read The Fairy and the Goblin before proceeding.
“Good morning to you, too,” she replied. He moved beside her, taking her hand and together they watched their triplets as they fluttered about, playing tag.
“Don’t cry precious,” She heard a voice say. “They probably don’t miss you. They probably don’t even realize you are not there.” Krysta looked up. A young goblin child was sitting beside her, but he appeared different to the other goblins, with dark brown hair and black eyes. He was a lighter shade of blue, then the others, too. Krysta was at first frighten, but the goblin seemed friendly and willing to listen to her. So Krysta told the goblin about herself and her brothers and sisters and why she what brought her to their land in the first place.
“Yes,” said the bad fairy, “I have returned, Goblin-Boy, to take back what’s mine!”
“Over my dead body!” Spike replied. Dahlia hugged her three children to her chest as the two fairies prepared for battle.
“Wait!” She cried. “Father, make a wish!”
Spike was confused. “What should I wish for?” he asked as Lord Alexander prepared to launch another gust of energy towards the king.
“Anything to make him go away!” Krysta replied.
Yes, Father,” The children answered at the same time.
“Do you want to be the queen this time, Krysta?” Tahnia asked as the children left, to play.
“Okay!” said Krysta. As Spike and Dahlia overheard the conversation, they smiled proudly. Krysta, could be a good fairy child, but it would take a lot of help from the other fairies, and it would take time, lots of time.
“You have feelings for my bride-to-be, hence you wish to take over the thrown?” Lord Alexander continued. “Don’t try to deny it. I can see it in the way you look at her.”
Spike struggle to stand up. He then tried to speak but Lord Alexander cut him off. “Don’t try to explain it. I’m not here to listen.”
“Then why are you here?” Spike finally could speak. There was fear in his voice.
“Yes,” said Spike.
“You really do?” Spike couldn’t believe his ears. Could this be a dream, he thought. “What about Lord Alexander? Dahlia took his hand into hers and kissed it, softly.
“I never wanted him. I wanted you, but I was trapped in this marriage agreement with Lord Alexander. When I touched you I saw him for what he really is through you, and I am determined not to marry him.”
“Welcome to our kingdom and our family,” the queen said.
The bird looked back at the fairy and answered. “Sometimes, you have to face your fear in order to let it go.”
All of this however is drowned out by the roaring motors of the traffic – big land cruisers that look like they’d never seen bush, dwarfed by the truck passing it in opposite direction with a water tank in the trailer. It is only the sound that lingers when it disappears on its way to somewhere.
This place I sit in is a place where everyone is going somewhere, even when they are not moving they are on their way somewhere. It is but one stop on their journey.
As I sit, a spider crawls across the leg of my blue jeans and my first instinct is to brush it away. I act upon this but then for a moment I wonder where it came from and where it was going. Had I just stopped it on its journey? I might have changed its path but what then? Maybe like anything stopped on its journey and forced to change directions, it was for a reason and perhaps it is on a better path. Maybe the destination changes, what then?
I haven’t seen that spider since.
As I ponder my part in a spider’s journey, more people pass, all taking determined steps down the concrete path and through the automatic doors they disappear. I wonder what they think of when the walk that path. Do they see the trees as they sway in a soft wind or hear the birds chatter away? I wonder what it all sounds like in their heads. Is there the same chatter that I hear in mine? Do their dreams and memories play as vividly in their mind’s eye as mine do?
A magpie lands on a lamp post high above the traffic, squawks his greeting, but does not stay. I wonder if it was the view he was not impressed with. Perhaps the streetlamp was a place to momentarily rest his weary wings before taking flight again to resume his journey. Then a crow flies boldly between two buildings, shifting course only slightly to avoid collision.
I reflect on the people I’ve observed, walking into the building, the dwarf like girl with the body full of scars, who proudly wears clothing that does not hide these and the old man who strolls in, casually flicking away his burnt out cigarette before disappearing, like the girl, into the building.
A rattle is heard nearby, but only I am noticing and I shift my gaze to where the sound is coming from.
A plastic subway bag is all that remains of someone’s meal and is rolling in my direction before a gust of wind changes its course. Its new path ends with a concrete block, adjacent to the one I rest my back on. I stare at it half angry that someone has neglected to dispose of it and half wanting to disconnect from it.
Like the plastic bag, it feels like everything has stopped, but the traffic and the birds. The breeze blows on and the hot October sun continues to bore down on me and there’s no relief from that. Nature and construction meet but there is no acknowledgement. People that enter the building do not exchange more than a quick glance, a nod and maybe a smile. There is no kiss likely to occur, nor can I imagine this to be the place where one would occur. There may be kisses anticipated in a time and place far from here but the kiss I see is the one in a not so distant memory, playing out in my head like it was only moments ago. I don’t ponder this for too long. An animated conversation between birds catches my attention, bringing back to reality and my long pause before I too will eventually resume my journey.
One day he played this trick on an unsuspecting little girl, who was wandering home from school one afternoon. The little girl, Cora stopped to pick up the snowman’s arm. As she did she heard a loud “BOO!” Cora screamed loudly and dropped the arm back on the ground. Bob snorted with laughter at the child’s frightened face, which made Cora very angry.
“Stop laughing, at once!” the little girl demanded, standing with her hands on her hips, but the snowman couldn’t stop. It was too funny. “I said, stop laughing!” Cora repeated. Still, Bob kept laughing. Pointing her finger at the snowman, Cora said, “You’re a very mean snowman and you should be a shamed.” The snowman laughed harder. “You’ll be sorry when spring comes. You’ll start melting and soon there will be nothing left of you.”
The snow man stopped laughing and was suddenly frightened. “Ridiculous!” Bob said, trying to cover up his fear.
You’ll see,” Cora said and walked away. The snowman began to laugh again.
A week later it was beginning to warm up, as Spring was getting closer. Bob the snowman was beginning to feel a little funny, perhaps, lighter and definitely weaker. Maybe the little girl was right, he thought, I’m going to melt! When Cora passed him with some of her friends, she saw the snowman and pointed at him, and laughed. The other children laughed too.
“That’s okay,” the little girl said. She smiled at Bob, waved and then was gone.
The next day Cora was on her way to school with her friends and stopped to say hello to Bob, but she could not see him. All that was left was a small mound of frost. Bob was gone. Cora looked at the mound and began to cry. “Goodbye Mr Snowman,” she said and continued off to school.