The weeds climbed over from old lady Rose Briar's cottage next door.
Grew until they wound their way into my garden. Thorny, thick vines took over my yard. I cut, and cut with my pruning sheers; but they weren't sharp enough.
A fairy appeared. I tried to listen, but was too intent on freeing my garden. Still she buzzed at my ear. What did she say?
I lost the thread of the message. I'd be lost soon, too, if these sheers didn't do their job. The vine enclosure had now imprisoned most of my little yard.
"There will be an explosion soon so, Elsbeth, fly! Fly! Fly!"
My new friend sang it this time. "I know," I said. But I really didn't. Of all the lyrics of her song, only one word stuck out: "soon." At least that much registered.
So she sang her missive again.
"Yes," I said. "Soon. Soon enough I'll be trapped out here. Soon, unless I can chop down this rogue vine."
Do fairies always sing their messages? I couldn't remember. Fairy-memories can sometimes dissipate, unless you write them down real quick.
Oh, yes, I remembered. They do sing, but only when someone's distracted. Or in real trouble. Or the fairy just likes you. Then they sing, to get through.
She persisted. Intent on penetrating my dense human brain. A wise fairy knows that her refrain and its meaning can sink it, later to arise to a person's outer mind. Thank goodness for those fairy engrams. Double thanks that this fairy came, and didn't wait for the whole message to dawn on me 'later.'
She insisted; and the weeds climbed everywhere. With each chop they sprang forth with new growth. I battled this Green Medusa-Head until I panted. Then threw down my sheers.
I got up but the patio was covered in weed. Except for a tunnel that lead to my sliding glass door. If I hurried, I could escape these multiplying, snake-like vines. I slid through the door. Slammed it shut behind me. Just in time.
The vines covered the glass door. My little patio yard was thick; no sunlight penetrated through the glass, which rattled. Now the house creaked. Now it shook. Not like an earthquake, more like a big someone wanted to move it.
I grabbed my phone, laptop, and purse. Relieved, because the front yard was still free. The vines had not yet climbed over the house. But a shadow loomed overhead.
That song again. My fairy followed me.
"There will be an explosion soon so, Elsbeth, fly! Fly! Fly!"
I tried to unlock the front door.
It stuck. I tried again. Still stuck. I tried the sliding glass door next to it. Success. I escaped through.
"There will be an explosion soon so, Elsbeth, fly! Fly! Fly!"
I planned to drive away but a truck blocked my car. The gas company just arrived. The weeds all but covered the side of the house. They twined their way down toward the gas meter and valves. One of the workers got to the valves and shut them just as the vines began to cover him, too. Somehow, he poked free.
The other worker got out of the truck, approached my car. I'd already started it. Had planned to drive across the tiny front yard and through, or over the little white picket fence. Unless they didn't move their truck real soon. A risk I'd have to take even though my SUV was small. But what if it didn't knock down or climb over the fence? I'd be stuck there, too.
"I'll move the truck," said the gas company woman. "We're seeing this all over. The weeds. They're causing trouble everywhere. Good thing you're leaving. City's about to send the evacuation order."
"What about my house?" I asked. It was futile. The noxious weeds already covered it. Most of the neighbors' houses, too. More city trucks arrived, parked on other side of the street where weeds had not yet reached over the rooftops. Emergency vehicles also showed up. Firemen hiked through brambles and chopped with fire axes.
All with no success. This Medusa Head multiplied its snake-vines at their every stroke.
"Don't worry about the house," said the woman. "The company will call when the city finds a way to stop the weeds." She tilted her head over toward the fire trucks and activity, then leaned in toward my open window. "But, confidentially, not even the best chemicals seem to be able to kill those weeds. Never seen anything like it."
This weed disaster was everywhere? My fairy flew in circles around the woman's head. Same song but with the name of the woman from the gas company.
"Cute fairy," said the woman. She laughed, went back to the truck. And backed it out of my driveway.
As I followed her, I thought of what she said. Those chemicals, the ones the city tried? Whatever had they used? Maybe it deformed the weeds. Created a ferocious plant species. A defiant one.
"Blasted chemicals." I said this to my fairy, who had just perched on my shoulder. Traffic was slow, but at least the way ahead was still clear of weeds.
My fairy agreed. "Bad, bad chemicals," she said.
Then, with even more vigor, she belted out her song.
I didn't ask questions, just obeyed. She flew out my open window and I thought I'd lost her. But she landed on my hood ornament. From there she continued to sing, and pointed the way. Sang even when I entered the freeway. Then pointed to the exit she wanted me to take.
"Keep going," she said. I did while she sang.
"There will be an explosion soon so, Elsbeth, fly! Fly! Fly!"
She stayed on the hood ornament. I drove through a country area I didn't know as she pointed this way and that. And lead me far, far from the city. Until the traffic disappeared. Until everything was gone.
Everything was behind me. But not the memory of what I'd escaped. Just than an enormous explosion punctuated that last thought.
I parked on a hill that my fairy pointed out. Fire streamed up over the horizon from far away. Where the city had been.
"You won't need utilities here but, Elsbeth build! Build! Build!"
I'd learned by now not to doubt her song. And it was true, but how? I'm no builder. I powered up my laptop; thankfully I got WiFi. Towers still worked, even in the mountains. Ignored the desire to investigate the news on social media. Instead, I did what my fairy had just suggested. I found me a tiny house builder. Hopefully this wouldn't take long.
That afternoon, he trailed a new tiny house to my hilltop. It was a nice, self-sustaining model that he'd just finished that morning.
"Solar and wind-generators, and a backup steam-generator," he said. "Mobile, too, in case you ever want to move. The works."
I admired the craftsmanship, inside and out. "Nice touches. Do these old gears do anything, or are they just for looks?"
"Oh, they work all right." He demonstrated this gizmo, then that. "It's my new Steam Punk model, first edition. You like?"
Naturally. I adored it and said so.
"I see your SUV has a hitch," he said. "That's good. You'll pull this nicely whenever you want."
"Right up my alley," I said.
He sold it to me on the spot. Fortunately he accepted crypto currency. And my account had just quadrupled. People must be escaping the city or hearing about the disaster and buying like crazy, I thought.
My builder helped me get my new tiny house situated. We then surveyed the clearing around it. He suggested that, since it was a good site for a garden, I might call his wife about seeds and such. I thanked him.
"Good thing you got here and called when you did," he said. "I'll be backlogged soon. Anyway, the northwest wind is still strong enough up here to keep the air clean. Lower mountains will block the smoke and fumes from the south west, so they'll keep it from coming this way, too. Most likely that smoke will press through the valley way south of here."
He pulled his ball cap off, held it over his heart.
We both stood facing the horizon. Smoke clouds loomed, yet the orange blaze beneath them dissipated only a bit.
Was it a good thing? Not for those left behind. When I'd called the builder, he believed me when I'd said it was an emergency. Meaning the vines. My fairy meant exactly what she sang.
He gave me some names, numbers and advice about the area. Then said, "Should you need anything, the wife and I live close by. In fact, she's packed your house full of food and supplies. There's a community up here. Be glad to welcome you. Help out with extra clothes and the like."
How surreal. One minute, I'm gardening. The next, chased out of house and home by raging weeds. An hour later, and I'm a homesteader with no going back.
I thanked him, then he left. But my fairy stayed. Then I thought to ask her name.
"I'll tell you," she said. "But you know the rules."
I did. There are three.
- A fairy chooses whom she will help, how, where, and when.
- A fairy stays as long as you don't give away her name.
- A fairy... Sorry. Mustn't tell you that one.
Does her story end? Not really. Because... Here. She wants to sing it for you.
Put your fingers on the keyboard, Elsbeth, make them fly! Fly! Fly!
Image credit: Candiix at pixabay.com
Flash Fairy story © by KT Fabler - Thanks for reading. More here.