SadistPoet

Never Ending Days

Edie "F.F" Holmes

Name: "Fortuna Fade" (Not her real name) Her real name is "Edie Holmes"

Appearance : Edie (Fortuna) is a short girl standing around 5'3. She wears thick-rimmed glasses that have seen better days. Her black hair is very long and full of knots. She has a perpetual scent of some peculiar spice on her that can never be exactly determined - it is not exactly a pleasant smell, nor is is putrid. She is flat-chested and has a slight pot-belly not visible beneath the baggy hoodies she usually wears.

Background information : Edie Holmes is the classic case of a delusional teenager who is trying too hard to distinguish herself from her peers. It began when a traumatic incident at home (fill in the blanks here) caused her to begin dissociating. She convinced herself that her poor home-life was the result of God himself punishing her. Therefore, she concluded that she must have the blood of a fallen-angel coursing through her veins. From this point on Edie insisted that she be called her "angelic" name of Fortuna Fade and that she has a connection to the supernatural.

Prior to her becoming "trapped" within the school, Fortuna spent most of her time at the local library reading up on various religions, using the computer to research how we are actually controlled by lizard people, conducting experiments in the park in spellcraft, and eating out of vending machines. The less time she spent at home the better, but she will never admit that she is afraid to go home. Frequently, she would spend the night at the homes of equally deluded peers. Her commitment to the occult and her ability to just seem like she might have magic powers has given her a small group of followers. These people see her word as gospel and will swallow whatever bullshit pseudo-science she proposes, thus they will do many tasks for her. She seldom has to pay for meals and can commission some of these loyal followers to do homework for her.

Age : 17

Personality : Edie is deluded, greedy, self-centered, and believes her word to be gospel. She believes that her alleged angelic heritage makes her a step above other people. She will manipulate others to accomplish her own goals, which usually are harmless, but manipulative none-the-less. On the other hand, Edie has a flipside to her. A softer, kinder, version of her exists once you prove yourself to be a trusted individual. It seems that she has a harder time wanting to manipulate those close to her.

Archetype : Warlock / Paladin

Edie (Fortuna) has the occult pseudo-knowledge to qualify as a mysterious warlock, but her ardent holier than thou demeanor gives her the essence of being a paladin. These both come together to make her into some kind of cult leader.

Skills :

Cult leading - She is very good at convincing her deluded group that she has supernatural abilities and that she possesses hidden knowledge. This grants her access to a small ring of mostly weak followers, yet they are very loyal.

Fortune telling - Fortuna is skilled with a deck of tarot cards and can semi-accurately give advice for the future. From an objective standpoint, these fortunes are more accurate than many skeptics would like to admit.

Magic? - She can cast a massive array of dark spells ranging from curses to boons. The effectiveness of these spells is unknown. Furthermore, she has a broad knowledge of the occult and can discern typical occult imagery/concepts.

Possessions :

Bag of Magical Ingredients (mostly just various spices)
Tarot Cards
Lucky Talisman
Ritual blade (she keeps this well-hidden)
Spell Book

Other : She might develop further mystical powers once trapped in the school.

I Hate Fairies (And All The Other Little Wastes of Space)

why (Aside: One)
she flies

and she flies too

i can't

we hide in the cloth from the giant

it looks

where is third

third is gone

the giant took her

why did the giant take her

why are we here

i am hungry

sisters are hungry too

the giant is watching

the giant is gone

we can't talk

but we know

we know when we are scared

we know when we are happy

i am angry

sisters are scared

but i am mad

i bit the giant

it hurt the giant

if the giant is hurt

then the giant can be killed

i want to kill the giant

they know i want to kill the giant

but we are hungry

we are thirsty

we wait

even with yelling outside

we wait

i hold sisters close

wait wait wait

one sister flies when noise is heard

sister comes back

we know

the giant left

we need food

we need water

so we go

down down down

food is down

sisters too

we get to bottom bottom

one more bottom to get to sisters and food

"Eyyy' where do ya' tink ya' three goin? Hm?"

no​

I Hate Fairies (And All The Other Little Wastes of Space)

See What I Am (Sequence: Five)
"It's messy - really messy, uh, can I clean? Is that okay? Oh, are you hungry? I would run to the grocery store, but I spent the last of my money on a cab ride here. Bubs, you need to clean up though really cause these nails are dangerous and you are not wearing any shoes," my sister ceaselessly chattered as she dragged a suitcase almost the same size as her. I wanted to turn and yell at her to shut-up, but she was here, despite all that has happened. She came to me for help...

Figures, dad gave me the money. None-the-less, this made me more valuable to her, so I am sure that she would be keen to accept my world of fairies. Hell, I think this could work. If Sister reports me for the illegal holding of fairies, my funds will freeze, no sanctuary for her while I am getting ass-fucked in prison by Tyrone. A grin came across my face as I guided her into the living room, "Before we, uh, settle you in - I have a few things for you to know."

"You have fairies - I know, Bubs, and I wanna help you!"

Wait what?

Suddenly, Smokey flew from my hoodie pocket, "Surprise! I detected distress in ya' fams' psychic network n' saw a potential recruit, but also a means ta' sew your torn apart family back togetha!"

"Oh, she's so adorable bubs!" Smokey, blushing, went and perched on Sister's shoulder, "I was left a letter last night that gave me all the information I needed and packed right up! I didn't want to spend one more day with Tony who was going to kick me out anyways. He is really mean to me and doesn't care, so I came here. Ah, I'll make it worth your while, all I ask is that I get to have my old room back while getting a bit of money every so often. In-turn, I'll cook for you, clean for you, and help you with the fairies!"

A letter is all it took to get her here? And what the fuck is up with Smokey mentioning psychic networks? Did she detect my Sister's strife and plant a letter? That explains why the fairies were so mismanaged last night, but Smokey never told me she did this, and even acted as if she did nothing other than try her best last night. Smokey has an agenda of her own, yet is it a bad agenda? She saw a need for an additional worker (probably considering how long I stayed up last night marking and cataloging them) and figured out how to find one. Perhaps she is truly a mini-master of things. Of-course, my pride will not let me admit such thanks, but I think from the glowy red eyes she is giving me as she sits perched on my SIster that she already knows.

"Sounds good," is all I could force myself to say, "Uh, so go h- haul your stuff up to your room. I, well, need to talk to Smokey."

Despite my respect, admiration, and general thankfulness towards Smokey - it was all being off-set by a growing sense of danger. I mean, at surface value, Smokey just looks evil: grey skin, red eyes, fangs, obsidian black hair, and red stripes all about her body. She seems to know how to appeal to me. Not to mention she did something and all the fairies went downstairs. Now, she is talking about psychic networks and my family network.

"Yeps' tink' he wants ta' have a good talk for' the guests downstairs get back ta' merry makin," Smokey hovered up off Sister and began to hover towards the backdoor.

"Oh, I'll let you two talk! Once you are done please come get me. I won't peak at them downstairs until then - please promise me that I'll get to learn a lot about them today and help you so much. I'll even go on out and get groceries tonight because you look like you need food! Oh, and I can even begin to garden for the fairies. I read online sometime ago that they are vegetarians..." and she kept going and going. No wonder this Tony boyfriend wanted to kick her out.

"Yep, yep, yep, uh yeah promise. Uh-uh, so yeah. Mhm," I said as I exited to the backyard, which was mostly concealed due to it being fenced in. Additionally, it had an empty unused pool that use to be the centerpiece of many cook-outs. I hopped down into the empty pool for some additional concealment and Smokey followed. I sat down on one end of the pool, while she sat down on the opposite end.

"So, watcha' wanna ask lil' ol' me? Wait, wait, I tink' I know, ya are puttin' togetha the pieces, hm?"

"Psychic networks, shutting up a mass of fairies, eating an entire hot-dog like nothing, and just always seeming so, appealing? Right? I, uh, could go on-"

"Shh..." Smokey hushed me, "Ya' are a lil' too aware for ya' own good."

"What the hell does that mean?" I nervously swallowed - her tone implied that I was treading into dangerous territory.

"I'm ere' helping ya' fill a power-trip for you while ya' help me. So, why question a good ting'?"

"I, uh, just feel a little-"

"Scared?" Smokey hovered up.

"Oh, uh, yeah," I crossed my arms across my chest as if that would protect me from her gaze.

"Look, ya jus' gotta look at it dis' way. You gotsa' good deal here, got sissy back who will be ya' personal servant, a job ta' do which gives you power, and more perks ta' come. All dat' fear your feelin'? It's natural cuz' ya are a smart lil' cookie, but imagine how scared our enemies will be. That fear' ya' feelin is nothin' in comparison to how dose' who cross us will feel."

Smokey, despite the questionable nature of her being, began to give me a secure feeling that only my late father gave me at one time, but this time she was giving me a direction. She is everything he was and even more, "Smokey, uh, just answer one thing - why?"

"Cuz' you want dis'? Don'tcha? Jus' live in da' moment. Remember our deal?"

"Uh-huh, no killing fairies, take you out once a week, and listen to your advice."

"Jus' listen ta' me for now on? I've been round for a bit, so I know a ting' or two. Anyways, ya' got lots ta' do today and it's jus' past noon I believe, so chop-chop."

Well, with not many answers, but ignorant acceptance - I went back inside. Sister was on the first floor oozing with enthusiasm and wanting to fully take advantage of her new life. I noticed some fairies were peering through the hole in the door, curious to what we were doing. Smokey, with a swift glance, caused them to flee back downstairs. I felt a surge of authority in my position. We were beginning a project and I had to think of the most efficient means of managing it. Sister will deal with the more hands on stuff, such as feeding and cleaning, while I focus on the building and buying.

We spent a small portion of the afternoon down in the basement discussing the best modifications to accommodate the population. Sister seemed to adore the fairies and soon wandered off to interact with them. I believe her feminine charms made her communicating with them easier. It was not long before the fairies identified her as a friendly face and a good chunk of them began to flock around her as she sat on the couch. I noticed the paint that marked them was beginning the irritate the skin of a few, so I went upstairs to gather a few plastic tubs and began to fill them with warm water - it was bath time. I was lacking in the soap department, but I believe the supplies came with an amount of hygienic items.

I carefully carried down four large containers filled about knee deep (of-course speaking about fairies) and set them on the pool table. It is a shame that this now is acting as the staging ground for all fairy operations. My dad use to think of this table as a prized possession - a damn shame, but oh well. Sister was keen to a method to get the fairies to bathe - the few playful and interactive ones were gently placed in the water. They found the water fun, and began to splash about, playing and merry-making. This fun attracted more fairies to the tubs and soon enough happy chirps, which were slightly less annoying than their crying, began to sound from the basement. You know, lighter fluid also removes paint pretty well - I remember back in high-school when I did projects with dad he taught me that. If Sister was not around, I would gladly douse them in lighter fluid, but I am sure that would go wrong, so Smokey was wise in having Sister employed.

All the while, Smokey simply observed until Sister asked if she could help round up a few more of the moody anti-social fairies. She obliged and hovered about the basement locating their hiding spots easily. It seemed the flightless ones who dropped from the pool table liked it under the couch - well I am pretty sure they were inside the couch. It seems they crawled into a tear beneath it and got cozy inside. Once Smokey crawled under, moments after, a mass exodus of fairies piled on out. I decided to go and do my part and check the utility room and remembered what I left in there: Hobble.

It seems that other fairies joined it in the utility room electing to perch on the shelves. Well, one thing interested me in particular - they were armed. I left out the craft box and they got hold of sewing needles. Hobble, along with a group of six more, stood on the shelf daring me to attempt capture. Between the boxes was some dried mushrooms along with some jelly-water. Was Hobble trying to found a break-away civilization of some sort? I decided to let them have their victory. After-all, Hobble was only a blue-tier, and her little "gang" around her was red-tiers, so we were not missing too much valuable merchandise. I decided their little start-up in the utility room was no big deal and was intriguing. Instead of forcing them out - I left them along. Now, if we are being honest, my decision was also influenced slightly by a desire to not get poked by sharp needles.

"So ya' jus' gon' leave em?" Smokey hovered into the utility room - the conclave of rebellious fairies backed up, "I can get em' ta' come down."

"No, I'm interested in what they will do. Uh, we'll correct them if too many begin to join," I began to back away from the utility closet and Smokey followed.

"It's jus' a few, so we can ignore em' - guess it's betta' to let em' live how dey' wanna live - fa' now at-least."

So we let them be. I was interested a bit in the potential cultural aspect of allowing a break-away group to exist. Of-course, it might be a mistake to allow a rebellion to fester, but it could be corrected in due time. Perhaps more aggressive and anti-social fairies could be utilized for their own means. Speaking of which, I have also forgotten another fairy: Nipper. Furthermore, I am not sure if the two other fairies were still out and about. When I went upstairs to throw some clothes on the box was still closed and I had not seen the other two. I think it is safe to say that they were still upstairs hiding away, or maybe they had relocated? I took one last cursory glance to Sister. She had opened up the supplies and found small tubes of bath-soap. She squirted a glob of purple fluid in each tub and allowed the motion of the fairies romping about in the water do the rest.

I went upstairs to investigate Nipper's box and to my dismay it was open. Sitting at the bottom of the box was Hobble's hand, a small pile of fairy excrement, and a length of yarn. It became clear what happened. So, the other two fairies got hold of some yarn and lowered it into the box so the flightless Nipper could climb out. Once it was clear of the box, they dropped the yarn and scrambled off to wherever the hell that might be. I scanned my bedroom for any clues, but that would be a nigh impossible task due to the scattered articles of clothing and loose trash.

Should I clean my room? Nah, I will ask Smokey about this later. Nipper and two other fairies were on the prowl, so I would have to be watchful. I did not want to step on them - not because I care, but it would be nasty to scrape fairy goop off my foot. I went back down into the basement to check on the progress of their bath. It seems, like cats, these creatures had some instinctual disposition for hygiene. They settled down (mostly) from merry making and now sat in the water dutifully scrubbing themselves. Some had paired up to wash the hair of those with longer heads of hair, while others, notably the red-tiered ones, washed themselves alone.

I took a seat nearby to further observe. Sister seemed taken by the creatures. Her eyes beamed with interest, but her vision turned to the mallet sitting on the pool table still, "Hey Bubs, what is with the dad's gold tenderizer doing down here? Don't tell me you were going to whack these little beauties with it? I don't want that to happen! Nope, not at all. Look how adorable it is that they wash each-others hair."

"It's instinct," I remarked as I slid the mallet into my hand, "Like a cat licking itself."

"Well, I think it's beautiful Bubs. They really are something, huh? Why do they exist? I remember it had something to with some really weird science but I am kinda' dumb so I never paid attention to that kinda of stuff. Which reminds me that Tony won't stop texting me with really mean messages, real scary stuff, uh here look!"

Oh jeez, we're in trouble. I saw a torrent of messages:

i'm on my way now
why r u sleeping at another guys house
i can c where u are
4get about the tracking app dumb bitch

But first, I took the phone from her hand and smashed it to bits and pieces. The fairies crowded to the opposite of the pools startled by the commotion, "Sm- Smokey? Uh..." My hands were shaking, was I scared?

"No, wurries' uh... by the by, ya gettin' her a new phone," Smokey pointed to Sister who was trying her hardest to not cry.

I took a deep breath. I could not think. I'm scared, "Uh w- watch fairies. Sister uh, yeah! Smokey let's go."

"Yep, I got jus' the solution. So Masta o' Tings' put me in ya' pocket and jus' stand outside and wait." I did just as instructed and went to the front porch and stood very still.

"Smokey? W- what are you-"

"Jus' trust me, now we gotsa to make one ting' very clear. Stan' still and jus' close your eyes tight. Do not open them, so close em' now."

I closed my eyes tight - just as she said, "Smokey? W- what? I can't do-"

"Trust me. Now listen ta' the next part o' your instruction. When I say uh' - 'surprise!' ya are gonna breath all da' air outta your lungs and keep your mouth open. Keep ya' eyes shut - I canna' stress that enough, so let's rehearse - surprise!"

I emptied my lungs, kept my eyes closed, and kept my mouth open - just as she instructed. Wait, this was sound familiar, but I could not put my finger on it. The fear was clouding my ability to process information critically.

"Righta' so - let's do it one more time. Oh, be sure to have air in ya' lungs before letting it out. So take a deep breath an' surprise!"

I emptied my lungs, kept my eyes closed, and kept my mouth open - just as she instructed once more.

"Oh ere' he comes, so get ready fa' my signal. Get sum' air in dem' lungs of yours and be ready."

I heard a car come to a screech at the curb, "Hey fuck-face! What are you doing with my girl?"

I thought they weren't together anymore - relationships are weird.

"You on the porch! What the hell? Open your eyes so you can see me kick your ass!"

He was getting louder, closer, and his footsteps suggested he was moving at a brisk pace.

Then it happened, "Surprise!"

I empties my lungs, kept my eyes closed, and kept my mouth open - just as she instructed.

I cannot put into words the sensation that lasted for an infinitely small moment. It's like trying to describe what a color looks like. Red is red because that is just was red is. It's like trying to describe why gravity is a thing. It just is. It's like trying to describe why we are here processing the universe and why does that even have to be a thing. We just are. For just an infinitely small moment, I felt every point of my body become tapped into something greater than it ever could be. It was as if my arm was picking up a red-rock on mars, my other arm taking a dip in the sun, my tongue tasting ice cream on Earth, my leg skipping across clouds on Jupiter, my other leg skirting the dark void of space light years away, my torso on the edge of the observable universe riding the wave of creation, both my eyes both seeing and not seeing; therefore, not seeing at all. Even then, that description, is nothing in comparison to what I felt in an infinitely small moment. In that infinitely small moment, I felt puny, small, and insignificant, but I felt that could witness a collective whole if I just opened my eyes. I felt opening my eyes would yield the secrets of all, and those secrets would end me. It was true terror.

"Ey! Ey! Your safe now, open up ya' peepers."

I did not want to. That feeling terrified me greater than any chemical reaction in me could. It was a terror beyond the chemical make-up of a living thing. It was a terror that could, and would, seep into an inanimate object that had no such feelings, and even then still terrify it.

"Uhg - ya' are fine! Open em' up and that feeling goes away."

For a solid minute I fought against my own body. I tried with all my might to open my eyes, but they wanted to stay shut. I fought and fought - the small victory of slitting them enough to see a glimmer of Earthly light off-set every feeling I just felt. I was safe, so I opened my eyes and saw my front yard. No car and no many coming to beat me to hell, "I..." my mouth trailed off into a confused babble. Then I fell to my knees and began to weep - glad to be safe, but feeling violated.

I do not remember what happened after that. I think I managed to get myself to the couch, well that is where I woke up, but I somehow crawled inside. I felt better later. Smokey was sitting on the coffee table keeping an eye on me. A blanket had been laid on me, "Ya' a real trooper actually."

"Smokey? What did you do?"

"Eh, dun' sweat da' small stuff. He gone - and no evidence exists."

I slowly nodded, "Okay, where is Sister?"

"She down in da' basement wit' the fairies. Got em' all eatin' and managed portion off da' food. Dealt wit' tha' rowdy ones and gottem to eat normally without gorgin' demselves' - she a real natural."

You would think I wanted to press more information on what happened, but I am actually relieved that Smokey did not want to share, "So, uh, what next?"

"Well - it pretty late in da' afternoon an' your Sister gave em' a late afternoon snack. Eh, she said somethin' bout going shoppin wit ya? She is actually pretty happy cuz' dat' Tony guy is gone. Course' I talked you up, and said you did mosta' tha' dealin so she would forget bout' the smashed phone."

"Thanks, Smokey."

So I got up, collected myself, and went downstairs. We had shopping to do.

I Hate Fairies (And All The Other Little Wastes of Space)

What We Have Here (Sequence: Four)
I trusted Smokey. Somehow, I thought she could be a mini Master of Things. I believed she could keep the fairies under control - never again. "Heyo' Master o' Tings, I tried ta' keep em in order, but they are not really in a mood to jus' hang out," is how Smokey awoke me that morning. She was hovering just above my face, "Oh, and I tink' uh - jus' take a look down at Nipper's box."

I just woke up and was not ready for this bullshit. This is the first time in forever that I ever had to wake up immediately and I do not know how the corporate 9-5 slaves do this, "Give me a sec..." I mumbled as I begun to drift off to sleep once more. I could hear the chirps and blips of free fairies doing whatever they please about the house. Of-course, this is a really big problem, but in my sleepiness I did not register. I could convince myself that the house was secure enough that they would not be able to slip out. After-all, it was a nice three story (plus basement) brick and mortar castle that stood well on its own with minimal maintenance. That is how I internally justified my apathy and at the moment I was not upset at Smokey. I could not be mad because it was only natural she would fail - the she have only failed in my life.

Of-course, this would not do. A high-pitch shrilling screech woke me up from my half-sleeping stupor. It was just enough to get me out of bed, and it was more-so because the cry was in my room. Smokey was nowhere to be seen, so it had nothing to do with her. I remembered what she told me about Nipper's box. In nothing but my birthday suit (look I sleep naked - it's not weird) I hopped out of my bed to see what the commotion was. A party of three fairies had infiltrated my bedroom, either by flying through the holes in the door that use to make up Lucy's pathways, or by squeezing under the doors. Two were cowering on the other side of the box, while atop it was a lone fairy rolling about screaming its heart out. It took me a moment to process what was happening. These fairies were interested in freeing Nipper, or finding more food maybe? I am not sure if they were smart enough to think about freeing their fellow bite sized bitch - so they had to be just searching for more resources, right? They probably have enhanced smelling and detected the residue of the supplies in the box. Well, then why did they not bust into the supplies left downstairs? Then again, all of the items are in sealed containers and I do not think they are smart enough nor strong enough to open them. So it was only natural they would wander in here.

Anyways, that aside the little howling fairy somehow managed to open and close the top of the box on her hand, which cleanly severed it at the wrist. You have to be really fucking stupid to open and then close it immediately on your own hand. What to do - what to do - "Smokey! Escort these ones back!" Strange, no response, where did she go? I rolled my eyes and picked up the howling fairy who was in far too much pain to resist me, "You two - Geez, fucking just stay away from the box."

I walked on out of the room, still naked, and continued downstairs. So, these three fairies had to travel all the way up the stairs, presumably scour the second floor, and then scour the third floor in the quest of a box that might contain food. Eh, maybe they really were looking to free Nipper. Whatever, this howling fairy is getting on my nerves. Once I got down to the ground floor and ended up in the living room I saw the full extent of how Smokey failed me. They were everywhere - the bright side of the situation was the mass of them implied that no escape had been found yet, or at-least the majority have not made use of any hypothetical escape routes.

It seems that many had docked in the television stand trying to hide from prying eyes. A few seem to have crawled up into the light-fixture and were resting, or doing whatever fairies do. Some sat about on the couch, a few in little groups, and others just reclining alone with still full bellies from last nights meal. I wandered down into the basement as a few trailed behind at a distance - interested, or scared, of what I was doing with the howling fairy getting blood all over my hand. Down in the basement was where the ones who wings were just aesthetic remained. They were scattered about the pool table, and a few made it to the ground. It seems their size had dampened the fall, so they could leap down with minimal damage. Once they saw me, a naked bearded giant, the things scrambled for cover. I walked over to the utility room and found a craft kit that my mom, through another one of her wayward artistic pursuits, ended up with. Working fast, like a true master of things, I tied string around its hand to stop the bleeding and then prepped a hot-glue gun.

"Masta' o' tings!" Smokey seemed to just show up out of nowhere, "I wuz' just outside."

"Wait what?!?" If she got outside, then others might have too! Besides that - why was she roaming around outside? That is endangering us all, "You were outside?! Do y- you not know-"

"Shuddup' I can't take you seriously wit' ya' yelling all naked..." Smokey began to laugh uncontrollably, "I can open doors, but dey' can't - so don't worry."

"Open doors? Uh..." I turned my attention back to - Hobble "I named this one Hobble. I'm about to do surgery on it- put some hot-glue on that nub to seal it."

"O dats' great," she managed to choke out amidst her laughter, "Kay' so you really wanna hurry dis' up. Put sum' clothes on too - I'll resort ta' big measures to get em all ta' stay down stairs."

"What the fuck do you mean?" I am not sure what Smokey was talking about - did she know something? "Wha-"

"Just seal tha' deal already. I'm gonna' get em' all down ere!" Smokey fluttered on off.

I lathered hot-glue all over the wound then left it on top of the washing machine. It was now chirping quietly with little droplets of tears streaming from its eyes - interesting. The sooner I got dressed the better because somehow Smokey seemed like she knew something. You know, for all the shit I talk about Smokey, when she is around things seem right. Anyways, I darted on upstairs, slapped on gym shorts and a hoodie. Came back down to the first floor - no fairies anymore. Smokey did this?

Smokey flew upstairs, "Dey' be contained Masta' o Tings' - should stay passive for da' next hour."

Knock Knock

Someone was here, who? Oh fuck, was it the cops? Did the Snow-Whites detect Smokey or something? "Dun worry - go answa' it," she slipped into my hoodie pocket, "Oh, take a shower lata'! Ya' reeks of - eh I'll leave dat out."

Rude remark aside, I went to answer the front door, electing to peek out of it.

"Bubs? I- is that you? M- m- mom didn't want me visiting you for so-"

And shut!

"Hey! Open the door! Bubs, you weren't like this when you were younger! Please, let me in - I uh, have nowhere to go, mom is off on drugs and my boyfriend kicked me out."

That thing, a sister who I pretend does not exist, "G-" I could not choke out a word, "Please, uh, second! One second!"

A burning hole began to sear through my heart, metaphorically of-course, and that hole was dormant instincts of familial obligation. Okay, so what to do? Smokey seemed okay with me answering the door, so it seems like letting her in will not spell the end of the operation. I cannot turn her away because she might call the cops for a wellness check and this shred of familial obligation was killing me. However, to be fair, if she cannot see reason when it comes to the fairies, then I can just kill her with the gold mallet. She is tiny, far smaller than me, and I am just a bag of bones almost. Yes! I will finish her off and dispose of the masterfully - maybe make all of the fairies eat her? No, that would be really unhealthy for them.

"C- come on in,"

So I opened the door and let her in - apprehensive, but ready to try and include her in my world of fairies.​

I Hate Fairies (And All The Other Little Wastes of Space)

Settling In (Sequence: Three)
Smokey scares me. I know that I am not supposed to say that because she is small and I am big, but things are not adding up. For example: we got home and ate the convenience store hot dogs. What I expected to happen is she would only be able to eat a few bites before getting full considering the hot dog is about the same length and width as her. Instead, I take my eyes off her for a second and the fucking is consumed with no visual sign of her being full. She remarked that it was good and directed me into the basement to begin letting the fairies out. Then, once we were downstairs, an odor began to emit from her direction - it smelled like iron. At-first, I did not make the connection it was coming from her, but once we both went over to the pool table to begin letting the creatures out - it became abundantly clear the odor was coming from her. In the following days, I learned that this odor always emitted after she consumed food. And no, I have not confronted her about the smell. Something in the back of mind, as if it were natural instinct, is telling me to steer clear of the subject.

Anyways, about the fairies. I am beginning to question Smokey's logic on the value/worth of these things. Well, I have no questions that people will want to buy these things for their sado-masochistic-rape fantasies, which is why these creatures are banned from ownership - but I am speaking purely from an effort perspective. It became clear as day right when Smokey, with a simple tap of each stasis chamber, released the fairies they were going to be a pain. In-tandem, as if they were never asleep in the first place, all the little fucks popped right out of their respective sarcophagi making odd mews and chirps. Some climbed out and used their wings to fly down to the pool tables surface - their flight was shaky and weak, dizzy and disorientated from their rest in the chambers. Other fairies stood up and made an attempt to fly and instead fell to the bottom of each box. The ones who fell to the bottom of the boxes began to emit high-pitch mews that resembled something akin to a crying fire alarm.

I had a headache almost immediately - if Smokey was not in the equation, I would have gladly splattered the loud-crying ones with the mallet, then subsequently splatter the other ones crying because I shut-up the loud ones in the first place. But Smokey was worth at-least listening to for now, so I got to work while they were still disorientated, or well that was what Smokey directed me to do.

"So, Masta' o' tings' - let'us get workin for they get rowdy. The ones flight-enabled will be up flutterin' bout soon, so we need to catalog em."

Catalog? Geez, are we running a concentration camp or something? Then again, I am the Master of Things. Now, I am not saying I like Nazis or anything, but I totally respect them for filling the ultimate "Master of Things" type ideology. The management of what they perceived to be dirt, their scientific advancement, their sharp uniforms - just looking past what they did, the Nazis, like me, are Masters of Things. My mind began to race with such thoughts, and it happened...

"Heh - so ya' a fan of dem' old boys?"

Wait what? Did she read my mind? That is not possible. I don't care if she is a fairy. Mind-reading is impossible, right? At-least for something so puny. In that moment, I was so baffled I merely responded with, "Keep an eye on them - I'll be right back." I let my mind focus on something other than the fact that Smokey probably read my mind. Thus, I let my focus drift to my new objective: acquire a notebook, pen, tape, and measuring tape. I am assuming that cataloging meant writing down characteristic of each individual one, measuring their sizes, and then putting them in groups based on value, right? I always thought about doing this actually. We categorize dogs, cats, coffee-types, soda, and so on - well I always wanted to do it to humans. Of-course, I am not racist, or anything like that, but I am just saying that some people act certain ways and we need to catalog them. Anyways, I guess the fairies can serve as a beta-test for categorizing, or something like that.

So, to forget Smokey's violation of my mind I turned to eugenics. I saw, at a glance, that the provided fairies bared some resemblance to our races. I could use these to measure ability! Yes! I finally had the answer right here! But Smokey spoke about turning a profit from these - I need these for an extended study. Well, I can accomplish both things at the same time. Eager, excited, and more alive than I have been since forever, I gathered up my materials and rushed back downstairs.

The fairies were still disoriented when I got back downstairs (and some still crying as they remained trapped in the bottom of the boxes).

"A han' please? Get em outta the boxes, carefully"

I reached into each box and carefully plucked the fairies that fell. Most did not put up a fight, but a few, notably the ones of darker complexion, squirmed about in my hand. Well, one even nipped my finger, so I naturally let go. It fell back in the box and got in the corner. That thing kept letting out cries of protest, "Oh! She myaaad' at'cha" Smokey shouted as she hovered over my shoulder.

"Fucking - little thing bit me," I went for the mallet. My golden instrument of justice.

"Easy! Easy! Other faeries see'ya fug' her up we will have trouble."

Yes, Smokey was right. I need to calm down. I need to be like a scalpel - not a club. The Nazis, a prime example of Masters of Things (But I am not like them! I do not condone their actions!), acted with precision.

"Dey' weren't all you puttin em up ta' be," Smokey whispered as she hovered next to my ear. A cold sweat suddenly broke out all across my being. I took a deep breath and forgot that Smokey, yet again, violated the sanctity of my mind.

I turned my attention to - Nipper, yes that is what I would name this one. Nipper had an olive complexion, a bit dark, but not quite ebony. It had amber eyes that shone with the absolute most intensity. Yuck, it looked like a fucking animal.

"If it makes ya' get back to work Masta' o Tings' I'll totes' let'cha take that one for whatever."

"Yes - I think I'll take you up on that offer," I sealed the box and left Nipper inside. I removed the boxes from the pool table, along with all the supplies, and got to work. The entire process lasted well into the night for a few reasons.

One: The fairies began to recover from their dizziness. One who could fly began to test said ability regardless of my shouts to stay down. Of-course, they would listen, but then a few others would try to fly about the room. I would yell for them to stay put. It did not seem like they understood that orders apply to all of them.

Two: They began to get tired, hungry, thirsty, or whatever. Fucking little things kept griping. Chirps, mews, and other little babbles of the inferior over and over again! I popped open a jar of the dried mushrooms and scattered them about in little piles for them to eat. I put down the jelly-water on the pool table also, so they would begin to eat, but they behaved like animals - well some of them seemed more smart than others. So some would go to a pile of food, begin to gorge themselves, and actually attack other fairies who came near. They would be well past bloated (and then some) and still be ravenously defending their respective pile. Other fairies would retrieve food and move off to another area alone. Now, a special few, would actually divide their own food and share it with others.

Three: There was simply a lot of them. I counted a total of 258. Imagine 258 chirping, whining, sub-human, shitting, pissing, hovering little glorified gnats raising hell.

At-first, I divided the pool table into four sections using tape. My idea was to put more valuable ones in the specific regions, but that idea fell apart once I scattered food all about. So, I resorted to a crude tactic, but one that worked none-the-less, marking them with paint. My estranged bitch of a mom tried to embrace her artistic side back when I was in high-school. Bought a ton of paint and never used it, so thanks bitch. I made a system using the paint. Four colors: red, blue, green, gold (Value in that order with gold being the greatest).

Additionally, once I marked them across their chest with an X, I took a photo of them with a digital camera and gave each a number. So each fairy was given a number from 1 through 258 - each had their bust size measured and was carefully assessed. I marked paint across their chest based on their base attractiveness, but also on how much intelligence I saw in them. It was hard to measure intelligence, but I feel that I could just kinda see it. The greedy ones fighting to protect food while stuffing themselves ripe to pop were obviously marked as red regardless of other stats - their aggressive nature indicated their sub-par intelligence (Interesting note - these ones seemed to have larger breast sizes. Coincidence maybe?). To qualify for blue-tier they had to demonstrate at-least some basic reasoning capability, such as isolating themselves with food to avoid confrontation, but did not display any empathetic capabilities. Green and gold tier were separated by a convoluted mixture of guesstimates - green ones usually were held back by not being as attractive as gold tier ones, but displayed socialization capabilities. The green and golds would group up in small clusters and share food among themselves while quietly chirping (Maybe language?). Some would accept being marked with some mild discomfort, others would giggle as the brush tickled them, but a key qualification for being in green and gold was the ability to accept my mark without any aggressive-reaction.

It was around midnight when I finally finished. Smokey hovered about satisfied with watching me, but keeping her mouth shut. When it was all said and done, and I collapsed on the couch, Smokey landed on the couch and I realized she was at-least a head higher than the other fairies, "Go ta' sleep upstairs. Gud' job so far! Take Nippa' with you too!"

"Uh, what about the fairies? Won't they get into trouble if I don't put them somewhere?"

"Eh, dun worry! They seem ta' be mostly falling asleep. I can keep em' in line."

I got up and grabbed the box that contained my little treat in it, "I'll take your word for it. We'll get working on making them homes, or something to that effect tomorrow."

Why was I okay with this? They were annoying and would only be more annoying once I had to care for them in-depth. Well, Smokey seemed worth listening to - for now. I took Nipper upstairs, keeping it in the box, as I went to sleep.

Waking up the next morning gave me a shock...

I Hate Fairies (And All The Other Little Wastes of Space)

A Deal Made (Sequence: Two)

This "Smokey" thing is smart - and it concerns me. After I put on a shirt (as per her instructions) and came back downstairs with the old medical kit in hand, she began to share information with me:

"So each o' these boxes has a false bottum' - tink' they jammed supplies in their."

I laid the medical kit down on the pool-table, some of blood trickled onto the ever-so priceless greenery of the table, "Who is they? Be clear."

"They are uh' well Master o' tings' - I can't tell ya' cuz they came and went quickly en' quietly always. Fore' they plucked us up and put us in these tings' I saw em' loading the boxes with stuff," Smokey hovered down and landed on the opposite end of the pool table, resting on the rim.

"Uh-huh, right," Bitch is hiding something - I think? I should just smash her right here, but that would only be proving myself weak. I think dominating an enemy is true power. If this thing is scheming against me, then I will play along, but I will not be fooled, "So - how do we open these things?" I said as I began to wrap my wounds.

"Eh, last thing I member' is them lockin it with a key. A lil' hissy noise wuz heard, then poof - sleep."

"Doesn't help me. I don't have the key... wait you are out. What makes you so special?"

"Hey! Dun' look at me with those creepy peepers like dat'! I have a good reason ta' be out!" She hovered back, aware of my dangerous scrutiny.

"Better have a good reason. Things don't have so much freedom - I am the master of things, so tell me thing, how does a thing like you just pop on out?" I rested my now bandaged hand on the golden mallet.

"Ya' say ting' one more time I'm gonna have a fit - master o' tings..." she crossed her arms defiantly. This thing is testing my patience. I should just kill it, but that means no information.

"Tell me now," I firmly gripped the mallet.

It let out the most fucking annoying raspy giggle I have ever had the displeasure of hearing, "Well ya' big ol' cook you're in luck. I jus' happen to be a key!"

"Well, go on, open up the things then. Let your uh... peers out," I pointed the mallet at the box nearest to me.

"Not so fast, we wuz' talkin bout the supplies - let's get those in orda' before muckin' about wit' the other fairies," it hovered above me - careful to be just out of easy reach.

So, what I said earlier, this Smokey thing being smart. It is concerning. I went on to lift each - well, let us call these fairy containers stasis chambers, or some sci-fi shit like that. I lifted each stasis chamber out of their boxes and lined them up neatly on the other side of the pool table. All four set next to each-other were just short of being the same length as the long end of a pool table. Before I knew it, Smokey hovered into each box and pressed a button that folded up each false bottom. Whatever sent these things to me left a sizable cache of resources in each box, so the intention was for the destination to keep them. I specify "destination" and not "me" because I am somewhat sure that these were not intended for me. Well, one thing discredits that theory - this Smokey thing.

It popped out and got right to business. Once I began to sort all the resources she hovered to each pile and took count of them, "Dried mushrooms, medical supplies, gel-water, nigh-nigh pills, toys, mini coloring books, mist spraya', and treats. Ya' master o' tings these red tings' in the jar are like uh... how do humans say it... like crack to us."

I was quiet. Smokey, being so open, aware, and just - accepting? I think this thing earns the coveted acknowledgment of a pronoun. She was the key to not only the stasis chambers, but also my desires: control, power, purpose. The little red-eyed fairy has earned my respect. Yet, in a twist of fate, I could not help but have a contrary double-thought. What if the thing was innately likable through some nefarious means. Maybe mind-control? Even then, if I am questioning whether or not it is mind control then I should be safe. After-all, Smokey has only offered to help figure out what to do with so many fairies:

"Smokey, so with the supplies all out and organized - can we uh, open these?" I sheepishly pointed a finger at one of the stasis chambers. It felt weird speaking normally to something. Using my words felt wrong.

"Oh, ya' gotsa sudden polite streak, eh? Lemmee go oer' sum' rules first, right?"

"Eh, rules?" I was genuinely confused. What rules could she have?

"Think o' it more like one of dem' human contracts. A lil' agreement tween' me and you."

Well, Smokey seems to know a lot about humanity. I think back to Lucy and do not recall any sign of her knowing any human-culture right off the bat. That thing's understanding came with time and was limited to what the television showed. On the other hand, Smokey came right out the stasis chamber making references to contracts and crack. It is safe to assume that she has had past interactions with humans, or somehow has innate understanding of us. I wanted to press for more information on this topic; however, I was more interested in hearing Smokey's agreement:

"Go on?"

"Rule one: No killin' fairies - now, I knows ya' heart, so light to moderate torture is allowed. Rule two: Ya' gonna take me out every week ta' a new place as payment for my services. Rule three: Ya' are gonna listen to advice, kay? I got a neat lil' way to turn a profit from dis' situation."

"Uh? Profit? There's money to be made. W- well, I'm not exactly hurting for money," I nervously scratched the back of my neck. Why did a little fairy want to turn a profit? Hell, how are we going to do that anyways? I was thinking this would be an enslavement/captivity deal for my own pleasure. Give me a little hobby that makes me feel powerful.

"Oh, but ya' will be one o' these days. Humans have a way o' losin' their things," Smokey's toothy grin showcased her sinister pair of fangs. The way she said that I would be in trouble one day somehow hit me hard. So hard in-fact, the urge to crush the little thing completely faded away. Smokey was beginning to feel like a divine boon given to me based off good karma. Sure, I might have gave Lucy a permanent bath some years ago, but in the time frame I have not done any stand-out sins. Although, I have not done anything at all.

Well, I am dangerous. After-all, I am the master of things, so me stay isolated is keeping everyone else safe. I can now safely conclude that Smokey is a boon that will guide me through unforeseen hardship to come. I nodded in agreement to signal for her to go on.

"Won't let the secret slip yet - but we are gonna get into tha' fairy sellin business. I knowza thin' or two that will aid in the acquisition of fairies. Masta' o' things, you are gonna have to pay for more advice. Start by takin' me out somewhere ta' eat - got it? Leave em' for later and let's get some sunshine."

The prospect of travelling out of my comfort zone, such as the convenience store, concerned me more than the ethical question of selling fairies. Honestly, those words just slid right past my mind. It just made sense. These things are illegal so there is demand, and we can meet said demand. Smokey displayed not a shred of fear in her words and seemed to know what she was doing. I am not afraid of potential consequence because I have her and I am great. I am a man. I am the master of things.

I was initially concerned to take a fairy out, but Smokey was aware that she was to remain hidden. I slipped on a hoodie, which was far too large on my gaunt frame. Smokey hid in the hoodie pocket alongside my wallet, "So, uh, I haven't driven in a while." I mentioned as neared the blue truck, even more outdated since the last time I drove it, "Well, I'm not even sure if it will run. I haven't driven it in a while."

Her raspy voice called out, "Well you got legs - use em!"

Initially, I thought that I was going to take Smokey out somewhere I have not been in years, such as your typical fast food joint. I wanted to. Having a new thing who seemed to have a clear directive in mind had me going for a minute. Was this another resurgence like with Lucy? I need to pace myself for now - especially now days. If I crack under pressure, that means unwanted attention, which means unannounced wellness inspections. So that means the first destination I will be taking Smokey to is the one I always frequent: the convenience store.

I have walked this path at-least once every week since dad passed. It never ceases to change. Sometimes in major ways and other times in subtle ways. I never thought automated snow-white police cruisers would be a frequent sight. On the subtle side of things, kids in the neighborhood grow older and people go-away. Me noticing the subtle things might make it seem like I care - I don't. They live shallow lives chasing things. I have nothing to chase because I am fulfilled, so that is why I am so distant, right? Yes! That makes sense. Smokey is just the next step in fulfillment and will bring me to a new level of nirvana.

Anyways, the convenience store is a straight walk through the neighborhood and across the street. The small-city I live in is light on traffic, especially these days, so crossing the street is a breeze. Why do I point out this minute detail? Any other road other than the one I have dubbed "Convenience Row" terrifies me. I have always had a phobia of crossing roads, especially new ones. If I see it enough, then maybe I will be able to cross it in the dead of night when the risk of splattering is the lowest, and then I can work myself up from there. Back when I was in high-school, the most social time of my life, that was the process.

"Ooo.." cooed Smokey. What was she oooing about? Was she peaking out of the pocket? I don't think so, but she needs to be quiet.

"Quiet, if a snow-white comes by t- then... yeah," The police, or whatever they called themselves now days, had a system where automated Snow White patrol cars sampled audio from the surrounding area. It was sent back to a central processing area and determined the danger level of said conversation. All this sci-fi shit might sound cool on paper, but living in it is a little different. I do not think me talking to Smokey would trigger an investigation because the system is so overburdened with non-sense it focuses on key buzzwords; although, risking conversation with Smokey where a snow-white might hear us is not worth a potential police raid.

"Snow-white? Wuts' that? Dun worry masta o' tings' - you are hardly that interestin'. No one will wanna go up ta' a man so unshaven as ya."

Me? Uninteresting? I will let this slight against me slide because Smokey just met me. Sure, I spent most of my life alone, away, isolated, and so on - but for good reason: I am both fulfilled and dangerous. My isolation is done out of mercy for everyone else. Their little reality TV lives would end if I saw fit. Every day, I wake up and visualize the destruction of their reality. Guns are hard to come by now-days, or so my favorite radio show says, but with a little bit of learning I could totally unlock the bio-lock on a police rifle. Once that is done I would fit it with an extended mag, suit up with full level IV tested body armor acquired from the local armory (Pfft... I could rob that place EASY). Top it all off with a ballistic face mask and I would be set. Hop the fence Sunday afternoon when the neighbors are merry-making in their fake little world and give them a taste of reality. I would let all the snow-whites come into my carefully laid out improvised explosive device web then blow it all sky high. While the cops sort through the mess I would be long gone and in the next town over. It would be easy to get over. I abandon my truck two miles before the ID-checkpoint and branch off to my cleverly hidden backup vehicle in the woods. Then I would cleverly circumvent the checkpoint by using the back-roads to get right on the outskirt of the next town over. This should put me next to the nuclear reactor - I would roll up right in their in the dead of night and destabilize the rods then FUCKING nuke everything within fifty miles, but I would be out of their because I hijacked a helicopter in time. I would repeat this process until everyone has learned what the truth is.

And interrupting me - a door, "Ouch!"

"Day dreamin' eh? Look alive!" Smokey shouted up as I rubbed my head after I bumped into the convenience store door.

I reached into my hoodie pocket for my wallet so I could produce my ID, "Geez... at-least shut up - or keep it down once we're inside, okay?" Then I noticed it - the citizen-lock that was usually on the door was gone. What the hell?

"Heya! Heyyy~" A sickly sweet voice called from the other side of the glass door, "No ID needed anymore. We took it off once we bought this place, so c'mon on in!"

What the fuck? Bought? When? I was just here last week - I think? Then the new owner, a chipper voiced female, tore off an important security measure? Well, this is the worst thing that has happened in a while. I stood outside simply staring back at her through the door. Her hair was died a copper color, yuck. I could see behind her another female, similar in appearance, with dyed green hair, double-yuck. "Eh... Uh...." My disgust was not letting me get out any words. I began to get hot, sweaty, and had the desire to back away. Of-course this was all because they removed an important security measure. Do you understand?

"Don't just stand there buddy - come on step back. I'll open the door for ya~" she opened the door for me. Glad she assumed I cannot open doors for myself. Well, I scurried on in and got to the far side of the convenience store ASAP out of fear that smokey might blurt out something.

"Wowza - you really are sometin'. Do you normally talk to people like dat?" Smokey said with perfect timing as we slid right out of earshot.

"Quiet - here come out. No cameras back here. They only have them at the counter," I scooped her up and set her between two bags of potato chips. We were currently on the far end of the convenience store, next to the wealth of drinks, and just a few steps from the alcohol. The shelves were high enough to make it look like I was really contemplating my choice of snack and totally NOT talking to a red-eyed naked fairy with fangs.

"So, dis' is it? Food? Geez, was expectin' somethin' a bit more fancy and meaty."

"Uh, r- right," Why do I feel shame? Did I think this would impress her somehow? "I'll get you something nice, hold on."

Clearly I was not out of visual range, "Hey mister!" The green haired one called out, "You okay? I know it's not a crime to talk to yourself, well it sort of is, but in this store it isn't! Anyways! If you need anything just ask me, or Hazel. By the by my name is Basel! Anyways, stop asking the chips for advice. It's kinda weird."

Smokey seemed to find that funny judging by her toothy expression. I wanted to give her a piece of my mind and tell her this bitch is being short-sighted and should mind her own business, but I also do not want to appear like I am talking to chips. So I just shut up and got on with my business. I grabbed up two hots dogs (although I had doubts my partner could finish one) and went up to the counter, "Two? Wow! You must be hungry!" the green haired lady remarked.

"Quiet Basel - chiding the customer is not good for business. Oh, can I interest you in a fidget spinner my good sir?" Her copper haired companion pointed to a neatly stacked pyramid of the outdated toys.

"Uh..." It was happening again - that feeling within. My lips were being twisted, my mind numb, and vision blurry.

"Only nine ninety nine!" They sounded off in uncanny unison.

Did my disgust extend so far that I was still bitter? I needed to complete this transaction so I could leave these two deviants behind. Surely, there was a reason for this. It was in no way me. No. No No. I am the Master of Things, thus it is only natural such putrid rabble's degenerative mewing would only leave me confused. So, speaking their level of language I let out a simple, "No!" as I refused to make eye contact with them, "Go! Here! Take it!" Ha! Told those pair of pricks...

I tossed money on the counter and got the hell out of their. Besides, what kind of names are Hazel and Basel? Their parents must hate them.

As I hurriedly made my way home, Smokey remarked, "Do men normally talk like dat?"

"Shut up."​

I Hate Fairies (And All The Other Little Wastes of Space)

Little Things - Big Packages (Sequence: One)
Roughly eight years or so came and went. I never celebrate my birthday, so my idea of my age is skewed. Something tells me I am far younger than I believe, but I could be far older. Sure, I could just take a gander at my drivers licence and count the difference from now until that date; however, that is too much effort. I do not, in-fact, give a damn how old I am. All I know is that I am too old to be living the way I do. No direction, no purpose, and leeching off my late father's good-will.

I might feel bad if I had any care to give. When Lucy was around I was beginning to feel that, but she is rotted and gone in the septic tank, much like my spirit - just absolute shit. However, on one summer day, blistering heat and all my apathetic life was thrown for a loop once more. I remember waking up well past noon to the doorbell ringing. Ever since that thing calling itself my mom learned about Lucy she had not shown up, so it probably was not her. Although, if anyone were at my door it would be her. So, with little thought, and very little care, I laid sprawled out on my filthy sheets hoping the lack of an answer would see the assumed bitch off.

Well, once I got in the mood to roll out of bed, and walked downstairs, shirtless and all, something deep within me urged me to open the front door. The feeling was not something I could describe as my own feeling, yet it came from my own mind. Hell, my questioning of it only makes it more perplexing. Did the urge to open the front door come from some sort of outside stimuli? Yet, it very much was my own thought. Or was that what the outside stimuli seeded into my mind to make me believe it? Well, I still had my will about me, so me opening the front door was completely my choice, right? In the end of the day, the front door was opened and that is all that matters.

I approached the front door careful stepping over the ample amount of wood scattered about. The cluttered mess around the front door was from me usually electing to exit the backdoor, so it was hardly necessary to clean up the deconstructed pathways that served a purpose some years ago. Oddly enough, just before I got to the front door, the doorbell rang again. To my disbelief, no one was present. Was the doorbell broken? I mean - any sane person knows that ghosts are a crock of shit. Just the musings of the bored masses. Then again, fairies were real now, so it might be not too far in a leap of logic to believe in ghosts. Ghost or not, I finally, as previously mentioned, opened the goddamn door.

For the first time in forever, I had packages. Four boxes, large crates, made of some sort of metal. This metal was darker, maybe a dull grey, so I guessed it might be carbon fiber. I circled the packages examining them for any sort of notable markings, nothing. No address, return address, or even creases. These were, at-least with my first impression, just metal cubes sitting on my front porch. Perhaps these things were bombs? Maybe sent by that bitch of a woman? Of-course that would be giving her too much credit - most women lack the patience or commitment to carefully wire up a bomb.

I mean, yeah, I don't know how to make a bomb either, but I am sure I could make one if I tried. You see, here is the thing. Men are interested in things while women are interested in people. So, despite not doing much, I am certain that my lifestyle isolated from others is only natural. Hence why some sort of deity put these boxes on my front porch. Boxes are the perfect example of a thing. On the other hand, women get plenty of people on their front porches: Family, friends, and slaves to the cooch.

Now, men on the other hand, they get boxes on their front porch. The epitome of the thing. We get things, so I am, quite literally, a man. Perhaps one of the greater of these things called men. After-all, I have four boxes, metal boxes - sent to me by god.

Do I really think that?

No...

I am just saying that to make myself feel better.

So this man right here lugged the boxes inside quickly. I stood around shirtless for far too long musing the differences between men and women, so any longer outside might attract unwanted attention. Some years ago it would be alright to stand around shirtless, beer chugging, and with a few smokes between the lips. Now with new enforcement any "anarchist" behavior is dealt with swiftly. I am not certain, but shirtless is pretty anarchist, so as I said - I got those fucking crates inside fast. They were not too heavy. Actually, they were on they were on the light side, or maybe I am just very strong (not really).

So, I tossed aside the derelict remains of wood-scrap aside. The walk-way to the front-door is where much of the wood scrap ended up, so it took me a good bit of time. Something within me, a primal sense, wanted to examine these boxes, but I felt that proper space was needed. Now the wood was tossed in the living room effectively making that portion of the house dangerous to traverse now. I begun to examine each box - no discernible marks or means to open them. At-first glance anyways, I flipped the light-switch and waited a moment for the dingy bulb to sputter on.

Then, with my keen intuition (which has been somewhat dulled by the years) I spotted the outline of a button on the top of each crate. Now was the time to contemplate whether or not I should press the obvious trap. The age old cliche dictates nothing ventured nothing gained. Well, if this is a bomb of some sort, then I would not be losing much - if anything, that sweet release of death would be a gain. So with no hesitance, I pressed the button.

What followed was not exactly welcome. Certainly a step up from a bomb, but not exactly a million dollars, or an unlocked firearm - just a bunch of little creatures. Well, the creatures were not exactly what I should reference to as simply creatures. That was declared uh, unethical, uncouth, unacceptable, or any other amount of "un" shortly after Lucy received a swirly. The contents of this box were actually highly illegal: fairies.

Had these been on route to an authorized sanctuary and ended up here? Surely no one is that stupid. Although, I have not kept up with politics, nor did I ever, but everyone knows the government is stupid. The fairies in each box were contained in a peculiar device that look like nothing I have ever seen. It is quite elaborate, complicated, and intricate so I will try to describe it the best I can. This "containment device" filled up most of the box excluding a false bottom (that we will get to later). It consisted of several chambers, shaped like sarcophagi, with translucent glass, that each connected to a central unit via tube. Inside each of these sarcophagi was an individual fairy of all different heights, weights, skin-tones, and so on. All bare and nude - I was not very interested in ogling their naked little bodies and more interested in the thing they were contained in. Each sarcophagus seemed to have moisture dripping in from the tub connected to the central unit, which would make sense because in passing, some time ago, I heard that a fairies wings need moisture or they will dry out. It seemed this moisture was filtered out by tiny mechanical filtration units on the surface of each sarcophagus. It seems the moisture came out of the filter, fill the sealed box, then enter the central unit once more, acting like a cycle of sorts. Of-course, this is all pure conjecture - I had no idea how the containment device worked, but as a male, with my disposition towards things, I know a thing or two.

Well, before I ogled the devices more and came to a decision of what I was going to do with these random visitors, I felt that they would be better suited in the basement. So, one box at a time, down and up the steps a total of eight times. One trip down and one trip up every time - my last trip up to retrieve a meat mallet tenderizer which had not seen use ever since my dad croaked. It had a fake gold plating, or was it real? I am not sure - always assumed fake because who the fuck would coat a mallet in gold? Back in the basement, lights flicked on, all four boxes had been sat in each corner of the pool table. I let out a small sigh looking about the old game room. Renovations never were completed, so only half of the floor was carpeted. On the uncarpeted side sat the pool table along with four retro pinball machines, while on the cozy carpeted side was an entire entertainment set up. You know, the whole nine yards: big flat-screen, surround sound, too many game systems, a redundant DVD player, and blah blah blah - you get it.

One peculiar thing interested me about the basement I never bothered to process - Lucy's pathways were still up in here; furthermore, in a little side room reserved for the second washing machine in the house, were the pipes the lamented-lamia would have took a shit-swim through. For a moment, I forgot all about my guests and I turned my attention to the utility room. I stepped near the piping and ran my fingers over it. Touching where she had tainted with her defiance lit an old fire in me. And with that, I was sent into a bloody rage, tearing all the remaining pathways from the walls with my bare hands.

I tore and tore, my hands bleeding profusely, but I kept tearing. Along the stairwell, I somehow made this pathway particularly reinforced. I could not tear it from the wall. Was I weak? I am the master of things, thus the wooden pathways I fastened to the walls should bend to my will. This last bit of path just would not come loose. Certainly, I would have tore and tore until my hands were nothing more than bloody nubs if it were not for a voice calling out.

"What gots ya so fired up sparky?"

The voice was raspy and small - loud enough to be heard, yet commanded no real presence. I slowly craned my head to the direction of the voice. Hovering above the pool table, with arms crossed over its bare chest, was a grey skinned fairy with red vine-like markings swirling about its body. Slowly, awkwardly, and with monstrous steps (relative to the size of it) I made my approach. Blood drizzling from my finger tips, I saw fit to try wipe it away on the nearest thing, myself. Still shirtless, I began to rub blood over my gaunt body, and then the little thing made another remark.

"Wowza - tryin to copy my look bud? Flattered, but uh, blood belongs inside - not outside..."

It fluttered back slightly as I got closer. Surely I was not going to try and kill it, right? I stopped, "I am the master of things..."

"Master of things - is that watcha wanna be called?"

"Yes, call me the master of things. I control things - you are a thing."

She fluttered a bit closer, "So, master of things, uh ya can call me smokey."

I fixed my gaze on it - pure red eyes. It looked textbook evil. Fuck, it even had little fangs too. I glared down at one of the fairies still in their chamber, no such features, so was this one unique? It would explain how it got out of wherever it did, "Where did you come from?" I simply stated and then put one of my bloody fingers in my mouth, sucking on the now drying blood.

She winced at the act of such, but still answered me quickly enough, "Little more aware than the othas', been awake for quite sum' time - jus' popped open my chamber when ya' stepped off."

With my fingers still in my mouth, I said with a muffled voice, "Where are yu' frum'?" I slowly extended my free hand towards the gold mallet.

"Heh, beats me! Jus' woke up, remember bein' back somewhere... more sterile... with people more clean cut, but dis' is a nice change o' pace," it remarked with a shit-eating grin on its face.

I rested my hand on the mallet while also removing my other hand from my mouth, "Well, Smokey, you are a thing... right?" I edged forward slightly, hoping she got the message.

"Yep... just one lil' thing. The woman bits are jus' aesthetic, so master of things... how bout ya' say we get to work? Hm? There's a lil' trick to openin these containers, gotta be careful or you might break the merchandise..."

And so... Smokey - my new thing - instructed me how to better become the master of things.​

I Hate Fairies (And All The Other Little Wastes of Space)

My Little Lamia (Sequence: Prologue)
A lot can happen in ten years, yet so little can happen at the same time. The world passed me by and dad was gone before I knew it. The little I was talking about is my own life. I never worked my way up a corporate chain, completed college, or finished anything - no marketable skills, even one of my only skills, gaming, is severely lacking. Ever since father passed I have not booted up a game since. My basement dwelling life was enabled by his belief in my YouTube career and professional gaming career. He had no idea what it actually took to make it in those fields and subsequently simply lived his days believing in me. He wanted me to be happy, but by making me happy - I only rotted.

So ten years began right after the cancer took him. On the day he died a boon was given to me. All of his years slaving away in the petroleum industry paid off without him ever seeing the advocacy of his work. I inherited a large chunk of his fortune while a small amount went to his estranged leech of a wife. I mean her amount was nothing to scoff at, but it was hardly fuck all compared to my share. I was set with a sizable home all paid in full. His passing assured that I would never work a day in my life. I never wanted to feel any joy in his passing. However, for a time I felt relief. I always feared the day that he came to his senses and gave me the boot and that day would never come.

The first two years were easy. I became well acquainted with the nearby convenience store and all of its patrons. I was far more thrift than I ever had to be, only buying very little to sustain myself. I grew gaunt, pale, and full of shambling sickness. Yet, it was this very sickness that kept me suppressed. It made everything so much easier when my brain was not fully functioning. Year two ended with a surprise visit from my co-inheritor, and the thing claiming to be my mother, but only in physical form - nothing spiritual.

This is when things changed. She gave me a gift that improved my life, but also it would be the thing that gave me a lasting scar - an itty-bitty Lamia. Now, if you are confused, then I cannot blame you. You see, wherever I may exist in relation to you experienced an odd fad. I never have been one to pay attention to current events, after-all, what really matters when your world begins and ends in-front of the same computer? Now, this is not to say I am completely ignorant of this matter. Some scientist discovered a way to harness a sort of "energy" from an external dimension, which created these little living female caricatures. These things took many forms: fairies, human-dragon hybrids, cat girls, and so on - it seemed the variety was endless and the connecting quality is that most of them could fit in the palm of your hand. I believe, despite all the ethical questions, they became popular little pets for lonely men. The theory was that the companionship would improve the quality of a young-mans life, thus fulfilling one of his core needs which brought him a step closer to self-actualization.

Now, I took in the Lamia (Think snake from below the waist and human upper-half) not expecting anything to change. I had not even bothered to give it a name for a week. Really, all I did was keep it in spare glass-cage, which was totally not ethical, but what else was I going to do? It is not like I wanted it in the first place. This is not to say I did not have some of the proper items in place for it. I had a sun-lamp I would turn on every morning so she could warm up and relax beneath it. To the side, I kept a water dish, and would be sure to change it out for fresh water before bed. I would give her three meals a day, which usually was scraps of whatever was left over, but dietary alterations had to be made. By the third day the amount of sodium in the scraps of Chinese-convenience store food saw the little Lamia soundly bloated. She was refusing food because it was far too painful to move about, so I began to get anything labeled as low-sodium, and that is what I ate - what was left went to her. So, other amenities were provided, such as a little container full of toilet paper that she could do her "business" in. I even positioned her cage with a clear view of the television, which was purely by coincidence, but I soon found that she would watch whatever I was absently staring at. Once I found that she had an interest in television I began to move the cage on the coffee-table when I decided it was time to just rot my brain consuming day-time television.

So, that first week came and went, and I have to admit caring for the little thing (despite my care not being top rate) had my heart feeling more - active? I began to feel more aware of the world around me. Television was not just a meaningless amalgamation of lights to stare at. Through the little thing, I became interested because I was curious in what interested her. She seemed to enjoy just about anything, but it was obvious some forms of television were too much for her. War and horror flicks caused her to begin to sweat profusely and I am pretty sure that was not too healthy in large doses. I determined that sit-coms were the optimal thing to show her. Now, I was not too thrilled with her choice of television, but watching her watching the cheesy lame-ass drool given form was entertaining enough. It seemed, that despite her lack of language, she could understand jokes. She would laugh without noise and slither about happily at just about any joke. So, through a flash of intuition while she was watching I Love Lucy, I gave her the name of Lucy the Lamia.

Once she had a name, that was when things took off. I actually would speak to her, "Good morning Lucy" and "Good night Lucy" always at their respective times. I would always ask, "How did you like that meal?" after she finished eating whatever I drummed up. When watching television I would even ask, "Is the volume too loud? Or do you want it louder?" At-first, Lucy could only respond with basic gestures, but she understood me to an uncanny degree. Once a month had passed, Lucy could vocalize little chirps of approval or dismay. I became attuned to her language of little blips and knew exactly what she wanted. This was when I understood her desire to be free of her cage. Initially, I had avoided letting her roam free out of fear of accidentally stepping on her, or some random predatory bird feasting on her. I might have been a shambling walking dead pale fuck, but I still had some level of decency prior to connecting with her.

So, again, Lucy the Lamia had inadvertently spurred me to pay attention to the world around me. I assured her that she would get to roam freely soon after I made adequate modifications to the house. So, for the first time in over two years, I got into my dads blue 97' Chevy pick-up truck and drove a few miles to the hardware store. I expected my social-skills to be a mess, yet having the purpose to fulfill Lucy's need for freedom bolstered my social-skills. I compiled a list of all the things I would need to make my dream reality: nail-gun, a saw, a sander, wood, and a fuck-ton of other little necessities. It began as one trip and then I would realize that I needed something else, so I would drive right on back, and every-time I would stop by somewhere else to get Lucy a treat: ice-cream, whipped cream, soda, beef, and other things. Of-course, she only got mini-portions, which was awfully thrifty considering a tub of ice-cream would last for months if she kept her appetite in check.

Finally, after three days of being in and out of the house, I got together everything for my project. I was going to make pathways, akin to shelves, all throughout my house for Lucy to traverse. This was done so she would never have to touch the floor, thus making premature death via squishing unlikely. Additionally, another portion of this project was to make all rooms accessible to her by carving out holes in doors to run her pathways through. Construction began that October and continued right up until Christmas day. Every day was dedicated to construction and also caring for Lucy. Frequent visits to the hardware store became common as I made errors and the balding-man who always helped me move lumber out to my truck became curious in what I was doing: "Building a shed" always was my go-to answer - It was obvious that I was not building a shed, but he seemed to always pretend to believe me.

Mid-November, one morning when turning on Lucy's sunlamp, I noted two things. One: my little Lamia was in desperate need of grooming. Her hair was long and her hygiene was sub-par to say the least. I had been busy with construction, so the sponge bathes I use to administer had become less frequent. Two: Lucy, speaking with a squeaky tone stated, "Good morning." I could not believe it - she was talking! Of-course, I had to double check and I asked for her to say it again and she obliged with another, "Good morning!" Louder this time with enthusiasm.

It was then our connection transcended beyond her being a pet and more akin to a close companion. I vividly recall ceasing construction that day just so I could spend time with her. Previously, I saw her cage as a necessary measure, but now that she was speaking my language - it seemed far more cruel. I put my hand down into the cage and told her to climb on. She obliged and wrapped up around my wrist. The serpentine portion of her body, despite not being used to ever strangle prey, had a strong muscular quality about it. It immediately donned on me that this was after Lucy being sedentary for her entire stay with me, so I could assume that she could probably snap a finger if given some time to gain some strength.

We showered together for the first time - well sort of. I put her in the sink while I showered. It did not feel awkward at-all shedding my clothes around her. After-all, she always was bare-chested, so nudity was not a taboo between us. Lucy spent a long-time enjoying a fully body bathe in warm water. I think she spent upwards of two hours in the sink just soaking, and I spent every moment with her. She only knew how to say "Good morning" and presumably its variant "Good night" but her eyes, those little violet orbs, suddenly seem to have a new level of awareness. It has gone beyond simply knowing things and it seems she was actively considering things. I stared on and on at her - she smiled back, seeming happy enough, but deep down I felt a tinge of nervousness. Would she ever understand that the glass cage was merely a cage within a cage?

From Mid-November up until Christmas day I had compromised with Lucy and restricted her to the living room and the adjacent bathroom for dwelling. I kept strict rules and did not allow her to move about on the floor for her own safety, if she wanted to go to another surface, she would have to wait until she could hitch a ride on my hand. Additionally, during this time-span Lucy learned several new phrases, "Bring me to the table" and "I want food" were the most common ones. The coffee-table had become her main point of dwelling and was where she slept. I went out and bought a cushy cat-bed for her to rest on and even went the extra mile to put her sun-lamp above it. She would commonly request for the lamp to be turned on in the morning, but once she was wide awake, she usually wanted it turned off. I feel the biggest accomplishment Lucy learned in that span of time was not her impressive phrases and instead her use of the television's remote. Lucy, with ease, skimmed channels and found new forms of entertainment. She became particularly interested in game-shows, which happened to also air on a news channel. I could not have her watching the news because I did not want her questioning her situation.

So I put a block on her new favorite channel...

She remained sulky and upset until Christmas day, which was when I finally finished construction. Once she was able to roam freely along the pathways I built her upset nature turned to that of independence. I rarely saw her in the living room anymore and she refused to watch television anywhere but her bedroom, which I had put together with much care. It broke my heart seeing her use my efforts with such defiance. I did so much for her. I constructed a network of pathways along the walls that would bring her to any room in the house, including my own, and it also ran directly into her bed, which had a sunlamp installed into the re-purposed crib. I even went so far to learn some shoddy electrician-skills to make a small switch for her to toggle the lamp on and off by herself. I did all of this and I never got a thank you from her. Hell, after I blocked her favorite channel, I only heard a phrase or two every day: a demand for food, or a demand I start up her bathwater.

Maybe things would have been different if I knew how to talk, knew how to handle emotions, or just tolerated indifference. She might have gotten over it and came to realize on her own all I did for her. Unfortunately, she defied me in a way I could not tolerate. It started around February. Lucy, in-addition to using her pathways, began to slither about the home on the floor. I harshly scolded her the first few times, which promptly got her back to where she belonged. Eventually, she would not respond to scolding, so I would try to grab her. The little cunt had grown much fitter from all the activity, shedding her rounded belly in favor of a supple waist and lithe tail; therefore, she moved fast. Any attempt at grabbing her was met by a rattling hiss and her darting off under the fridge, behind the couch, or some other hard to reach crevice. I felt the attempts to get her out were not worth it and would potentially harm her, so I let this behavior go.

I never once truly tried to speak to her. Without her trust, dependence, and admiration all of my skills that had grown from caring for her withered. By the start of March I stopped using her name all together. If she could not obey me, I might as well treat her like a snake. I only kept her around hoping that she would come around on her own. Still, she never made an attempt to leave, presumably because she knew the outside world was not a place for her. Well, that and she knew food was readily available here. By this time in her life, she could draw bathwater on her own, use the toilet, and traverse the house with remarkable ease - all I existed to do in her life was give her food. Well, with my care fading, I began to skimp on good meals in favor of easy to prepare ones. I had taken up some light cooking before her defiance, but now we were back to shitty sodium riddled convenience store slop. For about a month she complied and ate with no problems, and she began to feel the consequences of such a diet. She became slower, pale, and lethargic - good.

I want you to rot.

Now, I would gladly have watched her wither into a sick husk from malnutrition, but her day came a lot sooner. See, Lucy had a habit every morning to do a few laps around the house. Typically, she ended up on the kitchen floor and would pace around the counters a few times. I knew her routine well enough to avoid her. However, somehow she ended up running into my foot, and I gave her a kick by accident. I let out a desperate apology to her. She was coiled up in the kitchen corner hissing at me. I reached to check if she was alright. The little lamia decided to dash off after attempting bite at me. I saw that she went under the fridge and I had enough. The bitch rejected my good will. I left the kitchen and turned on the living room television as a feign to get her to come out. She would think I had resigned to the living room couch and would head off into her room to spend another day away from the person who did so much for her.

What she did not know is that I hid myself in her room's closet. She would never expect me to be in their, nor could it even see me in there because I never made a passage into it. Once I heard the television turn on and the sunlamp flick on I promptly exited the closet and smashed the pathway leading out of the room - it was trapped with me. It knew that its last moments were near and became very fluent, "I'm sorry! I'll listen! I have disrespected you! I should have listened!" It cried and cried backed into the corner of its crib.

If I had words to begin with, the ability to process through issues, then maybe I would have mended my relationship with it. Instead, I grabbed it by the end of its tail and its neck with my other hand. Its surprisingly strong musculature put up some resistance but the sad fact is that my size as a fully-grown human made any efforts futile. I kicked the bedroom door down with it in hand, promptly walked into the bathroom, and flushed that piece of shit down the toilet.

Bye bye Lucy...​

Simple question: What kinds of RPs do you guys like?

I am looking into what people are interested in. Just throw out random things you like in a RP.

Also share some things you do not like as-well.

Thank you