Arthur Rackham, Illustration for Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens: “Looking Very Undancy, Indeed.”
She had 24 tiny vials of pixie dust. Each was neatly corked, keeping the contents fresh and sparkly. Past due date and stale pixie dust could have the opposite effect. If sprinkled to create a wildflower meadow, old dust might cause a field of thistle and burrs to sprout and spread.
She kept the treasure hidden in an old wooden soap box under the 3rd floorboard to the right in the garret. Other trinkets resided there: 8 smooth-polished river rocks; 3 tiny golden bells from cat collars; 2 broken chain bracelets; a jar of glass beads; 5 hair ribbons; and 2 beaten and bent spoons.
She believed in magical things. Of fairies in gossamer gowns. Of elven jewelry of mithril and tourmaline. Of whortleberry tea drank from raspberry tea cups. Of rabbit holes to wonderlands.Of wishing on stars. Of the power of love and loyalty. And the special properties of pixie dust.
As she aged, the treasures grew. And the vials of pixie dust lessened. She gave vials to people she thought needed hope, help, promise. People who no longer dreamed or wished. The sad. The homeless. The lost. All she asked in return was a small “something” for her treasure trove, and for the person to now never give up hope or dreams.
She grew tired with time. She sometimes almost gave up hope, herself. Or wondered if elves really crafted jewelry so light, it floated around the neck. Or that just beyond the horizon was Shangri-La. Then, she thought of the pixie dust, and her face glowed as if a child again. Pixie dust maintained it’s magic properties; but best by date was coming up for the last 2 vials.
On the afternoon she gave away the last bottle, she thought “I am done. I will go back to the garret, rock in my chair, and wait for the end.”
“Miss, Miss,” a voice behind her called. Turning, she recognized a woman she had given a vial of pixie dust to the year before. Panting a bit, and smiling, when she caught up, she said, “Miss. I have looked for you. I only needed 1/2 a vial to have my hopes and dreams return. So, I wanted to give you the other 1/2. Perhaps there is someone else who doesn’t need a full dose of your pixie dust.”
She took the small vial from the woman, half full of kaleidoscope coloured pixie dust. Rolling it in her hands, she said, “Yes I do know someone. Thank you.”
To herself, “Now when I go home to wait, I’ll be waiting for fairies and elves; prince charmings and white knights. My escorts for a trip to Wonderland.”
Written as a distraction from stuff for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge 93.
(c) taleweaver/ing (phylor) 2015