[Oh hey there. I don’t usually do guest posts but the fabulous Robin Quackenbush had nowhere to stash this, and rose to this week’s challenge so what could I do? With no further A-do…]
I was eating my pixie stick when it happened. All ready to take flight, I just needed to finish the last granules in the pink and white swirled paper straw. My wings glittered like stardust. I even wore a long floaty dress so I’d look pretty when I finally decided to glide gently to the ground, far, far from here. I tipped my head way back and tapped on the side of the tube.
My brother yelled it from the kitchen, and I looked just in time to see a mostly full gallon of milk sailing through the air at my head. I dropped the straw. The sparkly sugar-sand, my last chance at escape, scattered across the floor. The jug crashed into me, the side split wide, and I got doused with milk.
“OGRE!” I screamed.
My mother ran around the corner, just as my brother disappeared down the steps to the dungeon. “What did you DO?” Her eyes were red as I’ve ever seen them. I must have been adopted. Her scaly, warty skin looked nothing like mine. That thought I had real parents somewhere, that missed me and loved me and looked like me, was the only thing that kept me going at times. “Go down to the basement and get the mop. And rinse yourself off.”
She was still grumbling, complaining about tight budgets and how expensive dragon milk had become as I went down the steps. My brother was waiting for me. “That was for last week,” he said. “The remote control.” How could he even remember that? But then I thought back to it. He said he wanted it, and I said no, and his eyes started glowing. He towered over me, smelling like raisins and cabbage, blocking my view of the magic picture box, and he said, “I will remember this,” before pushing me off the couch–I mean, the servant’s cushion.
Remembering that, I felt something inside me crackling, right at the base of my neck. Maybe it was the pixie stick starting to work its magic in me, but I got so angry that it…changed me. I could feel my eyes glowing. My face. My cheeks. Burning. I charged at my brother, and his toothy grin changed to open-mouthed shock. He ran up the stairs. He was running from me. I could feel the sugar-magic flowing through my arms and legs, and pure rage glowing inside, searing my belly like hot metal. I pursued him. And in that moment, I flew.