A Small Drama by Jennifer Michelle

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About the author:

Jennifer Michelle was born and raised in South Texas and developed a love of writing and literature at an early age. After enjoying a brief but fulfilling career in the veterinary industry, Jennifer bounced around a few different career fields before deciding to pursue writing full time.

Her favorite genres include fantasy, romance, young adult, classics, and contemporary fiction. On occasion, Jennifer dabbles in writing poetry and personal essays.

When not writing, Jennifer spends her time bonding with her pets, entertaining friends and family, pursuing arts & crafts, and playing PC video games. She also runs a weekly writer's workshop for local writers with an emphasis on getting pen to paper.

You can find Jennifer on Facebook at www.facebook.com/jennifermichellewrites

What inspired you to write your book?

I knew I enjoyed the romance/erotic genre, but I wanted to approach it from a unique perspective. When I landed on the idea of pixies I knew it was a cute idea. I never considered writing fantasy although I love to read it. For some reason I thought all fantasy characters had to be noble and selfless. It wasn't until a close friend pointed out the fantasy characters can be just as screwed up as characters in any other genre that I gave in and started fleshing out the pixie world.

Here is a short sample from the book:

I woke up to an obnoxious buzzing sound and an overwhelming amount of sunlight.

The buzzing was just a stupid bumblebee, trying to pollinate with the tulip whose petals I had apparently made a bed out of last night. And the sunlight? It was the fucking sun, having the audacity to show up as scheduled even though I was trying to catch a few more minutes of rest.

I waved my hands and hissed at the bee, my tiny fangs drawing out the sound. He didn’t get the hint, only backed away a bit as if I might forget that he’s there. Sighing, I stood up and shook out my translucent butterfly wings. They vibrated behind me and I was lifted off the tulip. In terms of height, I had the edge on the insect. But when it came to mass, he won the day. I raised two fingers at him in a crude gesture and flew away, my head throbbing.

As I rose above the ground I worked to get my bearings. There was the Tree of Light, not too far off in the distance. The sacred birthplace of all Meadowland pixies. And last night, the site of one of the most debauched parties I’ve had the pleasure of attending. My cheeks flushed as I thought of the time I spent in one of the Tree’s many dark crevices with Fizlap’s hand under my dress. And then my head began to throb anew as I remembered Fizlap’s disappointing dick — too small and too sensitive — and the three honeysuckle nectars I had chugged in an attempt to wash away the memory of the male pixie’s shortcomings.

No, those nectars didn’t do shit, I thought to myself as I made my way back toward the Tree. I still remembered everything, and now I had a hangover as a souvenir. I named it after the pixie who caused it, putting it in good company with the hangovers known as Markoz, Orn’lem, Niktus, and Shilaya.

Finally I reached my domicile, a hidden nest within the lower branches of the Tree. I pushed open the mossy door and was immediately glad that I finally got one of the carpenters’ guild members to repair a hole in my roof last week. The sun got shut outside the door and I breathed a sigh of relief at the dim interior. I left the candles extinguished, hoping the hangover headache wasn’t on its way to becoming a migraine. Honestly with the speed of my metabolism, it should have already been gone. But I didn’t want to risk it.

I laid down on the sofa my parents gave me when I left their nest. It was spacious and perfectly comfortable for a pixie feeling like the mere mention of a slug larvae could trigger a projectile of sparkly vomit.

I told myself I could go lie down in my hammock but the rocking motion seemed precarious. Although my bed in the corner was another perfectly fine option, it was too far from the door so it got ruled out as well.

Sometimes I wondered if I was meant to be a meadowland pixie. What kind of nature lover blocks out the sun and lives completely indoors? What sort of pollinator can’t hold her fermented nectar? On a bright, clear, balmy Autumn morning; shouldn’t I have been eager to get out there and frolic in the sunlight like the rest of my kind?

Lines of burning light seeped through the cracks in my roof and door and I squeezed my eyes shut. Nope, no frolicking for me. At least not until another several hours of sleep and a large glass of morning dew.
The sun had already reached its zenith and begun its descent when I woke up again, splayed out on my couch with drool on the side of my mouth. My head felt much clearer and, after lighting the candles in the house with a snap of my fingers, I could tell my hangover was well and gone.

I stood up and looked at my dress. It was wrinkled and I could see a stain of pollen at the hem, no doubt from that damn tulip. What can I say, I ended up in weird places when I was drunk and irritated.

With another snap, the dress was gone. In its place was what I would call my casual attire — a short dress made from lilac petals that fell a bit higher than mid-thigh. It was form-fitting and made my tits look extra perky. I didn’t bother checking the mirror to see the state of my hair. I just envisioned it in its normal appearance — black and wavy and hanging just past my shoulders — snapped my fingers again, and then felt to make sure it had arranged itself into the style I preferred.

Strictly speaking, pixies weren’t granted magic so they could change their appearance. (If that was the case, wouldn’t Fizlap have done something about his underwhelming anatomy?) No, we were gifted magic so we could make seeds take root, mend broken plants, and assist with pollination where the bees and birds fell short. Still, no one was going to know if I magicked my frizzy hair into place from time to time. And if someone did, it’s not like I was going to be put in pixie prison.

Finally feeling myself and looking much more presentable, I threw open the mossy door and flitted out of my nest. I passed a few neighbors, greeting them each with a joyless smile. Generally all Meadowlanders knew or at least knew of each other, but it didn’t mean we were all perfect friends. In fact I had kind of already forgotten the names of the young couple that just moved in a few branches away.

“Good afternoon, Everly,” a voice called out, sounding about as grouchy as a pixie could. It was Mrs. Hollyhock, a woman about my mom’s age who lived too close for comfort, considering that she essentially functioned as a spy for my mother.

“Hi Mrs. Hollyhock,” I replied, landing on her porch where she was tending to garden of potted lettuce plants. “Charming day.”

“Charming day,” she said back. It was a standard Meadowlander greeting. Another tradition that never felt quite right to me.

“Your bittergreens are looking lovely,” I told her in a deliberately pleasant voice. Best to try to get on her good side before she could scold me for any number of things.

“I didn’t see you come in last night,” she said, ignoring my compliment. So much for that good side.

“I stayed the night with a girlfriend,” I lied with ease. “She just moved into a new nest on the other side of the Tree and wanted someone to stay with her on her first night.”

Mrs. Hollyhock made a noise like a grunt.

I took my chance while I had it.

“I’d better get going, Mrs. Hollyhock,” I said as I floated above her. “I have a few flowers to look in on and some other errands to run. Busy, busy day!”

I kept floating higher and higher as I spoke, until I was out of earshot. If she said anything in response, I didn’t hear her. I waved and turned away, flying through the remaining labyrinth of nests. Finally I made it. The canopy of the Tree was behind me and the open air in my wings.

Soaring above the meadow, watching the larger wildlife forage for food, just being alone with the breeze at my back — that was what I truly loved. Pollinating was fine. Partying every other night was enjoyable. And the company of the male pixies was usually exciting enough to keep me entertained.

But none of it felt like it was meant for me. Or, it felt like there was something else out there that I was supposed to be doing, some destiny that would finally give my life meaning.

I smacked myself on the forehead. I sounded like a pixie all right. Destiny and fate and finding my life’s true purpose. That was pixie primary school 101.

My excuse for leaving Mrs. Hollyhock had been a half-truth. I had already checked on all my plants last night before the party and they didn’t need tending for another sunrise. I did have a couple of errands that needed to be completed, but as I flitted in and out of the tall meadow grasses, teasing a small bunny and dusting it when I got bored, the notion of errands escaped my mind completely.

Before I realized it, the sun was getting close to the horizon and the nocturnal creatures were beginning to stir. I looked around in a panic. The Tree of Light was so far in the distance as to seem minuscule. How had I flown so far?

I usually started my days with the sun, like any normal pixie. But getting up past midday had thrown off my internal clock. There were no obvious landmarks nearby and, worst of all, I was outside of the Meadowlands. I could see the human nests from where I hovered, huge and looming. Encounters with humans aren’t always fatal, I told myself as I watched one of them running around with a giant stick and a ball almost as large as the inside of my nest.

I shrieked and turned, flying as fast as I could toward the Tree in the distance. Even though I knew rationally I would never make it before dark, my instinct was to shoot for home. My head swiveled, surveying the surrounding area. It was getting dim already and I had to reconcile myself to the fact that I would have to find shelter for the night.

What region was this? The Swamplands were in the opposite direction and I thought the Meadowlands were as close to the humans as pixies got. But it was apparent that someone lived here. I could see crude nests in some of the smaller trees, and there were rock formations by the creek that looked purposefully arranged.
Before I could fully get my bearings in the lowering light, someone grabbed me from behind and covered my mouth with a large hand. I tried to scream but the sound was muffled against flesh. My wings flapped uselessly against the stranger’s body.