Laura Rodley, a Pushcart Prize winner, has been nominated for the prize seven times and has also received five Best of the Net nominations. Her recent works include Turn Left at Normal (published by Big Table Publishing Company), Counter Point (published by Prolific Press), and Ribbons and Moths: Poems for Children (published by Kelsay Books). With a talent for capturing the essence of life, Rodley’s writing resonates with readers of all ages. Whether exploring the natural world or delving into human emotions, her words evoke a sense of wonder and connection. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PClY8G6HQwk

     Hawthorn Highway

By Laura Rodley

The flickering lights inside the grey mansion were provided by candles, as LED lights sold most often in hardware stores hurt the eyes of fairies. Tony was busily attaching fabric he’d designed to the wings of the fairies hovering in front of him, or dancing on the floor and on the table. The fabric was imbued with tiny electromagnetic frequency bouncers, sparkly mirrors that deflected EMFs. Usually he just repaired the fairies’ wings, since they jiggled around too much and found it hard to stay still to sew their own wings. They would hover in front of him, and he would insert one stitch, they’d jiggle around, and he’d make another stitch. The sounds of ouch as he pierced his fingers echoed out the mansion’s windows, and scared the townspeople. They told their children not to venture into the gates, pass by them on their Halloween trekking. The children had fears enough of their own from the bright lights that flashed in the house, at all times of night, teal, aqua, apricot and brilliant white, that occurred during Tony’s testing his inventions. Sometimes the fairies put on their own light show. But as the children couldn’t see the fairies, having outgrown them, they had no idea.

Lately the fairies had been bombarded with wireless messages flipping over the airways that were making it difficult for them to perform their good deeds, as though the information they were receiving was encrypted. Some of the fairies were centuries old, not that they would say so, and unable to adapt to the new flurry of messages that jammed the airways like airplanes in a flight path. They could not perform simple deeds, no less magic. Hence the need for Tony’s electromagnetic frequency bouncer mirrors.

Tony shrugged back his long hair as he sewed another mirror onto Daphne’s wings. She hovered in front of him on her mouse-sized motorcycle. “Ouch,” she cried, as he pricked her with his needle. “OK, let’s try gluing them on,” Tony said. “You’ll have trouble with the glue smells, so you’ll have to glide your motorcycle to the table, and rest until you’re better. Ready, fairies? I’m going to use this superglue, so hover close to the ground.” He squirted a dot on the spoon on the table and pressed the EMF deflecting mirror onto it with tweezers, and set the mirror on Daphne’s wings. “Oww, that tickles,” she wriggled.

“Here’s another one.” Tony set another mirror on the top of her wing like a luna moth eye and she sneezed, sending the saucer of mirrors flying up into the air. “Yay,” the fairies fluttered in front of the mirrors, and flapped them around, mirrors shooting round the room.

Tony set his hands on top his black hair and sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

Suddenly, Daphne said, “I hear something.”

“Though they are bouncing around, the mirrors must be working,”said Tony.

“Shush. A twelve-year-old boy is ready to shoot heroin into his ankle; he’s seen his Dad do it. His Dad is passed out, drunk. We’ve got to move quick. Follow me.” She sent them telepathic directions through the airways the way fairies had always done and arrived at a house two doors down.

The boy, Mitchell, was melting heroin powder on a spoon, when Daphne screeched to a halt in front of him, the other fairies jumping around her. “Don’t!” Mitchell jumped and heroin powder bounced off his spoon all over Daphne, dusting Marina and Fina beside her. They all dropped to the ground, gagging, and convulsing.

Over in the grey mansion, Tony could see them through the mirrors that continued to bounce around his workroom. He grabbed a pre-filled syringe of Narcan, and ran. Mitchell knelt down beside the gagging fairies, “I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it.” Daphne, who had inhaled the largest dose, became gray, and stopped breathing, lying beside her motorcycle, lifeless.

The other fairies tried magic spells but their magic was still weakened by the EMFs.

“Do something, this drug is of your world,” they said.

Mitchell cradled Daphne in his palm, and blew air from his mouth into her tiny mouth the size of a luna moth’s mouth. Her lungs raised up a little.

“Easy, easy,” said the fairies, hovering. “But what about Marina and Fina?”

The front door crashed open. Tony ran over with his Narcan canister. “This needle is too big, how am I going to get it into her?” He pressed the needle on her thigh, and squeezed in a droplet. Then did the same to Marina and Fina. “I hope they’ll come out of it.”

“Should I call the ambulance?” Mitchell asked.

“For a fairy? No, son,” said Tony, as Mitchell started crying.

“I’ve killed her.”

“I’m afraid you have.”

Daphne was still not breathing, no pulse. Marina and Fina were sitting up, then hovering in the air, where they felt safest.

“This is what heroin does, it kills you,” said Tony.

“Hasn’t killed my father yet,” protested Mitchell.

“It could. Could be killing your relationship, your love for him. Think how he would feel if you weren’t here anymore, how much he would miss you. Think about how you would feel if he were gone. You’re too important to inject yourself with this.”

“No, I’m not.”

Suddenly Daphne jerked convulsively, sat up, then hovered, her wing colors muted. “Blah. That stuff leaves a nasty taste in your mouth.”

Tony said, “Your quick thinking, breathing for her, saved her, son. You saved her life, in the end. Too many kids your age, people your father’s age, are overdosing. Stay away from heroin. Promise me that? It won’t be easy. You’ll have to find something you love, hold to it. Do you think you can do  that?”

Mitchell raised his head, “Yes, I can.”