Another journal

Written during my month of writing.  You can find all the sections here.

In the bright twilight softened with blue shadow, the common yard looked less shabby. The planters of wildflowers hadn’t succumbed to the heat yet and lent patches of colour to the circle of lawn at the center of the court.

As they did every evening, the court’s children tumbled and lay in the grass, some engaging in a sneaky war of blowing dandelion fluff at each other. They confined their play to a third of the space, the rest of the lawn occupied by a motley assortment of chairs and stools from each trailer, facing an aluminium TV tray that was serving as a podium. Nerves rose up in Emily’s throat, wasn’t it weird to do this right out in the open, in front of the kids? Her natural panic at possible embarrassment was stayed by remembering that every occupant of the court was from the Sidhe. The court itself was well-screened by trees.

As for the children, none were over the age of seven, only one anywhere close to eight. Emily tried to remember being seven and decided that the things that grownups do in the background, unless they promised fun, were pretty low-priority.

She’d been lonely growing up, the only kid in a neighbourhood of adults. When new children finally began appearing Emily had been only interested in babies theoretically and was generally disappointed at their qualifications as playmates. When they got to the toddling stage they started to get interesting, but the age difference was still too much of a gap to make them engaging. She’d fallen into the role of watcher easily, when she grew older it became a good way to make herself forget that she couldn’t connect with people her age at school. With ice in her stomach, Emily remembered that everything had been manipulated so that would be exactly how she’d feel.

Watching the kids push and chatter, she was jealous of them. They’d always be close, neighbourhood friends of the same age hung together until at least the start of high school. Sitting in one of the chairs, Emily wondered if a baby boom exactly at a time that would catch her attention but gain her no friends had been purposeful. Gross.

Something hit her squarely in the eye, terminating her train of thought.

“Oh, c’mon!” Pressing the palm of her hand to the offended eye, Emily groped about with the other for the missile. Finding it by her foot, she brought it up to her tear-filled, but working, eye. It was the grinning head of a fashion doll, hair shorn to a sportier, more aerodynamic length.

A small hand rested on her knee. “Oh man, oh are you okay?” Emily slowly stopped pressing at her eye and tried to blink. One of the older kids stood before her, looking incredibly guilty. “We were using the digger truck as a catapult, like when you told us about with the knights? And, and we did not aim.”

“I’m going to hope you didn’t aim for my eye, man.” Blinking was working better now, allowing Emily to more or less fix a stern gaze on the culprit and the audience of hushed children watching them. “Catapults were designed to lob heavy stuff way hard, to knock down walls. You’ve got to pay attention to where you’re launching things. I’ll be okay now, but what if it was one of the littler kids? That could do some definite damage.” Emily gave them a moment to imagine various eye horrors, then stood up, hefting the doll head in her hand. “Let’s see this war machine you’ve built.”

The ceremony itself was pretty straight forward, if a little weird. Mrs. Hill, the court’s de facto manager, used the same tone she did during neighbourhood meetings, talking about water prices—but this time before speaking she picked up a flowered twig from the TV tray at her side. Emily sat next to her aunt in the audience and hoped the whole thing wouldn’t last too long.

Mrs. Hill dove straight in. “To our great joy, the work of these past years had borne fruit. The key to our return is in our midst. Though shaped by us, this agent has more than exceeded our hopes.” Turning, Mrs. Hill directed her next words to Emily.

“We, of Royal Oak Court, beseech Amelia Anderson to journey to the Sidhe and petition the king for our return. Armed with our gifts and love, she will travel to the green hills of our former home and make the king an offer on our behalf.”

Emily leaned in to her aunt and whispered, “wait, I’m making an offer? Of what?” Janice shushed her, while Mrs. Hill continued.

“You’ve been told, Amelia, that you are the only one of us who can return and thereby work to rescind our exile. Though you have already offered your aid, will you now promise before the court your willingness to do this for us?”

At a motion from Janice, Emily stood, shifting from foot to foot. “Um, yes. I, Amelia Anderson, do hereby swear to return to the Sidhe to petition the king and—ah, work to rescind your exile.”

There was a hush, Emily fidgeted, feeling the eyes of the entire court on her. From somewhere near the front, she heard Becky’s even voice.

“Done!” The woman looked up from an open book on her lap, a feather laying across its blank pages. Meeting Emily’s eyes, she smiled. “It’s done, it worked.”

“Wait, what worked?” Emily found herself pressed on all sides by her aunt’s friends and the people she babysat for, receiving hugs and slaps on the back. Realising that the boring, sit-down stuff was over, the kids joined in, one deciding to cling to Emily’s leg. Exasperated, Emily reached down to swing the child up to her hip, asking her aunt, “c’mon, what worked?”

Becky, who’d made her way back to them, answered. “You’re officially a magical chosen one, entered in the books with full rights for a quest of retribution.” Emily smiled and high-fived the kid she was holding.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.