Throw Back Thursday!
Now that my blog is another year older, I decided to participate in this idea you see everywhere–something old on Thursdays. Recycling is green, right?
Originally posted Jan. 2012–though if you go searching for it you will find some differences. 😉
Ila wove through the crowd at knee level, gossamer wings carrying her past baggy blue jeans with enough fabric for two people, skin-tight leggings, and skirts with hems that strained to reach the dress code. She fixed her gray-blue eyes on the students’ footwear—flip-flops, sneakers, sandals, boots, and high heels.
Zipping downward, she fearlessly darted through the swinging forest of stomping feet, and landed on the toe of a pair of red and white tennis shoes. If mortal eyes could see fairies much past childhood, the neon purple swirls on her tank tip and navy stripes in her ash blond hair would’ve drawn attention. But among teens, she was safe from observation. Quickly, she reached for the knot of the bow, and with a few practiced tugs, allowed the laces to hang free. Ila leapt into the air, gaining height, until she was above the crowd jostling their way to class. Spotting another member of Chaos Division’s Shoe Group perched atop the battered industrial beige lockers, she flew over to join him.
“Hey.” As Ila’s lime green sneakers met painted metal, she heard a startled yelp and crash behind her.
Eberhardt smiled at her. “Good job,” he said, watching the human get to his feet below them.
“Are you liking working for Clothing Brigade?” Ila asked.
“It’s different from Wires and Cables, that’s for sure,” Eberhardt pushed his scarlet striped bangs out of his face, “I don’t miss the grease.”
They both watched Wilder emerge from a locker across from them, his lemon yellow shirt smudged with oil, before disappearing into the vents of another locker.
“Yeah, I can see why you wouldn’t,” Ila agreed.
“Look at that, both sides of Accessories hard at work,” Eberhardt said, pointing to a blond with an eyebrow ring tugging at an over-strained belt buckle. Passing by in the other direction, a brunette with her hair in a neat bun tried to prevent a belt that was barely holding a pair of baggy jeans from sliding to the floor.
Ila chuckled, watching the fairy from the Order Division, who didn’t seem to be having as much fun as the younger blond. Her mother said being a chaos fairy was a phase most fairies went through. As soon as you turned fifty and could sign up for full duty, most chose chaos. Order seemed so pointless. In chaos, at least you did something, while order was a battle against gravity, physics, time, and the humans themselves. Smoothing her faded, frayed, and comfortable jeans, Ila watched the Order fairy sweat in a button-up shirt and slacks, and decided the dress code likely had something to do with it, too.
“See you,” she waved goodbye to Eberhardt and dropped from the lockers. Weaving above the crowd, her gaze trained downward, she spotted a likely target—a loosened buckle on a high heel strap—and dove into the crowd.
She had a job to do, after all.