"Shoo! Shoo! Go away!"
I looked around, completely scanning the area in an attempt on finding where that voice was coming from. Maybe she could explain to me why I'm surrounded by life-sized buttons and giant M&Ms and over sized beads and gigantic dimes and pennies.
"Hello?" I yelled, hoping to get her attention.
I kept looking around until I found a girl about my age. She's a little bit shorter than me, her hair was long, curly and blonde but tinted fiery red at the ends. Her shoulders were bare and her skin was fair and seemingly soft. Her white skirt was hanging above her knees.
"Hello?" I greeted and she almost jumped. She pointed a life-sized toothpick at me.
"Y-You."
"Uh . . . I just . . . I got lost," I cleared up, hoping that large toothpick won't end up piercing me. "You don't have to be scared of me," I held my hands up to show her I'm not here for any trouble, "I just wanted to ask for directions. I don't even know how I got here so I have no idea how to get out."
She was about to walk towards me when I heard something clash. It sounded like a can and a few plastic wrappers being toppled over. The girl instantly rushed over to where the noise came from.
"Wait! Don't leave me!" I yelled, trying to follow her. She's the only one who can help me get home.
When I finally caught up with her, I could see her use the toothpick to battle some creatures about our size. They looked like cotton balls which are yellow or maybe blonde-ish in color and they were busy dragging M&Ms into the pile of junk. There was a whole flock of them, too.
When the creatures managed to scramble away, I ran towards the girl, tons of questions filling my head but the first one unconsciously slipped out of my mouth, "Who are you?"
"A-Angel," my eyes widened when a few strands of her hair turned white but the tips turned into several shades of blue.
"Angel?"
"I . . . am the keeper of lost things."
YOU ARE READING
keeper of lost things
Fanfictionhave you ever wondered where all lost things go? like, a spare button or some dimes and pennies or your eraser or your pen or your hope or your faith . . . or at some times, even yourself. where do they all go?
