Lost Boy

Something Good

Whoosh!

I jumped beneath the covers of my bed and looked up groggily, the chilly London air filling my room through the now-open window. I propped myself up on one arm and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, just enough to swing my feet over the side and stand to close the window. I thought I had locked it before I turned out the lamp?

Begrudgingly, I started dragging my feet, goosebumps rising as my once-warm body met the freezing air of January outside. Suddenly, a force knocked me on my backside, awakening me completely as I hit the carpeted floor with an oof.

I scrambled to my knees, completely frozen in fear as to what kind of animal could have possibly made it's way through my window out of the dozens that could have opened from the wind. My dark eyes darted around my small bedroom, looking for any sign of movement. Without thinking, I crawled on my hands and knees back to the side of my bed, still on the floor but just close enough to reach over and flick on my lamp.

Yellow light glowed into the space and I gasped at the sight before me. It was a little woman! Before I could get a good enough look at her, she squeaks out in surprise at the light on her face and darts away quickly into the air. I can catch just a glimpse of the little wings on her back before I lunge and snag her in my two hands, back on my feet. It was almost the equivalent of catching an insect, her wings flapping against my skin like a butterfly's and her squeaking reminding me of a fly's buzzing noise.

Not knowing what to do after one catches a fairy, I knock over my clear mason jar I use to keep my paint brushes in on my desk and quickly turn the jar over, trapping the woman inside. She had nowhere to go. I take my copy of Charles Dickens and place it on top of the jar like my dad does with spiders he traps and releases when we find them in the house. I couldn't help but stare. It was a real-life fairy! A tiny woman with wings! In my bedroom! I must be dreaming.

The woman couldn't have been any taller than the length of my palm at it's highest point, her tiny fists banging on the glass in fury and fear. She was pretty, with rosy cheeks and eyes equivalent to the stars. Her hair was golden, like wheat, and pinned up high in a bun-like hairstyle. She wore what looked like a green leaf as a dress, and had tiny flower petals adorned in her hair. She also had bare feet, which makes sense since most fairies don't typically walk from place to place, but rather fly.

My breath became heavy and calm and I place a finger on the bit of the jar the woman is banging on with her tiny fists in rage, and suddenly, she stops.

"Don't be afraid," I whisper to her, the lamp casting shadows on my face. "I won't hurt you." The woman steps back, squeaks questioningly and tilts her head to the side like a confused puppy would. I smile and move to remove the book. I mean, it's only the right thing to do, isn't it?

"Pretty, isn't she?" I gasp and whip around to my window quickly, knocking over the jar and releasing the fairy, but I couldn't care about her less. I was more worried about the boy who had now taken up residence at my cushioned window sill, sitting and watching me with a gentle smile. I grab the first thing my hand finds, ready to defend myself with one of my larger paint brushes.

Excellent work, Mel, my subconscious taunts, but I couldn't care less. My mom always warned me about strangers who happened to be boys, and here was one alone, at midnight, in my room!

The boy's brown eyes look at my "weapon" and he smiles wider, now full-on grinning and stands up. He's taller than me, but now that I have a better look at him, he was more like a young man than a boy. His hair was dark and messy, almost the same color as my own, and he had a strong jaw with slightly bushy brows. He wore a green and brown shirt with brown trousers and, like the fairy, was without shoes. He was strongly built, from what I could see in the dim light, and had a glint in his eye that could only mean one thing: mischief.