The Gnats of the Blue Forestr

Lorelai

I clamber atop my favorite rock, which is conveniently situated on a cliff that just out of the solid rock, and look out at the bay. Leaning forwards slightly, I scan the pure blue water below. I can see mermaids splashing each other, lost boys standing at the shore and shouting their hopeless flirtation at them. The mermaids ignore them. Around me, the forest is alive. The endless green seems to stretch on forever, on my homeland of Neverland. A lot of things seem to continue forever in Neverland. However, my life here is indefinite and about to come to an end. Then everything will have to change. At home, I go about dressed in rough plant fiber cloth, sheer patterned fabric, no shoes, and my wings open. They cast a soft breeze against my back, which stays bare. My chest is covered by a top that ties around my neck and waist. The ends flutter a few inches behind me. Mama always says that it is healthier for wings to be out in the open. My hair is not in a braid. It can blow in the wind. I only use braids when I'm in danger, for a simple reason: I have a spiked leather strap that I braid in, leaving a nice bloody surprise for the fool who dares to grab it. My legs stay clothed in breeches, made of the strongest leaves in Neverland, stitched together with plant-fiber threads by my mother's careful hands. She dotes on me. I think it's because she needs someone to take care of, someone to love, because her fairy family, and fairies in general, have turned their backs on her and won't ever reconsider. And my father, a pirate aboard the ship that was once Hook's, is almost always away on raiding missions. Speaking of my mother, it is getting close to lunchtime and I need to help her. I leap off the rock, and therefore off the cliff. I free fall for a second. Then my wings, cupped and ready, catch me. I shoot upwards before dipping lower to skim along the tops of the trees. I make a detour to the bay with the mermaids, flipping the cap from the tallest lost boy. I zip away, delighted with my prank, as the mermaids laugh and mock him. There go his chances with them. I rise above a peak and dive downwards into the valley below. My wings cup and drag as I come to a stop on a boulder at the bottom of the valley. I jump down from the rock, landing on a patch of moss. This patch was transplanted from a different part of our valley and placed here for the purpose of sparing my feet any more damage from sharp rocks. I am always glad for it. My feet have grown strong and my skin is thicker than usual, but it is still nice to land on a soft cushion. I step onto a wooden board raised above the ground by rocks. A few years ago, when Pa was home for a brief stint, we laid the boards on rocks to form a path from the walls of the valley, where non-fairy folk like Pa climbed down, to lead to our porch. Mama said that we have to look good for guests. Not that we have any, these days. I skip along the boards, knowing how and where to step so that I don't fall. Years of practice have taught me how to do this. I leap from the end of the last board onto the porch. Our house is set against the valley wall. It's mostly made out of debris and old parts from ships found wrecked in the bay and rocks my parents dragged down into the valley. Vines and plants grow all over it, making our house a part of the jungle. It also helps hold parts together, and the flowers Mama planted on the walls look beautiful. Our porch was once part of the deck of a ship that was found smashed on the rocks on the other side of the island. Pa had to cut the barnacles off. Then Mama put down rugs and sanded away the rough bits. For a cover, they built a framework and tied bundles of thatched leaves to it. They set up a bench, and in the warm season Mama hangs dyed and painted cloth from the roof to cover the porch and add privacy, plus shade. I push aside the cloth that hangs over the doorway and enter my house. It's darker in here, dim and cool. Mama sits on her stool, weaving dried leaves to make mats that she will sell to visitors. Neverland gets most of its income from tourism. The other part comes from what the pirates filch. Everyone in Neverland knows that much of our money is from stolen goods, but nobody fusses because it's money, money for food and infrastructure and trading with other places. Mermaids, lost boys, natives, fairies, nobody argues. We all benefit. Anyway, I step into my home, wave to Mama, and walk through the main room. The main room has a small kitchen along one wall (we do most cooking outside, in the back), a few mismatched chairs around a dented old table, a big sofa against the far wall (one of the strangest things the pirates ever stole), and barrels of food in case something happens. These are stacked in a corner. Mama is sitting at the table with her weaving. Light from a lamp filled with fairy dust, suspended from the ceiling, let's her see what she is doing. There are two doors in this room, other than the entrance. I take the door with a beaded red curtain. It leads to a little room. One door in this room leads to the back, the other to my bedroom. I push aside my curtain and step into my room. It is small, but it is good enough for me. A bed of dried grasses and living moss, covered by a colorful sheet, with a pillow made of more grass and fabric. My blanket is made of the same material as the curtains, just larger. My clothes are stored in a chest at the foot of my bed. There is a window covered by a sheer curtain on one wall, and a desk made of an old crate beneath it. My stool is a log that is cut so that it can stand on its own. Here in Neverland, almost everything is repurposed. Our main building materials come from things washed up in the tide. Neverland trees are bad for building with. I grab my hair scarf and tie my long, wavy black hair up. This scarf has patterns of leaves and plants in blues and purples. The edges are beaded with tiny purple beads. It is my fourth-best, my best being the green and brown with fringe. This is the style of headwear in Neverland for when you need your hair out of your face, or for special occasions. Today, I am having both. I trot out of my room and into the back. I stand for a moment under the awning we made three years ago, blinking against the sunlight. Then I continue on. Our backyard isn't that interesting. A clothesline stretches from our house to a post. The washing tub and ridged rock, along with the bag of ground soapstone, sits under the line. Over in a secluded corner, there is a framework of poles covered in stretched, opaque fabric. In there is our washtub. The privy is further away from our home. Our well is next to the washtub area. The fire pit is across the yard. A pot dangles over it. The pot is interchangeable with a rack or tray. Next to the pit, our pile of dry firewood sits. Neverland wood is good for one thing- fires. It burns easy, but not too easy, and doesn't give off a lot of smoke. It also burns for a long time. A board balanced across two stumps serves as a counter. Mama kneels on a patch of moss in front of it, chopping vegetables. My mother is short, only five feet. Fairies don't grow very large, not even if they want to. My mom wanted to be tall, not five inches, and she got her wish. Not all fairies are short and dainty. The fairies who work at the docks are human sized, just a little bit smaller, and they have muscles of iron. My mother's hair is dark and long like mine, tied back with a blue scarf. Her eyes are grey, her eyelashes longer than mine. Mama's skin is fairy-pale, because fairies can't tan. Nobody knows why. Only fairies with dark skin get any real color. Mama stands, showing her ridiculously small feet, bare as usual. Unlike me, Mama wears a dress. Neverland dresses are meant to allow freedom,of movement. (I still won't wear one.) They are made of lightweight, sheer cloth and generally the hem is a little bit past the knees. They are short-sleeved like my tunics or sleeveless like a vest. The fabric allows Mama's to swirl and ripple hypnotically. Under it, she wears short leaf-leggings. Her ears are pierced, with two beaded bangles in one, and a single bangle in the other. She beckons to me. "Can you get the fish and prepare them? I am almost done with these." I nod and grab my net. Then I clamber atop a rock and jump into the air. I swoop over the island, headed for my favorite fishing hole. When I reach the spot, I slowly drift down until I land on a rock. I jump down into the azure water, waving my net gently. A few minutes later, the net has three fish and I'm heading home. What can I say? Neverland is an environmental paradise. Free of pollution, traffic, and climate change, here we thrive in near perfection of habitat. I skin the fish, cook them, and add spices and herbs. Then I dice the fish into little chunks and put them in the bowl that Mama is holding. She puts her vegetables and plants in, and we mix it. Then Mama gets out the pan bread she made earlier. We carry our meal inside and set it on the table, now cleared of mats. I go outside again and pluck mangoes from our tree, and bring them back. Mama skins them. We eat lunch. After minutes of silence, Mama looks up. "So, are you ready to go to school?" Mama looks at me, worried. Her only child, of course. I try to say something hopeful and happy. "I think so. Will Pa be back in time to see me off?" Mama shakes her head. "I don't think so. He said he wouldn't be back for a while." I sigh. "Well, I'm going to be a Nevergirl, just like you once were!" I've never asked, but I have a theory that Mama got her nontraditional personality and values from her school. I love my mom and believe in her values, so I am excited to go to her school. However, there is one thing I'm not excited for. "What were the uniforms like?" Mama smiles and takes a bite of fish. "Oh, they were tunics, very ragged and dark. I expect that Dean Sophie will have changed them." I look at my food. "So probably skirts?" Mama winces and nods. "Is your trunk all packed and ready?" I nod and get up. "It is. May I be excused?" She excuses me, and I carry my plate to the kitchen. She'll wash it later. Normally that would be my job, but I won't be here tomorrow morning. I will be at the School for Good and Evil, and she will be alone. I will miss her dearly, but I am excited to finally see the world. Let's just hope those uniforms aren't too bad.