Clipped

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Now it’s not uncommon to see giant clouds of smoke drifting up over the tree line, streams of exhaust pour out of the giant creatures’ nostrils just about nonstop. The only time the streams slow down are when the dragons are sleeping, then small puffs escape their snouts to the rhythm of their snores. Long gone were the days when dragons were mysteries and tales of sightings were rarities. Excursions to the highest mountains were needed to even hope to catch a glimpse of the magnificent beasts. They were known to soar around mountain peaks and dwell in caves etched into the mountainside. It’s said that all dragons have been found and caught and are enslaved by the Forest Council for labor. Society has found a way to tame even dragon’s fire.

Below me a dragon slumbers deeply. This one must be quite old, she’s larger than most I have seen. Despite the frightsome contraption around her neck meant to prevent her from releasing her own fire, she’s beautiful with scarlet, navy, violet, and gold scales making her body shimmer in the moonlight. Her breath puffs out in small bursts and the clouds of smoke float up and off into the night sky. I exhale a cloud of smoke and watch as it mingles with the dragon’s breath. A sense of solidarity blankets me, we are one and the same – a once magical, free being now reduced to a slave. The first drops of rain splatter the leaves and branches surrounding me. I am hiding high on the branch of a blackthorn tree in the thicket lining the southern border of the forest. Behind me is a fence stretching as far as the eye can see, south of which is the forbidden territory. The scent of lavender, wormwood, passion fruit and other herbs perfume the air. I sigh dreamily thinking back to the days when I could do this in the warmth of my own home. Closing my eyes, I imagine the softness of my down couch and the coziness of my oak tree. My home always smelled so lovely back then… when we were still allowed to hold our ceremonies and burn our concoctions. Now I am reduced to hiding in a tree; miles from home, smoking my herbs rolled into tubes resembling those humans once called cigarettes.

Another puff and the calm rolls over me; the sound of pattering rain blending with the forest song, my mind wandering. My eyes snap open at the realization that I had lost track of time. I had best start the trek home, it was quite a walk since I could no longer fly. I scan the horizon for drees. At the beginning, many were caught committing “infractions” by the drees. Punishment typically followed. I cringe thinking about the first time I saw one and mistook it for Beatrice, one of my dearest friends and Forest Council Representative for the local Bumblebee colony. I quickly flew out to greet her and invite her in for an afternoon visit before recognizing that this thing, this robotic, unnatural, vibrating aberration of nature, looked nothing like my sweet friend. It flew upon me and I froze, breath held, hoping it would not find a violation. It paused, made some whirring noises and buzzed off after deeming me harmless. This was the first indication that not all was what it seemed. Coincidentally while these drees started becoming more prevalent in our society, the honey and bumble bee populations began to dwindle. Various plagues and “natural” catastrophes started occurring and wiped out many species of our forest friends. My heart aches thinking of dear Beatrice even though it has been 50 years since I last saw her and I knew long ago that she could not possibly be amongst the living.

Fairy civilization started changing once word had spread of the humans dying out. I heard rumors that they were not all gone though, that there were pockets of resistance. Human life diminished over time, either by unprecedented “natural” disasters, disease, or executions carried out by the very artificial intelligence humans had created. Under the direction of the most brilliant, influential human beings of all history, A.I. ran every possible algorithm seeking redemption for the planet. Unequivocally, every solution revolved around the theory that the most efficient way to heal the world involved eradicating disease. Humans were the disease. Before humans had a chance to react to the findings, A.I. moved forward decisively. Random disasters started transpiring while various technologies simultaneously failed across the world. Tsunamis and tornados demolished cities where they had never been seen before. Home management systems spontaneously malfunctioned and burnt houses down with people trapped inside. Androids brutally murdered their owners by whatever means available. Air traffic GPS systems failed and caused airborne collisions. Elevators collapsed; amusement park rides went haywire. It was utter chaos. A.I. did not care about the fate of the non-threatening humans. A.I. did not care about the humans living benevolent lives, tending Mother Earth and cherishing the beautiful gifts She provided. A.I. deduced that it would be much more effectual to simply extinguish the human population and start over. Then other species and civilizations started disappearing. A.I. initiated contact with the Forest Council, requesting a “partnership” with creatures of nature and of magic – a treaty of sorts. Drees were quickly introduced to the Forest Council and Artificial Intelligence claimed that drees were here to help our bees pollinate faster and in a more targeted method. Then, before the partnership could be completed, all living bees vanished. Honeybees and bumble bees became legends; new generations of fairies never got to meet real bees. At least the butterflies were said to have escaped, hopefully they found someplace safe they could call home.

I would leave if I could but travelling long distances was an issue since all my flying friends were long gone and I had been clipped – like every other fairy (and dragon) in the forest aside from those with the highest rank. My wings tremble at the memory of the grim-faced Official piercing through one side of my right wing with rods welded onto a metal disc and clicking the rods into the notches of the metal disc on the other side, twisting the device into place with a snap. The pain was excruciating. I wobbled and blacked out for a moment while the official steadied me, his arms keeping me from falling off the toadstool I sat upon. His eyes were kind and sad as he assured me that the pain would pass, in time. His wings were rolled and neatly bound behind his back; he had been clipped, too. Long was the walk home that afternoon, blood dripping down my crumpled wing, cradled in the crook of my arm to keep from dragging across the forest floor. I felt used, violated, humiliated… a fairy’s power and magic were rooted deep in one’s core and coursed through one’s wings. The concept was rather genius - the flow of energy was interrupted by the metal device and did not complete the circuit through the veins in the wings, thus the flow of magic was stinted. A clipped fairy is a fairy whose power had been stolen. Whose soul was frozen in time.

I blink, snapping back to the present where I am sludging through mud on the long trek home. I hold a magnolia leaf above my head as shelter from the rain. O glory to the days of having free wings and a quick flight from here to there, to having excellent protection from the elements, to having a way to let my magic flow – to being free once more… I keep walking… I cannot be far from home now… but is it home now that Malachi and Alexi are gone?

Again, my mind wanders, this time to the first time I met Malachi. I was visiting Gertrude in the forbidden territory, where humans flourished long before artificial intelligence was conceived. Gertrude rocked on her porch, humming and knitting while I sunbathed in her most beautiful rose on her favorite bush. My stomach ached from too many sweets. Every visit, Gertrude lavished cookies, cakes, pastries and jams on me with thick slathers of butter and thimblefuls of the sweetest cream I had ever tasted.

A deep male voice shook me from that place halfway between wakefulness and sleep and nearly turned me from where I sprawled. I cautiously poke my head out of the rose to see a ruggedly handsome man with dark hair and brilliant green eyes standing at the porch chatting with Gertrude. My wings ruffled at my back. This must be Malachi. The “young man” that Gertrude could not quit clucking about. He was so nice and so kind and so helpful, and so very handsome! Finally, this morning whilst I was downing my third thimbleful of cream, she mentioned how she wished I would transmute to human form and meet her new young neighbor because she thought we would “get along”. I nearly choked on my cream and protested, what business had I in tarrying with humans?

Now, staring at this “young man”, I wondered what made him so special. Suddenly, I had taken human form and I found myself skipping innocently up the path to the cottage, feigning surprise at seeing someone else calling. Gertrude’s eyes lit up with mischief when she saw me. Malachi turned, and in a pivotal moment, everything changed. We could feel each other, our magic. Our energies merged and I knew he must have fairy blood in his veins.

“Gertrude, you weren’t kidding.” I mumble under my breath.

“No, you weren’t.” Malachi says softly, eyes still locked with mine.

History was made. It started with Malachi calling during my visits with Gertrude. We sat on her porch, drinking sweet cream and eating delicacies. The three of us laughed and theorized, basking in the magic that engulfed her cottage. I left my fairy life indefinitely, to commit myself to humanity so I could marry Malachi. We built a house together on the corner of Gertrude’s land and etched memories that became the foundation of our love.

We spent several human years together like this, until the war came and with it the first draft. I was heartbroken, a war that had nothing to do with us would take him away from me and the dreams we fostered. One night, when I could no longer stand it, I cried and begged for him to remember his true form, to remember his kind, the fairy kind. He acted dismissive, saying that maybe stress had affected my thinking and finally, I whirled around in a flurry and shrank down to my fairy form. Malachi was shocked, but underneath the shock I saw a knowing, an understanding. I was then able to help him turn to his true form and together we rejoined fairy society. Malachi took to the fairy life without missing a beat, it came so naturally to him. It was here that my belly began to swell with our son Alexi. We never forgot Gertrude and the role she played in bringing us together. We visited her frequently, the last time I saw her was three weeks before Alexi was born. It took us a couple months before we felt ready to venture out, but the day we took Alexi to meet Gertrude, we found her cottage vacant and land abandoned. That was the last time we crossed into forbidden territory.

A couple hours before dawn, I pull back a blanket of foliage covering a tiny door hidden between the gnarled roots of the large oak tree that I call home. Prying open the door, I hear the familiar ghosts greet me in the silence. Echoes of past laughter and tears, of memories born, loved ones gone…I stumble up the stairs, kicking off my boots and removing my satchel and cloak, tossing them over a root I had bent to fashion a drying rack across the front of the hearth. I crouch down and light a fire in the fireplace. I strip off my dress and unbind my wings, carefully laying them out behind me on the couch.

I sigh deeply and let myself relax into the down couch. I feel exhausted, but I needed the excursion. I did, I NEEDED the ceremony, the time to contemplate, to meditate – the time to decide. I know now what I need to do. I have waited long enough. I cannot wait any longer to act. I need to see Malachi, to feel his strength and love. I need to hold my son, to feel his warmth and know that he is unharmed. Reaching deep into the bodice of my under gown, I pull out a heart shaped locket. My fingers trace the edges as it shimmers in the firelight. The locket seems to vibrate with anticipation. This is the key to everything. I trace the heart once more before clenching my fist around it and glancing at the small window above the couch. I shove the locket back into my bodice where I kept it hidden and safe. Now was not the time to lose the only substantial advantage I had left. The locket burns hot against my flesh, searing a heart into my skin. Tomorrow. Tomorrow marks the first day towards me being reunited with my family, the first day towards freedom. As I drift off to sleep, I feel something almost unrecognizable, but it seems to burn brighter and brighter as I near slumber, and a sense of familiarity rises as recognition sets in… Hope. I am holding on to hope.