5-27-17 Jail Break

Byline: Gary Llewellyn

Dateline: May 27, 2017

“Any requests for your last meal?” the guards asked me.

“I don’t know,” I responded. “What do you people eat down here? Grubs and centipedes and shit?”

“Tonight is meatloaf night.”

“Fine, I guess.”

I’ve busted out of worse places than this. Places that didn’t have silk sheets and velvet curtains. Where’s my pocket knife? I can try to whittle a shiv out these mahogany bedposts. Right, I traded it to some seventh-grader for a bag of weed. Wasn’t even that good. I thought the kids today were smoking the real dank shit, but what do I know? As I scanned the room for a backup plan, I noticed a small piece of paper slip under the door.

I need your help. I’ll be back later, after the guards are drunk.

Was it from Stephanie? No. It wasn’t written in crayon. This was fancy fairy writing. Like with a quill and shit. In the meantime, my meatloaf came. There was a side of potatoes. It was all fairly dry and tasteless, but oddly filling. Fairy cooking is known for being pretty horrible. The king returned to inform me that I’d be executed by drowning and fed to Nessie. So next week’s PFG will be on Nessie.

“Would you like a magazine?” the king asked. “We have subscriptions to GQ and Wired.”

“No thanks,” I replied.

“Netflix?”

“Sure.”

The guards wheeled in a television on a cart like this was teacher hangover day in third grade.

“You guys got a projector too?” I asked, “With a reel of that Duffy Moon flick?”

They obviously don’t get humor down here. They left me with my television and the password to their Netflix account. I mostly watched Cheers and waited for my mysterious correspondent to arrive. A few episodes before Diane had left the show, I heard a key enter the lock on my cell door. In came a small female fairy holding a vial full of pills. Finally, someone brought the good stuff.

“I don’t have much time,” she said. “The guards have started playing that game where you see how fast you jab a knife into the table between your fingers and it’s only a matter of time before one stabs himself.”

“I’d run the table on those pikers.”

“Here,” she handed me a pill from her vial. “Take this before your execution. It will allow you to breathe underwater. You’ll survive the drowning, but getting away from Nessie is up to you.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“I heard your interview on that wizard podcast. You know what’s going on. The spiders, the nixies, the fairies. It’s global.”

I fucking knew it.

5-27-17 Out Through the Night and the Whispering Breezes

Byline: Stephanie Morgan

Dateline: May 27th, 2017

Is this how I was going to die? At the hands of fairies? The guards came by and asked me what I wanted for my last meal. How can I even think about food? I asked for rarebit, just like Grammy Morgan would make. After I had dinner the king came to my room. He said since I didn’t make fun of him like my unpleasant friend insisted on doing, he would let me walk out on the promenade and watch the fireflies practicing their routine for the Summer Bank Holiday show. It was beautiful, even if the choreography was a bit rigid. I’m sure they’ll develop some fluidity by August. The final breeze I’ll ever feel on my face was wonderful. And melancholy.

Back in my room, I sat in silence. I never knew what I’d do with my final hours. I never thought that far ahead. It turns out, nothing. Not even tears, just quiet contemplation. It was then that I noticed a small note was slid under the door.

I need your help. I’ll be back later after the guards are drunk.

Was it from Gary? No, it was coherent and used punctuation. Well, whoever you are, I got news for you. I won’t be much help to anyone in a few hours. The guards visited once more and wheeled in a trolley of books and magazines. They also asked if I wanted to watch television. They had cable and tons of DVDs. Why not? Midway through Amadeus, I noticed the lock on the door was being undone, during that part where Salieri is freaking Mozart out with that weird costume. In walked a small fairy girl holding a bottle of pills.

“I haven’t got much time,” she whispered, “The guards have started playing that game where you see how fast you jab a knife into the table between your fingers and it’s only a matter of time before one stabs himself.”

“God. Gary’s always trying to make me play that with him.”

“Here,” she hands me a pill. “This will allow you to survive the drowning. You’ll have to figure out how to escape Nessie on your own, I’m afraid.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“The other guy asked me the same thing. Don’t your people have a word for ‘thank you’?”

“We do, it’s ‘thank you.’ But- I’m still confused.”

“Your boyfriend knows something important.”

“There’s a lot wrong with that statement.”

“He knows what’s going on. He can stop it.”

“In that case, we’re screwed.”

“Everybody is good for at least one thing.”

“You need to spend more time with him. I’m sorry. I take that back.”