Wohoo! I’m back with another part of The Dust Pixies, guys! 😀

Grace, I used all three prompts (in bold) and included “pencil” in my story.

Are you ready to hear the girl’s story (and find out her name)? I’ll add all of the parts to a new page in the “Stories” tab shortly. In case you need a refresher, here’s an excerpt from the last chapter:

“…Oh, I can’t believe it! I’d almost forgotten about that day!” She took a deep breath and continued in a calmer voice, “I’m sorry. Let me explain…”

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“There used to be six of them, but now only he was left. Finn had survived for two years without his family, living all alone in the dusty corner under my dresser.

(From Grace’s prompts. She said character prompt via Pinterest)

One night when I was four years old, Finn peeked out from under the dresser as I was laying in bed. The tiny movement caught my eye. I was extremely paranoid about mice and spiders and other such critters when I was little, and any little movement spooked me, especially at night. I tried to keep calm and summon the courage to go “squash the spider” with my bed slippers, but I was paralyzed with fear. When Finn saw how still I was, he thought I was asleep and decided it was safe to venture out. When the little whatever-it-was flew up in the air, I was so scared I couldn’t help but cry out. Finn immediately tumbled to the ground and scurried under the dresser, just in time to evade my parents who came running at my scream. They patiently searched under my dresser for the offending critter, but found nothing.

I tried to go back to sleep after that, but my pounding heart beat sleep out of my head. Finally I crept up to the dresser, wielding my fluffy slippers, and waited with trembling hands for the villain to appear. I had to wait quite a while, for Finn was very cautious – he had to be. When Finn finally appeared, I squeezed my eyes shut and slapped down the slipper. My eyes popped open when I heard a tiny yelp. This was no spider! I carefully picked up my slipper and peered at what appeared to be a moving blob of dust with wings. The wings were crushed. The dust lifted itself painfully off the ground and raised a terrified, tearstained face to me. I gasped in amazement. The so-called spider was actually a little boy! I clumsily picked him up in my chubby fingers and set him on my bed.

“Are you okay?” I whispered.

The boy with wings sniffled, but nodded his curly head. His dark eyes were wide with terror.

“Please don’t hurt me,” he murmured, “I didn’t do anything wrong…”

“I thought you were a spider,” I told him seriously, “but you’re not, so of course I won’t hurt you. Why, you look just like my brother, only lots and lots smaller. What is your name? My real name’s Rosalind, but it’s Rosie for short.”

“I’m Finn,” said the little boy, wiping the tears from his dusty face with his big jacket.

“Why are you so small?” I asked curiously, “And why do you have wings? Can you tell me how to grow wings? I want to fly too!”

Finn looked mournfully over his shoulder at his tattered wings. “I’m not small – you’re just big. And my wings aren’t really wings anymore. It’s a good thing your shoe wasn’t heavier or you would have squashed me!”

He looked kind of mad, so I said hastily, “Oh I’m  truly sorry, Finn-with-wings. I’ll help you make them better. I can be a good nurse! Mama says I can, truly!”

And thus my friendship with Finn began. I smuggled him bits of food and gave him a lovely soft bed and plenty of furniture from my dollhouse. I tried to bandage his wings with a large band-aid, but Finn was firmly opposed that, so I gleefully stuck it on my arm instead.

A few weeks after I had met him, Finn disappeared. I never knew what happened to him, and though I mourned his loss quite lustily for a while (my parents chuckled over my distress about my “imaginary friend”), eventually other things took over my attention. I remembered him from time to time when I was older, but only as a misty destination on my rambling road of dreams. I never truly recalled those days with Finn until I met you, Mae. You set off a little spark in my head that wouldn’t go out.”

“So that’s my story.” Rosalind ended. “I wonder if Finn is still alive. I would love to see him again…” She propped her head in her hands and smiled dreamily.

Lyri, who had been trembling behind me until about halfway through Rosalind’s story, finally spoke up in a quavering voice.

“Excuse me, but maybe we can help. I don’t know of any “Finns” around here, but we can ask around.” I could tell Lyri had been touched by Rosalind’s story. I agreed with her.

“Of course! He could still be living under your dresser, right?”

Rosalind shook her head sadly. “We got rid of that dresser years ago. He could be anywhere… or nowhere.”

I was now firmly resolved to find Finn. “Don’t worry, Rosalind. We’ll hunt him down.” Lyri and I left her with a mission in our heads, a chewed up pencil in our hands, and a new friend named Rosalind in our hearts. Maybe humans weren’t so bad after all.

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I hope you liked that, dearest readers! 😀

Oh, and before I forget, I have entirely too many things to post and not enough time to post them. 😉 Would you like to help me choose? Which post(s) would you like to see next?

***Allison***