Fairy Godmother Inc.
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F. R. Black
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5.0M
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220
Chapter 1
Book One: Apollo’s Angel
The pits of hell belch and cloud humanity with the pungent smell of rotten eggs that harbors the fiery embers of Hades.
Bleeding hearts.
What is it? Two hundred degrees?
I wipe the beads of sweat from my brow and take a labored breath of humid air that seems to suffocate me like meaty fists gripping my dainty throat, watching in evil delight as I sputter for air, fighting for my life.
If the musty air manifested into an illusion of flesh and blood, I’d be trying to gouge out its eyes, fighting like a wildcat, trying to break its firm grip on my neck.
I’m not sure what gender this musty, humid demon is, but I attempt a kick to the groin anyway. No good, this phantom creature is not fazed as we crash against the wall in a battle that I’m losing quickly.
But I don’t die. The damp, nasty air lets me breathe just a little, just enough to keep me alive to continue the torture.
The loud whine of my air conditioner seems to morph into high-pitched laughter, revealing its true self—one of the bad guys the whole time! It never meant to cool off the room.
The lies. The betrayal!
Am I dramatic? That depends on who you compare me to.
Let’s say, if you compare me to a first-class Karen dining at a restaurant, who just received her bill, not realizing ranch was an upcharge, then I’m perfectly normal.
Really though, I’m half tempted to turn on the news to see if the sun is due for impact.
New Orleans has always been two steps from hell in the month of July. And it doesn’t help that I live on the top floor of an old Victorian house either.
It’s almost like the old, haunted wood has a deal with the devil, to claim the souls who inhabit this furnace.
But back to the real problem at hand. This is bigger than the floating inferno currently surrounding New Orleans.
I’m holding a letter—a golden, sparkly letter, mind you—that was pushed under my door this morning. When it was still dark outside. We’re talking early, people!
The last time I checked, the postal service does not deliver at four in the morning under said person’s door.
Why? Because that’s creepy, and that’s not how they conduct their professional business. They work at normal, suitable corporate hours.
Only mentally unstable people deliver letters at four in the morning by sliding letters under your front door, probably followed by heavy, excited breathing.
You know what I’m talking about. Stalkers, serial killers, rapists.
Freddy.
The letter would read, “Peek-a-boo, I see you!” or something else alarmingly sinister, and then that would be the start of a B-budget horror movie.
I would be running, cleavage all over the place, and I would shockingly trip over nothing, resulting in my brutal death by the ax. But no, that’s not what it says, not even close.
It radiates light. For a fleeting second, I’m sure that I’m being invited to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, holding the golden ticket. But it’s way weirder than that—trust me.
This letter is why I now doubt my ability to function in polite society.
I shift my weight as I stare down at the ghostly missive that lights my fingers and half my arm. The paper is feather-soft, and I can hear a faint jingle, like if you erratically shook Tinkerbell.
Apparently, folks, the Fairy Godmother herself felt the need to write to me and invite me on a romantic fantasy of vast proportions—a charming prince of Fate’s choosing.
I place my hot hand on my burning forehead and read the letter again, just to confirm my slow-boiling hysteria.
Dear Viola Del Vonsula,
Congratulations to you.
If you are standing, I might suggest you sit. You have been chosen at random to take part in the two-hundredth anniversary of Fairy Godmother Inc.
Though this is a random picking, I know much about you—possibly more than you might even know about yourself. I see you now, reading this missive, with a frown upon your beautiful little face.
But rest assured, Viola, I do have your best interest at heart, and that is quite a bit better than what you’re used to.
I know you have lived a life of fear with no family, orphaned as a small child. What a poor, poor child you used to be—quite heartbreaking, having to grow up too fast.
But you were once a dreamer, full of hope and excitement, seeing the beauty in everything and giving humanity the benefit of the doubt. Indeed, a wonderful girl inside and out.
But now you wallow in paranoia. Getting mixed up with the wrong crowd can prove to be devastating to one’s person.
Your innocence is leading you down a path of such darkness and despair, I fear. It does sadden me, for being the Fairy Godmother, I do despise such a tragic story.
But I have brilliant news, Viola. I, the Fairy Godmother, have an offer that may change your life forever. God knows you need it. You can only go up, dear girl.
I am giving you a chance to find a happily ever after.
On behalf of Aphrodite Incorporated, you will be able to compete against four other ladies for an opportunity to win a happily ever after.
Keep in mind that this offer is a once in a lifetime opportunity full of adventure, danger, and the ultimate prize of true love.
Love is the secret to life, Viola, and it could be yours. Please take a moment to imagine falling in love with a handsome, dashing prince.
I know your first instinct is to throw this letter away, but please do not, dear girl. For Heaven’s sake, this is your only chance at happiness—trust me, I’ve checked.
Did I mention that people want you dead? Quite disconcerting.
I’m the All Knowing. Fate is my specialty. Destiny is my hobby. Bloody hell, child, I’m the keeper of the most powerful emotion of all…true love.
The choice is yours.
This offer will last until tomorrow night when the clock strikes twelve. If accepted, all details and answers to questions will be provided to ensure complete and total understanding.
The meeting will take place at the French Quarter past the tall, charming man in white. Please do not be late, or this fantasy will be nothing more than a rotting pumpkin.
Upon accepting this offer, you will agree to pay for this experience by handing over half of all your assets, including but not limited to bank accounts, IRAs/401Ks, jewelry, vehicles, clothes, shoes, electronics, real estate, animals, and animals’ belongings.
If failed, all family ties will break, and you will be alone in the world. All competitors will travel to the same kingdom; the choice of kingdom is random by a spinning wheel of destiny.
This trip is known to cause vomiting, diarrhea, nausea, dizziness, lightheadedness, drowsiness, uncontrollable tremors, fatigue, and in rare cases, death.
Everything about the Fairytale Challenge will rely solely on Fate, and all aspects will be unpredictable and potentially dangerous, even possibly resulting in your demise.
Each contestant will have their chance at the spinning wheel, where they will find out what their fate will be for the next three months of the challenge.
Whether a contestant spins to be a princess or a pauper, they will have to make the best of it to catch the prince’s eye and heart.
Godspeed,
Fairy Godmother
Fairy Godmother, President & CEO, Fairy Godmother Inc.
“Where dreams come true.”
Do you see what I mean?!
This lady knows bits about my life, and I know for sure that I have told no one of my bad life choices. That was between me, myself, and I, mainly because I have no friends and family that I wish to claim.
My foster parents only loved me when tax time came or when someone needed a babysitter for their seven kids when they went out on a bender.
Seconds pass as I just stare, heart pounding with indecision. The only way this makes a little sense is if this letter invitation is genuine—which it most definitely is not. I laugh.
Ok, Viola, let’s not get on the bus to Crazy Town just yet.
Let’s list the facts and look at this logically:
*This letter is glowing. Seems impossible.
*This letter is glowing and sparkling by an unknown source. Seems supernatural.
*“The Fairy Godmother” knows things she most definitely should not about my life. Very unsettling.
*I hear clear sounds of sparkles.
*Fairy Godmother Inc. sounds a bit like the Hunger Games—but for the hopelessly romantic.
*I’m a secret lover of the movie Anastasia, tell no one.
*A meeting at midnight to find Mr. Charming might be a red flag for a rapist.
I think about this.
If this is a hidden camera show or a scientific study to test dumb and gullible women, then I will be a proud statistic. Maybe they’re offering to counsel us? I might benefit from that.
This could be a study approved by Dr. Phil! I mean, I always wanted to get counseling, kind of a hidden desire, actually.
I secretly want the doctors to look at me and tell me if I really am psychotic or if I have been mistreated my whole life, and it’s not my fault, and then we would cry together. I could break down the emotional walls!
I could get sent to a really nice beachfront rehab facility.
Am I doing this then?
Midnight tonight.
Well, Fairy Godmother, you can count on me. I’m just the right amount of messed up to show up and represent. I glance back at the glowing letter and can’t wipe the silly smile off my face.
I have bought a ticket to Crazy Town.
Or a nice bed at a rehab center.
