Geisha GetawayDirector: Lindsey Story Photographer: Jasmine Thompson Stylist: Sidney Shuman Hair and Makeup: Jessica Skiles Model: Katie Dinep QuailBellMagazine.com         Add Comment Yellow Wyndham By Christopher Baldwin QuailBellMagazine.com  We are at war with The Bears, just Wyndham and I. Since I moved in the whole neighbourhood's gone. My mouth tastes like a charity shop coffee morning. It's been an intense few weeks, lots of change. I guess Wyndham is trying to get me to smile by puppeteering with breakfast. Welllcome to Breakfastville, Missy. Y'know... things really came to change around here when Lady Bacon Legs came t' town. Yessiree! Ol' Man Muffin couldn't get enough of that streaky mistress. Try hard. Sure, Wyndham's a card at the kitchen table. Still, I can tell he feels monstrous forcing himself on to me. Another grizzly for me to contend with. I don't know why he bothers. I need to tell you says the monster, I do love you. Wyndham's house, surrounded by frosted blades of overgrowing green grasses, is a smouldering blaze for me. A fur coat of burning embers. Ah, sweetheart. I'm only slightly petrified. I dunno. I felt better about the last few weeks but, it's like his sweet thought had been made mundane by the effort it had taken him to make it come out of his mouth. I doodle on the napkins this like novelty dog, eyes fixed upward in feigned distraction, nodding. Yep. Yep. I want a romantic walk, Let's chance it Wyndham! with The Bears lurking in the bushes, capable of anything. The Wizard, the Troll, and the Maiden By Ben Lacy QuailBellMagazine.com On the third Wednesday of every month, they walk the long road up the mountain. They line up at the gate and wait all day and all night. On the third Thursday of every month, maybe, just maybe, they will be allowed to see the wizard on the mountain, who, from the top of his tower, rules as far as the eye can see. Once a month, for a few hours, the wizard allows the peasants to see him. Only the desperate and the damned would make the trek. The wizard is unpredictable, and dangerous to those who would waste his time. I should know; I am that wizard. Once a month, I listen to their petty problems, if they’re quick with it, and I’m not too busy. Sometimes, I may send one of my servants to deal with the matter. Occasionally, I punish the petitioner for bothering me and to discourage other fools. Once in a rare while, I might personally cast a spell on their behalf. On this particular third Thursday, I had listened to a half-dozen petitions. They were the usual requests, end this drought, stop this plague. I wanted to get back to my latest experiment and decided to listen to just one more. My guards brought in a young girl who immediately dropped to her knees placing her head to the ground. I don’t expect such things, but it’s an appreciated gesture. “You may rise.” She stood. She was the most beautiful young maiden I had seen in a century. She was barely more than a child, maybe seventeen. Her plain, worn but clean clothes confirmed that she was a poor peasant girl, probably the daughter of one of the subsistence farmers that plowed the rocky soil to the south. The fear on her face was evident and was the only thing that marred her beauty. I decided to try to set her mind at ease. Not just because I found her attractive, but I was genuinely curious to know what would drive such a young girl to my tower. “You have nothing to fear here. Now, tell me your name?” “Heather, your lordship, I, I, mean your excellency.” “What brings you here?” “It’s my husband, your excellency,” I felt slightly disappointed that she was married, and then slightly surprised at discovering that disappointment. “I come from the southern province of Arakin. We had just gotten married. My father granted us a small plot of land to farm on the northern slope of Arakin mountain. While we waited for our first crop, my husband would go hunting. One evening he didn’t return.” The Tooth Fairy Apprentice By Michelle Nott QuailBellMagazine.com Choices Tooth Fairy fluttered in with such grace, no one could say she was a day over 150. Her dress was made of the finest rose petals. And her wand - with every good deed, it shone brighter and brighter. If only we could be as well-traveled, well-read, and refined as she... Tooth fairies are the only ones anyone talks about these days. I thought about being a sea fairy, but there is such a rivalry with mermaids. I thought about being a desert fairy, but I have very dry wings and all that heat wouldn't help. I also thought of being a spring fairy, but I have allergies. A fairy allergic to pollen - what luck! Dentitia approached me one day to talk about what kind of fairy I was trying to be. It was a particularly bad day when I had lost my wand for more than the fifth time. I also put too much fairy cream on my left wing, which just held me down. I flew in circles all day. After moonlight meal, Dentitia pulled her acorn chair over to mine and said she had something important to talk to me about. What had I done now? “My wings are starting to wrinkle. I don't fly the way I used to. I probably only have another few summers before I won’t be able to work anymore.” I looked into her eyes and saw happy tears, the sweet-smelling kind, starting to swell. She continued, “I believe I have found my replacement and would need to start training her as soon as possible.” I asked who she had chosen. “You.” My eyes almost popped like sunflower seeds. She explained, “You have the sensibility and intelligence to be great. You will just need to learn geography and languages. You will then be able to feel and dream your way around the world.” I don't know anything about teeth, I admitted. “I'll teach you.” But I don't know how to turn them into fairy dust, I insisted. “I will show you.” So, for the next several full moons, Dentitia flew by my side. We flew to the tops of forests, to the tops of mountains, to the tops of skyscrapers...and she never stopped talking! At night, I lied on my petals under the skies, looking up at my lucky stars. Thank you, my heart pounded. I was on my way to becoming the next Tooth Fairy. I wanted to burst out the news all the way to the sunset. “But, it is still your choice.” Dentitia held my hand one day. We were resting on a hanging leaf. The morning sun hung straight above us. “You have mastered your wand and weather patterns but there is still much to learn. If by the end of the next full moon, you decide you would not enjoy being a tooth fairy, you still have time to train for another role.” For many sunrises, I tried to envision myself doing anything other than being a tooth fairy... A medicinal fairy? No, back to the allergy problem. A food fairy? I do like to gather grains. But, no, I like to eat twice as much. My wings would eventually never hold me. An animal fairy? Not after the time the farmer's pig sniffed me into his nose. What then? I pulled out a twig, dipped it in a blueberry and wrote down all my strengths. I wanted to see just what I must have been blossomed out to do. Kind. Patient. Love children. Have good handwriting. Know North from South from East from West. Can speak three languages other than Fairy Secrets (English, Irish, Welsh) and am learning French. A swift breeze woke me from my thoughts. Teacher Fairy's wind chime clinked and rang the end of the school day. I flew over the stream, past the cattails and under the willow tree where I found Tooth Fairy. She was polishing last night's teeth. I had thought she turned them all into fairy dust. “No, dear, only the brightest, purest, with no cavities are good enough for fairy dust. As for the others, I take out their fillings, clean them, shine them and make jewelry, dishes or sculptures.” Tooth Fairy did have beautiful pearly necklaces and porcelain-white plates and bowls. On her bark coffee table, she had a uniquely-formed sculpture. Was it the silhouette of a shadow? “That is my prize-possession. One hundred fifty years ago, during my training, the Tooth Fairy had offered me this work of art. She had sculpted it from the very first tooth she'd found.” It was lovely but I wasn’t sure what it was. “It is to remind me of how to be gracious and kind, to value my work and the children for giving me their teeth.” Children lose their teeth naturally. What else would they do with them? “When the first baby tooth falls out, the child begins to grow out of babyhood. The children give a part of themselves away.” Wow! I want to do this. “I knew you would,” Tooth Fairy smiled. A poignant birthday
Dear Josie, Happy birthday! You would've been 24 years old today, had you not tragically died 6 months ago. Talented, spirited, and quirky, you embodied the true Quail Bell(e) philosophy of being. We miss you as our Managing Editor, contributing writer, and--above all--friend. Quem di diligunt, adolescens moritur. Feathery hugs forever, The QB Crew Dork DreamsDirector: Tykeya O'Neil Stylists: Lindsey Story and Sidney Shuman Photographer: Jasmine Thompson Clothes: Rumors Models: Rachel West and Todd Baker Extras: Sara Skubal, Elliott Duffy, James Gainous, Aaron Crittendon, Rob Gibson, Katie Dinep, Evan Herr, Lindsey Story, and Sidney Shuman Writer: Christine Stoddard QuailBellMagazine.com  [Her] And the professor said...something superfluous, adding a spine to the hairy hedgehog in my meadow of fervent longing, heart-pounding pain and general awkwardness toward... him.  Him—the boy, the man, the prince, the king. Him—the vision, the light, the shining crown. Him—the source of all my love and misery.  But he's not likely to see me as I see him, for lopsided glasses chafe my freckled nose and, though my diction may be perfect, I slurp when I speak.  Except today.  Today I am elegance incarnate, Mademoiselle Sexy Sequins, Miss Lucy Long Legs. Bam! Those hips swivel and sizzle and sing when I strut from my desk to his, sweetly leaning, gracefully hovering, perched on his tabletop with aggressive allure.  Kiss me before I kiss you.  [Him] She's cute, sort of small like something you'd tuck into your picnic basket, wrapped up in some quilted cloth your grandma stitched years ago, the cloth you still use to keep your favorite baked goods from going stale.  She probably tastes like a cookie—when you kiss her, that is. I mean, if I ever kiss her, from pigtail to pigtail, freckle by freckle. I mean, I will, I have to because I want to and I've never wanted anything more and today, well, today, today...  I'm handsome. I'm suave. I'm fashionable. I'm articulate. I'm bold. I'm that guy in the movies you hate so badly because you want to be him so badly. With a flick of my wrist, I'll blow her a kiss and then hop on over there, getting super close until she's sweating, sweating because I've seen her love letters.  Love letters she addressed to me.  Love letters full of hope and yearning and everything else that I feel, too.  She lo—me. Me? Me! She loves me!  [Them] We loved each other before our day dreams ran loose in this little classroom. For centuries, we loved and for a lifetime, we will love in and out of this little classroom.  I'm talking to myself again (to Allen Ginsberg)By Claire LeDoyen QuailBellMagazine.com Ginsberg! fuckin’ Ginsberg! i know you’re there, man, i can’t write fast enough to you, Ginsberg. GINSBERG! where did Whitman’s Beard lead you? where have you been hiding, in fields of glitter and butterflies and green leaves of grass? Ginsberg no one takes me as seriously as you do except Bukowski but he is drunk and asleep on the couch I can’t wake him up he was drinking expired beer and playing with his coleman lantern until three this morning, he told me was fucking crazy of the nutcase women that are drawn to him like whore-moths to a light. Ginsberg did you ever ride shotgun across states in a cherry cherry-stem tying into knots chevy staring at the deliciously ugly brown and red and orange striped velvet interior carelessly caressing your fingertips along its slim skinny lines? i caught a glance of it shining in the delaware sun and it was beautiful for a second! Ginsberg how do you feel about New York graffiti? every illegible complex shape pangs hard in my gut – i want to fight the man, ginsberg, i want to claim walls my own, take back the private police landscape. join me Allen, we’ll write earth-shattering verse onto train cars with bright pink spray-paint. Ginsberg what did you use when you were out of matches? if you were sitting in a nice, secluded grassy spot that smelled like dog shit would you move? did you slap mosquitoes when they landed on the fleshy canvas of your skin? Ginsberg, i got water in my lighter... ...Ginsberg the lighter’s working again it’s four hours later and i’m in a jimi hendrix shirt and my big brother’s red plaid and blue cotton boxers. the navy took him and forgot his underwear. Ginsberg i can’t tell if this is to you or the audience, i desperately want it to be to you. Ginsberg, the moon is gorgeous tonight and the stars are all silver twinkling clichés of romance and cosmic vibrations and mystical visions. Ginsberg what do you do when you’ve lost the most beautiful touch, skin, muscles, state of being, thoughts and presence? and then what happens when you block the feeling off seal it up in concrete a little piece of your loveheart grey and just a bit withered and no one and no thing, no thought or sensation can make you come except a summer night’s breeze? yet a warm wind has begun to howl tonight pushing the pen into words and forward. Hippie FeetBy Paisley Hibou QuailBellMagazine.com 
Flower BrainBy Rachel Jones QuailBellMagazine.com 
| The Unreal
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