The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Fairy HunterDirector: Christine Stoddard Videographer: D.J. Granger Actresses: Angelica Karns & Luna Lark QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Fairy House Marion had never believed in anything. For dessert, she ate plain rice, never pudding, because she didn't trust the sparkle of sugar. Christmas irked her. She sneered at angels, true love, and prayer. She even disavowed physics. Then her dog died. "Hey, miss!" came a pre-pubescent cry. Marion snapped out of her reverie. It was another Saturday and she was manning the ice cream truck at Quincy Park. A snub-nosed boy in a faded T-shirt pounded on the window. Marion threw down her magazine and marched to the window. She peered down at the kid, who knocked so hard his knuckles turned red. Marion sucked air through her teeth and opened the window. "How did you even reach the glass?" Marion scoffed. The boy blinked. "Magic." "And, what—you hovered?" "I want a chocolate cone," the boy said. "No dice. I ran out. Go wish upon a star or something.” "Why are you so angry, miss?" Marion furrowed her brow. "Are you wearing glitter?" "No." "Why's your face shining like that?" "Magic," he said, shrugging. Then he scratched his cheek. "Magic should put glitter on my face and pay my bills while it's at it. Then I wouldn't have to dig into a freezer for brats like you." The boy didn't say anything. Instead he whistled. Marion stared off past the boy into a soundless universe of green grass and orange tulips. That's when she spotted a beagle who reminded her of the one she had just lost—Erio. The beagle sprinted across the field and disappeared behind a tree. When the dog didn't immediately run back into her field of vision, Marion remembered where she was. It was only then that Marion noticed that the day was sunny and that she was surrounded by the smell of cotton candy and sprinkles. But she still wanted Erio to return, or at least for that beagle behind the tree to dart back into her sight. Neither one of those things happened. Instead Marion noticed the boy. "Do that again," she commanded him. "Do what?" The boy hid his hands behind his back. "That thing you did with your fingers." Her voice faded into a whisper. "You turned them into popsicles, with a toy or something." The boy shrugged again. "Magic." "Go away. Play ball." "I don't have anyone to play with. Would you come?" Marion clicked her tongue. She had been in the ice cream truck for hours and the beagle might still be near. "Okay, but not too long. What do you want to play?" “I like building houses." "What do you mean?" "I like collecting wood, moss, and other stuff. Then I put it all together to make a house for the fairies." "For the fairies?" "You already said you'd play with me." The boy crossed his arms. "Alright. I'll build a fairy house, just to prove a point." Marion left the truck and scampered after the boy. The boy led her through hedges and trees before approaching a clearing. There stood a graying shed, a pile of firewood, and a white house. The scent of magnolia hung in the air. "I never knew this was here," Marion muttered. The boy did not hear her. He had already started rummaging through the wood pile. Almost as swiftly as he arrived, the boy built a miniature house. Then he clapped and threw up his hands. "Your turn!" Marion gingerly began going through the pile of wood. It felt smooth like driftwood loved long by the sea. Marion picked an armful of planks and wedges. The wood felt as light as a mass of down. Marion knelt down on the ground and cobbled her own house. The pieces fit together quite naturally. She beamed. Marion sat looking at the house for somewhere in between a second and eternity when something wet lapped her hand. She stiffened and then relaxed. It was the beagle. She swept the dog into her lap, scratched its scruff, and cooed into its ears. "This dog is just like the dog I had," Marion said. "Do you have a dog?" The boy did not respond. Marion glanced up. He had gone. A sudden breeze hit the trees, the shed, and Marion. Marion shivered before experiencing a surge of warmth shoot from head to toe. The beagle nuzzled Marion, slowing the wag of his tail and closing his eyes. She scooped him deeper into her lap and stroked his neck. Marion studied the fairy house at her ankles. Then her gaze shifted back to the beagle. "The fairies brought you, right?" But instead of answering, the dog fell asleep in Marion's embrace. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Dragon LoveBy Josh Lindgren & Luna Lark QuailBellMagazine.com "Siren""Make Up, Make Out""Laurels-Space Mix""Glass Bead Game""Dress Day""Carolyn's Tea Party"The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Fleeting JewelDirector/Videographer: Christine Stoddard Actress: Olivia Blackwell Still Photographer: Erin Maloney QuailBellMagazine.com When everyone's on the hunt for your sparkle and funk, you have no choice but to run. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Endurance and Patience of the SaintsBy Benjamin Nardolilli QuailBellMagazine.com When I came to the village of Wittgenstow the church was on fire. I thought that from a distance I would have seen the smoke. However the wind carried it away so that I could not see it rising. If I had, I certainly would have avoided the little hamlet. Whenever there is a church burning, you know there is real trouble about. But the smoke rose in gusts and clouds and not in a straight black pillar, so I had no warning. When I came to the central part of town, there was the steeple aflame. The sides of it were stone and so they were able to hold, but the roof had collapsed and taken the belfry down with it. Through a broken window in the middle of the steeple I could see one of the fat bronze bells stuck in the middle, as if the tower was choking on it. I stood watching the villages running around with buckets and trying to put out the fire. A holy man stood off on the side and prayed. I suppose that was all he could do. A large woman came up to me and before she could recognize me as a stranger, she handed me a bucket and told me to run to the well and help out, not seeming to think whether or not I knew where the well was. In fact I could have been a bucket thief, but the emergency and the heat made time for doubt and suspicion scare. Off I went past a few shops and a blacksmith’s furnace, where the fire was left unattended. The villagers were all in a hurry to save the church and no one was able to tell me where the well was. I finally saw one young boy running with two full buckets. Whenever his feet touched the dirt road, the water hit the sides and small tears splashed over. I followed him to the church and when his buckets were emptied by his elders, I followed him as he ran to a source of water. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
RindercellaBy Mike Berger QuailBellMagazine.com Sitting next to the fire, tears flowed like an open faucet. Her evil step mother and step sisters were off to another party. Staring at her frumpy clothes and sandpaper hands, she cried out in agony. Suddenly the room was filled with a ghastly green light, and a grotesque hag appeared. Rindercella shrunk in fright and trembled all over. The creature approached and said, "I'm your Gerry Fod Muver." The hideous creature had obviously had a bit too much to drink. "You're going to the Queen's Ball," she announced. In a flash, Rindercella's clothes morphed into new duds. There are a few problems; the designer jeans were two sizes too large. The blouse was made for an elf, and her plastic slippers would fit a kangaroo. “Nuffing's too good for my li'le princess," said the Gerry Fod Muver. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Ancestral Wish Writer/Director/Photographer: Christine Stoddard Actor/Model: Tony Fuchs Musicians: Stephen Palke & Luna Lark QuailBellMagazine.com Words whispered upon a dampened deathbed, in the sweaty mist of a Glaswegian heat wave-- oh, an Irishman should never die outside his land!-- it was 1860, if I recall; yes, this is what I said: 'You may pity me, the dying man, Cousin Anthony, my dear. But it is you who are the graver sufferer, I fear, for the world is not a pretty place teeming with sweets and fair hens. As my hours upon this earth ebb, I am overcome, overwhelmed, overtired with and by and with my knowledge. I know your future sorrows. I know your future pain. Cousin Anthony, you would not wish me to explain. Yet I am a generous man and wish you no harm. I would rather you become acquainted with Madame Mortality. I would rather you do as I instructed. You are young now. A decade hence, you shall be still. Listen to me, cousin child, for remember I am your elder. Nearly gone, aye, but wiser in my time. Visit the Necropolis in precisely ten years following my departure. Arrive an hour or two early, perhaps. Prudence ought to be a cherished friend. I will have left you a gift--a pocket watch, Cousin. Seek it out; its ticking shall pound your ears. That watch marks a critical hour. It is then you must see my grave... And discover my final gift to you.' |