posted on 1-Jun-2002 4:19:49 PM by cocainederivative
*This story is about fairies. Basically, Liz is a messiah, but something went wrong in her childhood. Maria, a tiny pixie, along with her soon to be hubby, Max are sent to help her find her path again. Sound's easy, right? It's a lot more complicated than it first appears- told from Maria and Liz's POVs*

Her name was Elizabeth and she was destined to rule the world…

But something went wrong.

And I have been sent to fix it. Me, little Maria Deluca, the smallest pixie out of my entire family; what can I do to help the human queen? I can barely fly straight.


Humans are strange. They don’t have wings, or magic, or any of the cool stuff, and they are always trying to squish me with their shoes. Who covers they’re feet anyway?

“Why don’t you fly?”

Max Evans, the biggest pixie I know, is flying above me as I walk. He has a point; his way would be easier, if I didn’t fly in zigzags. I’m a useless fairy. Sparkles, I think I’m going to cry.

I hate it here. I want to go home. So what if Elizabeth is the messiah? Like I can do anything for her anyway. The King was wrong when he sent me here- I can’t do anything. I don’t have any special powers. I’m dumb. And I’m crying. And I hate New York!

“Hey, watch out!” I dodge a pair of sharp stilettos. “Max, come down here please!” I beg my friend but he simply sticks his tongue out at me. Bastard. I hate him. He’s the Prince of Pixie-land, the only son of the King. When we grow up, our parents want us to marry. Yeah right. Like I would marry that spoilt Peter Pan wannabe. My husband will be tall and strong, and won’t stick his tongue out. He’d be too cool for that.

“You want company, fly. Come on Maria, you know you want to!” Max flies in circles to taunt me. “Or are you chicken?”

“I’m not chicken!”

“Prove it”

That’s it. Max is going down.


[ edited 1 time(s), last at 2-Jun-2002 1:05:55 PM ]
posted on 2-Jun-2002 1:06:47 PM by cocainederivative
“How’re you Mrs Parker?”

“Fine. You?”

“Good. Is Liz in?”

“She’s in her room”

I hate Daddy for leaving. I hate Mommy for marrying Steve and moving to Roswell. I hate Grandma for letting them go-

She’s old. She’s supposed to have control over them.

But most of all I hate him. Michael. The boy who thinks he knows me when he doesn’t. He thinks I’m just like him. That we’re two orphans in a pod- yeah right.

My parents aren’t dead; they left. That’s a big difference.


I stick up my middle finger. He ignores it. I don’t think he knows what it means yet. He’s only nine. I’m ten, today, but apart from Grandma; no one else remembered my birthday. Not Mom, and definitely not Dad. They have other kids they care more about.

That suits me just fine. I don’t want them around anyway. I’m better off with Grandma; at least she lets me stay up late.

“Happy birthday Liz” Michael grins. He’s lost three teeth since yesterday. It would be cool except I know he pulled them out himself to get tooth fairy money. I know all of his tricks.

“Yeah, whatever. So, what you doing here?”

He frowns in that way he does to fool his foster dad into thinking he’s dumb. I know he isn’t. Michael’s very clever. He helped me build a go-kart that whipped Kyle’s last year. I hate Kyle. He thinks he knows everything.

“It’s your birthday”


“Aren’t we having a party?”

Damn, Michael’s such a kid sometimes. “Do I ever have a party Mickey Mouse?”

“No. But I thought today would be different. You’re ten!” Michael’s bottom lip trembles. His foster dad hates his guts, and doesn’t give him anything he wants. That includes parties. So, naturally, he lives through Kyle and me. By that, I mean he steals our presents.

Michael’s a klepto-

“Grow up loser” I flip him off again. He still doesn’t react. Weird. I thought he’d know all the swear words by now- his foster dad likes to use them a lot around him. He also likes to whip his ass with wire coat hangers.

“So, where’s Kyle?” He runs a hand through his hair. It’s spiky as usual, and as brown as ever. God, he’s so boring.

“Dead. I chopped his head off with Grandma’s butchers knife”

Michael’s eyes light up.

“Cool. Can I see?”


Locking Michael in the basement is always fun. Maybe this time I can convince him there are tarantulas down there. He hates spiders. They make him have panic attacks. I wonder if he would stop breathing if he ever got scared enough?