WhimFairies

Myri climbed her farm, negotiating mountainous thorns as she did so. As she sucked up the sweet, honey-like secretions of her herd, she dreamed of betterment. “One day, Nemo,” she said, “we’ll be able to give up this place, and serve the Queen herself!” The nematode wrapped around her antenna clapped the ends of its body together in approval, and squelched out some words only Myri could understand. “What’s that Nemo, you have a present for me back at the colony? Oh, you shouldn’t have!” Myri curled a mandible around her pet in a makeshift hug, and returned to milking her aphids. Suddenly Myri felt the ground beneath her shift. Her farm was on the move. Myri clung on for dear life while Nemo wound himself tightly around her buffeting feeler. “Don’t worry Nemo!” she cried, “It’ll be alright, I promise!” Then, as suddenly as it had started, the quake ceased. There was a violent jolt, and Myri watched in horror as dozens of her herd plummeted to their deaths in the wa

I trudged through the mist. White lines criss-crossed before me while dew-tipped grass blades slithered over my shoes, the heels of which sank an inch or so into the soft earth with every step (I'd been told it would be wise to make use of my feminine wiles - what few of them I had - and in the chilly weather a low-cut top and short skirt was out of the question). Eventually, I reached what I presumed to be roughly the centre of my makeshift stage, and set down the easel I'd been carrying. I wondered which direction it ought to face, then decided it made no odds. It too sank into the mud, but with three feet to my paltry two, slightly less than my ill-judged stilettos. I looked around. I was alone. Time to commence phase two. Gingerly at first, for fear of the mud claiming one of my expensive pumps, I began to dance. Then with mounting confidence, I launched into an elaborate soft-shoe. "Taps would have been better" I thought to myself. But it didn't seem to mat