Gatsby, The Great & Powerful

Chapter One

My chest tightened in dismay as the sagging, misshapened bobble continued to deflate. Soon it would be nothing more than a pond of heavy fabric on the impeccably manicured lawn of someone far wealthier than I could ever hope to be.

My balloon was pale blue and white, sporting the gingham pattern of a young girl's dress. That had been the problem. In hindsight, I could see it clearly: whatever had caused the tear that resulted in my slow fall back to Earth - be it birds, a sentient cyclone, or perhaps winged monkeys - had not been able to differentiate my balloon from the daytime sky, and had therefore attempted to fly through it.

And here I was: in a place of astounding color and beauty that was completely foreign to me, with no means to get back home.

I adjusted the brim of my hat against the onslaught of midday summer sun and glanced around. A marble and brick mansion, complete with colossal white columns, stood to my left. Its sprawling three-story mass was as imposing as it was elegant. I knew I would owe a groveling apology to whomever lived there.

To my right, a stately wooden dock jutted off from the shore, meandering far out into the blue water of the bay.

A cheeky giggle broke the stagnant silence and I pivoted where I stood. There was nothing. No one.

I heard another giggle. Then another. High-pitched, childlike giggles coming from all around me. In my peripheral, I saw movement.

Suddenly, I felt a soft tug on the hem of my brown suit jacket. I looked down. A tiny girl, no higher than my hip, stared up at me with wide, enchanted eyes. She wore a frilly pink dress and had a matching ribbon in her curly hair.

"You fell from the sky!" she exclaimed, her voice as tiny as she was. "I saw it!"

I heard murmurs of agreement from all around me, but I saw no one. Only groomed shrubbery, stone statues, porcelain fountains, and other ostentatious thingamabobs the wealthy used to decorate their property.

"I- Well, yes. I suppose I did," I concurred, still quite baffled by the fact.

The tiny girl appraised me with her innocent eyes. "It's alright!" she called out in her pixie-like voice. "He's a nice grownup! You can come out!"

Moments later, I was surrounded by pint-sized humans, all dressed in sumptuous clothing that I could scarcely dream of wearing now, let alone as a child.

"Hello...munchkins," I greeted the petite crowd. I saluted them with an awkward wave. I had never been especially good with children.

"Are you an angel?" a girl with pigtails asked me.

"If he is, he's a fallen angel," a particularly studious-looking little boy remarked. He adjusted his round spectacles as he scrutinized me. "My mother says fallen angels are a bad lot."

"He doesn't look bad," another boy argued.

"No, indeed," another girl remarked. "He has a nice face. For an old person."

"He's younger than our fathers!" quipped the girl in pink.

"Yes, and our fathers are old enough to remember the war," the studious boy retorted.

"Which war?"

"All of them!"

"That's nonsense!"

The riotous clamor of falsetto exclamations continued, tempting me to cover my ears.

"Children!" a melodic voice cried over the din.

The munchkins fell silent and turned in the direction of the speaker. I turned as well.