A New Kind of Tale

Alvira: Bottlenecked

Alvira was so done with being trapped in a bottle. It wasn't even a nice bottle. The walls of her 'home' were made from dented, dirty metal and she was afraid to sit down because she'd get a disease from the rust. It smelled strongly of the cedar oil it once contained and she had to breathe through her mouth to keep from hurling.

Her transparent silver wings fluttered impatiently as she paced back and forth, arms crossed, pouting. She looked up, hoping she was just imaging things but all she saw was the pitted brown circle of a cork blocking her only exit. She began to think of all the things that could happen. Someone could shake her and she could get her head bashed in on the metal sides of the bottle. Someone could sit on her and she'd be crushed. She could not find away to escape this death trap and slowly run out of air... her tiny lungs caving in...

She stopped, and quickly slowed down her breathing. She couldn't let herself hyperventilate. She had to figure a way out and save her magic for her flying.

Suddenly the bottle wobbled and Alvira fell over, cringing as she hit the dirty bottle's surface.

"Oh no," she squeaked. Even though she expected it, the drop still killed her. The feeling in the pit of your stomach when your falling that hammers in the hurtling-through-the air was mixed with being thrown into metal walls as the bottle tumbled over itself to make it a truly unpleasant ride.

She had just wanted to be helpful. She had seen someone climbing out the window, and figured they were need of some fairy-mojo. It was about time she got a job promotion. Stupid, prissy Fairy Elders and with their stupid, prissy jobs as fairy godmothers.

So she tried to find the right window, but ended up giving up and going through process of elimination. She flew through the wrong window again, but as entered someone opened the door. She freaked out (trespassing wasn't the best way to introduce yourself as help) and dove in a bottle, hoping to hide there. Someone came, corked it, and put it on the ledge of the window (why, she didn't know. She tried not to understand humans).

Then that person had to go and knock it over.

Now she was tumbling down, down, down bouncing around the sides of the bottle like an acorn local boys would ricochet off trees. When she finally stopped falling with a deafening 'SPLOOSH', she wasn't sure if she still wanted to be alive. Everything was hurt and bruised and her clothes were speckled with bronze. Alvira shook her curly strawberry-blonde hair and wrinkled her face as flecks of rust came out with her usual silver sparkles.

It was not her best day. Or week, in fact. She was stranded, bobbing up and down, attempting not to be seasick and forcing herself not to eat anything. (Fairies can go an insane amount of time without food but prefer to eat). While she still couldn't use any magic to poof herself back home, she focused her ever-flowing supply of juice to make sure she didn't suffocate or drown. This considerable sapped her reservoir and she was riding on the daily dose of fairy dust she sweat from her pores.

"I. Am. So. Sick. Of. Bronze. BOTTLES!" Alvira yelled, kicking the side of her prison till she stubbed her tiny toe. "OW!"

Then she crashed into something hard, throwing her like a bullet around the bottle again. "OWW!"

Then, a sharp rock dented her prison, leaving ever less spaces then before. Needless to say, she was more than pissed. She was ready to kill the first thing outside. Alvira had to wait a few days, though, until a cold hand wrapped around the bottle, causing her to tumble backward as the container was up-rightened.

"Stir ill 'bove hiss," a muffled voice said, "Fect tour motions." The strange voice bounced Alvira once again as she was put in a sack and jiggled with every step. Alvira sat at the bottom of the bottle, cross-legged, the uttermost expression of hate on her face. The various sounds were interesting, however. She was used to the sound of waves lapping against the bottle and annoying sea-birds overhead. Instead there were sounds of busy market places, horses, donkeys and salespeople calling out loud as they can for people to buy their coffee. It soothed Alvira a bit, to the point where her annoyance was almost completely taken over by her curiosity. Where was she? Had she left Gemorian?