Weed Killers

Chapter two Ragwort

"You were out late last night Dirt."

"Sorry mom. . . I ran into behemoth frogs."

"You weren't watching the fairies again were you?"

"Nah, I told you, I'm over that!" 

I'm over her, I say to myself, I have to be; my love for her is forbidden, heck even if it wasn't, she wouldn't want me, I can't even fly! She'd want somebody like Thyme.

Thyme is your basic boulder, he's the ride a sharp rock down a thorn bush kind of guy, and from what I've observed from the girl fairies, he's a real "hottie." 

I bet Ivy would want a guy like him, not a skinny wingless piece of dirt.

"You need to get some sleep today, because tonight we're cleaning verbena."

"Verbena?" I cringe at the name, Verbena, an itchy evil flower, that is apparently loved by many.

"Yes Dirt, Verbena, must you complain every time work is mentioned?"

I walk away silently, there is nothing you can say to a contentious women, especially if she's your mother.

I go to my room, which is the far left corner of our rotting tree stump, yes three generations and going, the hairy old men in my family, take pride in carving out rotting wood and calling it a home.

Yet another reason I resent being a weed killer, fairies live in tree villages, carved from living wood, and I'm sure their interior is more advanced than brown moss and acorn tops.

There aren't allot of interior designers among us, weed killers serve one purpose, late nights and hard work.

Now don't get me wrong, hard work isn't bad, and I'm not lazy, I just want to feel like I have purpose.

"I'm home!"

I look down the hall to see my moms boyfriend Ragwort, a tall guy with broad shoulders and more chest hair than a frog has bumps.

He walks in the door with a huge grin on his face and a limp grasshopper in his hands.

"Cook this up for me dear!"

He throws the insect to my mom, and then proceeds to shove a handful of ground basil in his mouth chewing vigorously.

"Where's dirt."

"I think he's in his room."

"Dirt! get your skinny self in here!"

"Hello Ragwort."

"I thought I tolled you to call me wortious, Ragwort was my pops name."

"Okay Wortious. . . "

"So kid, I heard you've been looking at the flying ones, that's risky business my boy, you don't want to get yourself cooked do ya?"

"Cooked?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, cooked, don't you know that fairies are carnivorous."

"They are not!" My mom chimes in, with a slight chuckle in her voice.

"Are too! And nosey little weed killers are their favorite."

I roll my eyes, Ragwort is such a tool, and not the sharpest tool either.

"Alright, Wortious, I'll make sure to stay real careful."

I start walking away, hoping to drop the conversation,

"Why can't you just be normal? You worry your mother, a weed killer involved with fairies is like a fairy involved with humans, it's risky business."

"Your moms risky business Wart hog."

"Wartious! the name is Wartious my boy."

I ignore him and stomp down the hall, plopping on my grass bed, I lay down, trying my best to block out their angry voices, agreeing on their discontentment of me.