Strange FAE (sample)

One

"I remembered that the real world was wide, and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitments, awaited those who had the courage to go forth into it's expanse, to seek real knowledge of life amidst it's perils."

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

Present Day . . .

I stand, shaking as I gaze out over the audience. The theatre is cavernous, and the hanging lights reach toward the seats like teeth in the mouth of an enormous beast. The rustling of the crowd in their chairs mimics the thumping of my heart as dread rises in my throat.

Hundreds of eyes strip away my confidence as I wait, soul bared, for the first notes to ring out. The mic feels unstable in my sweaty hand as I raise it to my mouth while the first soft piano notes rise out of the darkness at the back of the stage.

My mouth opens as I start to sing, "Beep . . . . Beep . . . . Beep."

The audience stares, confused, as I look down at the mic and realize I'm holding a half-peeled banana.

"What the . . . . BEEP?"

. . . Beep . . . Beep . . . . Beep!

*****

My eyes open on a bright shaft of sunlight beaming through my window.

"Blaaaargh . . ." I cover my head with the covers and groan as the infernal beeping continues. Slamming my hand down repeatedly on my bedside table, eyes still tightly shut, I locate the alarm clock and finally manage to beat it into submission.

Remind me again who decided that school would start at the ass-crack of dawn. Isn't it enough that, as teenagers, we're stuck dealing with acne, hormones, and horrific awkwardness around the opposite sex? Why do we have to be sleep deprived at the same time?

I roll over and check the time on the clock, hoping that maybe the universe will love me today and give me an extra hour of sleep. Nope, it's already six-thirty a.m., and if I want time to eat before I catch the first of two buses, I'd better abandon my comfy bed.

Clawing around my nightstand, I locate my glasses and, surprisingly, manage to grab them without smudging the lenses. The world immediately straightens out and the beautiful fuzzy haze that signals sleepy time disappears.

In my dictionary, morning is a dirty word!

Wandering around my room, past the leaning towers of books in the corner and quickly scraping up the trail of last night's cookie crumbs from the carpet, I spy a pair of jeans that don't look too dirty and take a quick sniff. Sniff test checks out, so I pull them on.

"Houston, we are clear for lift-off!" Or, rather, lift-ON. I crack myself up.

Now, what to wear on top?

I grab a bra off the top of my dresser and twist back and forth like a Cirque Du Soleil contortionist as I struggle to lock it in place. The latches connect, and I jiggle everything around once to make sure everything is where it's supposed to be. (Don't laugh. My C-cups are notorious escape artists).

I spot a blue flannel shirt hanging in the closet and grab it, along with a white tank top. Tossing my outfit on, I quickly glance at the mirror. Hmmm . . . Nothing to write home about.

Changeable eyes, brown hair, a straight nose (I really can't say much about my nose other than, it's there), and my lips. They are my favourite feature as they form a cupid bow that ties everything else together. Matched with a high forehead, slightly pointed chin and thick eyebrows, it all combines to make an utterly meh face.