The Story of Awkward

by R.K. Ryals

  ~Peregrine Storke~

  Dying felt like being tickled. It felt like tiny fingers running across my body in a dark world where it was okay to laugh loudly and badly.

  “She’s coming around,” someone murmured, the voice low and excited.

  Trying to turn over in death, however, was like trying to mow down a brick wall with a shovel. It felt like a truck backing over me in a dark world where it was okay to moan inappropriately.

  “Totally attractive,” a familiar voice sneered.

  “Of course,” a sweet, lilting tone agreed happily, “she’s one of us.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment,” the first voice offered.

  It was this familiar voice that made me sit up too quickly, my head spinning. My weight couldn’t support the sudden movement, and I teetered forward, my nose going into the damp, white T-shirt of my best friend’s brother. I’d know that voice and scent anywhere. Sarcasm and Dove, the kind for sensitive skin because the Evans’ household didn’t use any other kind.

  My hand found his abs, my cheeks heating, my vision blurry.

  “Camilla?” I wheezed.

  Foster gripped my arm, using his shoulder to support me. “I’m assuming she’s still in Kansas. Time to wake up, Toto, we’re stuck somewhere between unbelievable and Hell.”

  I pushed at my eyes, hoping to maneuver my contacts into focus. The astigmatisms made wearing lenses an uncomfortable nuisance.

  I’d just managed to regain vision in one eye when I saw the fairy staring at me. She was violet with disproportionate wings. The scream, when it came, shouldn’t have happened. The fairy wasn’t a stranger, after all, but she also wasn’t real.

  Foster clamped a hand over my mouth. A whiff of damp, stagnant mud infiltrated my nose. Soap just didn’t smell nice mixed with dirt.

  “It’s not a dream. I’ve already pinched myself,” Foster hissed.

  I stared, my half blurry, half decent vision taking in the crowd of people in front of me. It was impossible. They were real. All of them. My drawings. My characters. I’d died, and instead of going to Heaven, I’d landed in Awkward.

  Nimble was the first to speak. “Our creator,” the fairy breathed. The way she said it reminded me of the dramatic introduction I’d seen at a magic show once. Only I wasn’t the Great Whamboozler … I was their creator, the person who’d given them life.

  It was impossible to do anything other than gawk at her, my hand lifting hesitantly to brush the corner of her wing. It didn’t feel anything like I’d imagined it would; it felt like a cross between satin and paper.

  Pushing Foster’s hand away, I murmured, “Nimble?”

  The fairy grinned, her teeth as purple as her body.

  Foster’s horrified gaze found the side of my face. “You know these,” he glanced at the fairy, “these things?”

  It wasn’t possible.

  Pushing myself off of the ground, my eyes roamed the scene—the gold spectacled princess, her freckle-nosed father, her absentminded mother, the green pockmarked troll, and Nimble. We were in a grassy field full of neon orange and yellow wildflowers. A castle with misshapen towers and emerald ivy climbing up the slate walls sat in the distance, a pink flag flying from a turret.

  It wasn’t possible.

  My hand found my chest, my palm feeling the slow, steady beat of my heart.

  “I drew them,” I whispered.

  It felt strange to say it out loud. I’d drawn them. I’d sketched them into a book, and now they were alive.

  For a long time there was silence, marred only by silly grins and heavy breathing. The breathing was Foster.

  He stood up slowly, his height overwhelming me. He made this world, my world, feel smaller. “You drew them?” he asked. His hand went to his auburn hair, his fingers digging into the strands. There were specks of mud across his cheeks, fanned out like earthy freckles against tanned skin.

  My gaze skirted his face. “Remember the sketchbook I used to carry everywhere?” I cleared my throat and swallowed hard. “This is what was inside. This world. These people.”

  Disbelief warred with logic in his gaze. “This?” He gestured at the sunny skies and rose-shaped clouds. “Do you hear yourself? We were drowning, Perri! Drowning! And I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save myself. The TrailBlazer pulled you under, and I got dragged by the current. We’re supposed to be dead. Dead!” He squinted at the rose-shaped clouds. “Screw that, I am dead. This isn’t real.”

  It was Princess Elspeth that broke the tension, her index finger pushing up her glasses. “You were never going to die. We brought you here. More specifically, we brought her.”

  Foster stared at Elspeth, his gaze raking her figure. She was, in all honesty, a pretty young woman. Elspeth squirmed.

  Foster laughed. “Brought her here?” He pointed at me, silence stretching once more as he glanced between us. “Oh, that makes it better.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. He snorted. “Well, that’s great then. You can send me back home. My sister is stuck on the side of an embankment, alone and defenseless.”

  The princess shook her head. “It’s not that easy. We exhausted all of our powers to get Perri here. You were unexpected, but not entirely unwanted. Your sister is fine.” She pushed her glasses up again. “The storm ended soon after you disappeared, and she was rescued by men in big red contraptions who tried to pull her conveyance from the water.”

  “Contraptions?” Foster repeated.

  “Fire trucks,” I mumbled.

  He shook his head. “Conveyance?”

  I glanced at him. “It means transportation.”

  He glared. “I’m not an idiot!”

  “Then quit repeating everything,” I bit back.

  He advanced, his eyes stormy. “I am stuck inside of a picture you drew! Excuse my bewilderment.” He glanced at the castle, the people, and the creatures in front of us, his gaze resting finally on the clouds. I was beginning to regret making them into roses. “What’s wrong with you, Perri? Do you ever do anything normal?”

  It was a slap in the face. It was like standing face to face with my father, his breath hot on my cheeks. “Damn it, Perri! Can you do nothing right?”

  My jaw clenched. I avoided looking at him, my gaze going to the characters in front of me. They looked just as real as Foster and me. I wanted to touch them, to run my fingers down their skin to see if I’d find paint on my fingertips when I pulled them away. This was unbelieavable.

  “How?” I asked. “Why?”

  Princess Elspeth’s gaze went to the sky, her shoulders going back. “Not here,” she said. “It’s not safe here.”

  My lips parted. “Everything is safe in Awkward.”

  Elspeth’s eyes were sad when she looked at me. “Not anymore.”

  The group turned, their wings and legs carrying them toward the castle. We had no choice but to follow.

  Foster took me by the arm. “Awkward?” he asked quietly.

  I didn’t dare look up at him.

  Chapter 4

  “That awkward moment when a grown man is suddenly a part of your childhood fairytale.”