I
woke up as a fairy in the empty restaurant next to the woods. I suppose I always knew when I wanted to live
in the doll house in the attic that my hopes and dreams beat inside of a tiny heart. But not until I opened my eyes
and found myself crouching in the furthest corner of the kitchen pantry did I
know for certain.
I had been gone for a year—where, I couldn't say. But I did know I’d been
very ill, and that during this illness some industrious housekeeper within had
thrown huge dust covers over much of my memory.
I wasn't sure I minded. Something
about the twilight endlessly falling over the woods told me that the last good
day had been long ago.
The restaurant, however, I
remembered. Quietly elegant, its white
tablecloths, spotless place settings, and crystal water glasses spoke of
another time. Windows ran the length of
the entire outside wall: restless trees
and half-lit sky filled the view as far as the eye could see. In the cramped kitchen, steel grey units and
panelled cabinets housed the pots, pans, and other cooking items. And then there was the pantry, nearly empty,
where I now found myself. I had never
seen anyone cooking in that kitchen.
Save one, I had never seen another soul in the restaurant at all.
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