AMMC Submission
Fantasy
Leslie Fulton
eBook: Yes
Dedication – To Nigel and Alex, xoxo
Hollywood
North
By Leslie Fulton
It was late by the time Maerwen left the factory.
She was tired and hungry. It was cold and snowing. She longed for some soup, a
bath and her bed in that order. The last month had been brutal. Work was
ramping up and she was tired of the frenzied bonhomie that was a hallmark of
the season. Behind the smiles was a grim determination to get everything done
on time. Her boss, a fat man partial to wearing red, was the worst of all. He
micromanaged his overworked staff and everybody was feeling the heat.
Maerwen sighed. Her feet ached in her sturdy green
leather boots with the turned-up toes. Even the little bells, hung by silver
threads around her waist, gave a mournful clink as she walked. They sounded as
tired as she felt.
It never used to be this way. Maerwen remembered a
time when the Human Christmas was a lot of fun. When she first started working at
the factory the toys were easy to make—dolls with lustrous hair, trains with
blinking lights, and building blocks that transformed into castles with just a
little imagination. Now it was electronic games, day in, day out. Maerwen’s
eyes ached putting the pieces together and she had never been good at coding.
As she neared the pub across from her apartment, she
decided to stop in for a quick drink. A few laughs wouldn’t hurt either—she
couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled spontaneously. All this faux
Christmas spirit while punching the clock seven days a week was getting her
down.
“Maerwen!” Her friend Santiel waved her over. She
was in high spirits, most likely due to the pitcher of mead on the table in
front of her.
Maerwen smiled and motioned to the bar. She didn’t
feel like mead tonight. Something stronger was in order, perhaps Saerloonian
Glowfire, a pale wine that tasted like ripe pears, or Berdruskan Dark, a potent
black wine high in alcohol.
Beriadan was working the bar. Maerwen was glad to
see him. Not only did he serve a generous pour, he was a sight for sore eyes.
He looked like Orlando Bloom, the Elf who had made it big in the Humans’
Hollywood. Maerwen was an avid fan of the Hollywood Elves. Cate, Liv, Hugo and
Orlando were her particular favourites. She found it funny that Humans thought
they were one of them when everybody in Faerie knew differently. The only thing
she resented was that so many Elves had fled the factory to seek their fortune
in Hollywood there weren’t enough workers to fill the Christmas shifts.
“What will it be, sweetheart?” Beriadan was a big
flirt. It was just what Maerwen needed.
“What’s strong and sweet today?” she asked. “I need
a real kick.”
“Job getting you down?” Beriadan poured her a big
glug of Talkana, a potent purple wine made from Ram Berries. Maerwen nodded her
thanks as she downed it in one gulp. He poured her another.
“Maybe I’m just getting too old for this gig,” said
Maerwen. “I’m definitely losing the Christmas spirit.”
“Ho. Ho. Ho,” said Beriadan flatly. “I hear the old
man is pushing you hard this year.”
“Tell me about it.” She took another sip of her
drink, enjoying the slight burn of the Ram Berries. “We’re understaffed and
overworked, that’s for sure. It seems every Elf fair of face has hiked it south
to California. Add in a little bedazzlement and the Humans fall for it every
time. Turn around and there’s an Elf in another movie.”
Beriadan grinned at her. “Well, you’re a lovely
lady. What are you still doing here?” He turned and looked at himself in the
bar’s big mirror. “Come to think of it, what am I doing here?” He turned around
slowly. “Maerwen ….” he said.
She put up a hand to stop him. “Don’t even think
about it.”
“Why not?” Beriadan was excited. He ran a hand
through his mop of silvery blonde hair. “We’re both young, good looking and are
ace at shooting arrows. The Humans love Elves. They’ll love US.”
“But who will make the toys?” Maerwen thought of all
the disappointed Human children opening their stockings on Christmas morning to
find nothing but air. No Nintendo, no computer games, no iPhones, nothing. She
could hear their howls of indignation. She could feel salty tears of rage coursing
down millions of red, contorted faces.
She shrugged. On second thought it didn’t seem like
a bad idea at all. Beriadan, reading her face, could see her hesitation.
“Think of the fame, the money, the cars,” he
wheedled. “We could be living the good life. We could be partying with Orlando.
I betcha he knows how to throw a good one.”
Then Maerwen remembered the letter. She had been in
charge of opening the Big Guy’s fan mail and amid the pleas for faster phones
and violent computer games, one handwritten note stood out.
I
really don’t need anything. I just want to say thank you. I’m sure you work
very hard up there and I’ve always appreciated it.
She downed her drink and pushed back her chair.
“Nah,” she said. “It’s not for me. Thanks for the
drink but I’ve got to get back to work.”
