Whimsical Fantasy Archives - Lyonesse

Category Archives for "Whimsical Fantasy"


Takeover At The Toymart

Sgt. Paul Curran got the phone call about the hostage situation. “Milford Police Department. Sgt. Curran,” he said. “This is a recorded line.”

“Recorded?” the childlike voice responded. “Oh, I. . . I didn’t know that.” He spoke to someone with him. “I’m being recorded,” he said, impressed. “Pretty neat, huh?”

“This is Sgt. Curran. May I help you?”

“I’m calling to. . . to let you know that my friends and I have taken over the Toymart at the mall,” the caller said. “We have hostages, but we don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Good. We don’t want you to hurt anyone either,” Curran told him. “What’s your name?”

“My. . . name?”

“Yes. I’d like to know what to call you.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Uhm. . . hold on a minute.” He put a hand over the phone’s mouthpiece and talked to his companion. “He wants to know my name.”

“So tell him,” a deeper, authoritative voice responded.

“But I don’t know what it is,” the caller said. “Do you?”

“How should I know?” The deep-voiced kidnapper was flabbergasted. “You really don’t know your name?”

“Uh uh.”

“Weren’t you ever curious?”

“Not really. It never came up in conversation with my shelfmates.”

“Look at your tag.”

“Oh yeah!”

“Hello?” Curran said, confused.

“Can you read it?”

“Just barely,” the caller replied, straining. “They put it by my bum for some reason. Why would they do that, Boscoe?”

“Forget about where it is,” Boscoe replied. “What does it say?”

“R-e-x,” he answered, struggling to read the tag. “Rex.”

“Then that’s your name. Tell the officer.”

“Rex? I don’t feel like a Rex. Do I look like a Rex?”

“You’re tying up the line.”

“Sorry for the delay,” he said into the phone’s mouthpiece. “My name is Rex.”

“Rex?” Curran asked.

“That’s what it says on my tag.”

“Your. . . tag?”

“I’m also 60% rayon, if that’s important.”

“Rex,” the sergeant asked, “who are you?”

“I told you: My name is Rex,” he said. “I’m a teddy bear.”

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Kingdoms of Magic

The Prince stared up the tower at her. He held his Stetson firmly to keep it on his head. The wind billowed out his red cloak, exposing his leather armor. Although clearly it had once been expensive, battle and the elements had taken their toll. The bright yellow utility belt that carried his weapons and tools featured a distinct black bat insignia at its buckle.

“All right, Blondie. Toss it down and I’ll be right up.”

The Prince let out a muffled oomph as four pounds of fine, blonde hair hit him in the face. He pushed it out of the way, grabbed two giant handfuls, and began his ascent. A few feet up his grip slipped and he fell back to the ground, landing on his rump.

“Hurry! I’m going to die from long hair!” the Princess yelled down at him.

“Would it kill you to use a little less conditioner?” he mumbled back up at her. He removed his gloves before his second attempt and found his bare hands gave him a much better grip. This time he scaled the eighty foot tower with ease, in true hero fashion, quickly arriving at the window. He tumbled inside and paused for a look.

He noted that the Princess had tied her hair off to a post in the small chamber rather than carrying all of his weight on her neck. Sensibility. Most princesses lacked it, which made him appreciate it all the more in his sister. She’d even tied it well.

“Nice knot –” he began. The frying pan racing toward his face interrupted him.

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Cookie Crumbs

“Greta!” Jon called out. It was getting dark. Dad was going to be pissed.

“Greta!” he called again. He pulled out his flashlight but didn’t turn it on yet. It was still light enough for him to avoid the low-hanging branches, but once the sun set he wasn’t sure how much moonlight there would be.

“Greta!” His voice cracked this time. At least no one was around to hear, except maybe Greta. Would she even answer him? Maybe she’d fallen asleep again. Then he’d never find her before nightfall. He wondered how the townsfolk would feel about mounting another search party. Greta wasn’t the only child to get lost in the woods, but she was the only one to make a habit of it.

Jon sighed and ducked to avoid a low-hanging oak branch, then tripped on the roots. He stopped the fall with his hands, and felt something sharp poking out of the moist dirt. Closer examination, with the flashlight on, revealed a broken piece of pottery shaped like a small foot. Faded paint gave it lifelike lines and even suggested some type of ankle bracelet. Jon shivered involuntarily. The other kids liked to talk about a witch in the woods, but Dad believed she’d died a long time ago. What if she hadn’t?

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Death and Taxes… and Fairies

Once upon a time, in a forest far away, there lived a young fairy. Having no other fairies to talk to, she spent her days wandering through the woods. She knew the paths the humans took, and was careful to avoid them. She knew where the last rays of sunlight would hit the forest floor after a long summer’s day. And she knew where to find the freshest, sweetest water that would quench any thirst. One day, after a particularly heavy rain, she checked on her favorite stream and discovered a large book floating in the now muddy waters. The young fairy spent hours cleaning leaves and mud off the book before laying it in the sun to dry. She needn’t have bothered, for the book was magical and when the pages dried, it looked as shiny and new as the day it had been made.

Excited, the fairy sat down to read her new book. To her dismay, the words were written in a language she did not understand. She turned the book upside down, sideways and even tried to read it backwards, but still she couldn’t make sense of the words. She looked at it during different times of day and under the full moon. Nothing helped.

The pictures, however, were clear. They were beautifully illustrated in vibrant colors of yellow, blue and green. They showed her the adventures of other, older fairies. Those pictures enchanted her. She had never met another fairy!And they were so elegant; their wings were large and magnificent and brightly colored in jewel tones. She especially liked a young man whose wings shimmered like amethysts. After that day, the book never left her side, and she could often be found sitting on her favorite sunflower, in a clearing near the creek, studying the ancient tome.

One day, a tax collector from the neighboring kingdom – the kingdom whose humans liked to travel noisily along that trail through the woods – followed a different path.

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