THE MAGIC HILL

There were black eyes, within them small silver opal dewdrops, a reflection of light in this beetle ebony where resided princesses and starlike stick bug creatures creeping alongside the dewdrops sucking even smaller dewdrops and feeding off them. 

There were small lips smoothly wrinkled from the sides growing pinker into the middle. One gently resting atop the other, rarely opening to sing, often closed to hum a tune written by the roli polis which tiptoed inside them, collected, to make music.

Her small feet moved through the grass pitter pattering through puddles picking out daffodils from the ground, stuck between her toes while she chased after him. His silvery purple wings escaped her hands as she grabbed ahead of herself, sometimes too far, sometimes tripping herself, tipping herself to the floor, tipping herself into the grass. One day when she fell to the ground, the grass ate her. She lay now in a new world, sucked up into the green, and spit out under a different sky. A deeper blue than the one she ran beneath before. Ameline found herself in the dewy grasses of an opal world, under a sunless sky. Looming over her were silver winged stickbug trees that swooned with the roli poli’s song running like wind through her hair, inside the valleys, and around the bridges of a castle in the distance. As this sky above grew brighter, the motion of the wind sang her to sleep. 

When she awoke, the sky was pink, growing purple, the stickbug trees were settling into place, awaiting the song of the roli polis to commence their night routine. On her pinky finger his wings bat softly, and his periwinkle eyes awaited her waking. 

“Follow me.”

***

Vigo’s wings blinked over and over, guiding Ameline through tall weeds and flowers, and over peachy orange hills of polka dots and ladybugs. She never asked where they were headed, because her mind was occupied by the natural machine that taught the bugs to feed and the flowers to open at the rising of the moon and the sleeping of the sun. She realized though eventually that her butterfly friend had disappeared. Ameline traced her steps back until she found him perched on a mailbox for a smoke break. 

“7am” he said, “the sun is coming home, it’s time to check the mail and get to sleep.”

Ameline said nothing. She curled into the base of a stick bug tree, and after Vigo put out his last cigarette, he flew off. Before the wind could sing everyone to sleep, Ameline plugged her fingers into her ears. She watched the rising of the sun, but the minute her hands fell from the sides of her head, asleep she was again.

***

The following night when she arose, Ameline was somewhere new. She found herself on a lilypad in a black pool. With her finger she swirled the mist residing atop the water into mini whirlpools. Glowing koi fish swam around her, one, much larger than the rest, came closer. It didn’t speak, but it nudged her to get onto its back. Ameline took in a deep breath and the two were submerged. They were followed by underwater mountains of glowing creatures, soft around the edges and scaled, like fish, but without tails, they swam beside her through her long black hair which drifted behind. As they went deeper, as Ameline’s lungs depleted, a bubble formed around her, and alas she could breathe. They swam deeper and deeper, past glowing villages and seaweed forests. The water grew warmer and thinner, streaks of air blew through it, doubling in size as they swam deeper, and deeper, and deeper. Soon all around them was air, thick enough you could walk on it, thin enough Ameline’s lungs knew how to digest it. A man well dressed, with a tophat awaited them in what looked and smelled like the lobby of a fancy estate. He wore a silvery purple butterfly pin. 

“Welcome miss. My colleague will bring you to your room. Breakfast will be served soon. You can find proper attire, a pipe, and a script on your tomb. Do not be late. By all means miss, do not arrive past noon.” he said.

“Sir. I do not smoke. Mother says it is bad for children.”

Tip, tap, tip, tap. He left through the tall checkered door.