The Fairy That Delivers Them Days
Somewhere once, in a city that forgot to stay clean...
There lived a fairy that delivered them days of the week. How she did this or why is irrelevant, the logistics are not important. What is important is that she did in fact exist...or that she didn't. Nobody knows for sure, but people who live in this city are fairly certain. Certain that she did or that she didn't, it really depends on who you talk to.
Its just one of those stories, the kind that mothers tell their children, and husbands tell their wives. It’s the kind of story that one lover tells another, or that older brothers or sisters tell their youngers and lessers.
Why does anyone tell anyone-else a story like this? Like the story about the Gobller In The Walls that hides under your bed. Or the six forks and seven knives that decided to trade places. Or theres the one about that old painting they found under city hall. People here tell each other stories and it doesn't really matter if its not true or that it is, or that it might be. So the same goes for the story about the fairy that delivers to you them days.
First of all they say she was born normal, though she certainly is not mundane, not any more that is. She’s a supernatural constant, an unreconcilable force, a manifestation that endeavors throughout time. She, and others like her, they exist as a part of a spectrum behind the scenes, both beautiful and convoluted. Things like her bring order, bring chaos, bring luck and misfortune.
The story always starts out the same. Were it be told at school, at the pub, at the market, or on the train.
“You know how when you wake up fresh at the beginning of the week?” Some stranger will ask.
“Like you got your whole life ahead of you.” Says a relative, a close friend, an acquaintance’s favorite acquaintance you’ve just met.
“It was...it was just like...like everything fit, you know?” Thats how people start to talk about her, and the one who's getting told is sucked into the most disputed tale the city has to offer. It’s practically a pastime.
“Well thats her”, she tells you, whispering in your ear with sweet scented lips as she doodles on a napkin.
“She’s been there!” He raises his fists towards the skyline and cheers.
“Thats your days, they’ve been delivered...your welcome!” He pours another cup of coffee, black like oil and a stench like it was brewed in the toliet...the eighth cup.
The people who believe in her, and some that don't, have an inscrutable sense of order vs disorder. It’s a conflict that most define their lives upon in this city. The past lost to forgetfulness, the present wasted in idle procrastination, the future looming uncertain. The quest to make sense and the profundity of achieving a state of stability in an otherwise chaotic and violent existence.
Thats life here by my measure.
If the city that forgot to stay clean was located next to an ocean, then the people who lived there might have used an analogy of a ship at sea during a turbulent storm. But they don't, so we settle this our own way. With a tiny woman about the size of a pineapple, who has the ability to fly (slowly) through the air, carrying a large flower-print bowling bag. Her magical luggage filled with important dates and reminders. Birthdays, romances, anniversaries, scheduled events that people don't like to forget. And when you do forget them, thats how you know that your days haven't been properly delivered...or even at all for that matter.
“Have you ever been certain its one day, but it feels like another?” That is how some people prefer to explain it. “You know its only Tuesday but it feels like Monday or you could have sworn that your Thursday feels like a Saturday?”
“Well that means your days have been delivered out of order!” Explains the bank teller while counting your cash. “See, thats much better!”
“You didn't get your days right, didya?” The bust driver asks when passengers miss their stops.
She certainly isn't perfect, nor is she fair, I mean nothing in this place really is. She might be a minuscule woman who can fly, who wears a crown made of paper and wears a cloak the color of dusk, but that doesn't make her exempt from mistake making.
You know what the next question coming is...
“You ever see her?”
“Have you ever caught you know whom?”
“Didya ever get your extra day??”
"a tiny woman about the size of a pineapple, who has the ability to fly (slowly) through the air, carrying a large flower-print bowling bag."
For the most part, only recovering alcoholics and drug addicts have ever claimed to have seen her. It’s practically considered a religious experience, like a heavy handed cliche. Or like an omen, that ones life has become such a mess that things need to be brought back under control. Or that the individual in question needs to find themselves and reestablish some order and stability.
The idea is, that if you ever catch her in the act of delivering your days, there is a chance shell give you a free extra one. But its only if she delivers your days wrong. Maybe they're out of order or maybe they're late or whatever. If thats the case, and you catch her, then you can ask for an extra day. This could be an extra day of your life, an extra day to replace one you didn't like, or if she really messed up, you can get one extra day of the week, a special 8th day with a full twenty six hours!
Has anyone ever gotten the extra day? Nobody could claim such a thing in a court of law. Nobody would believe you if you started spreading it around, but nobody would be able to prove otherwise either. In fact, when some people seem to be leading a streak of strong organization, its often viewed as a gift of good fortune. Some people have those days where everything just works out as well as it could.
“Whats up with you, did you get an extra day or something?” People will often ask things like that when things like that seem to happen.
How would you catch her? Some try to stay up for the delivery, as a popular new trend in the story tells that she delivers when you are asleep. Some say it has to be an accident, that she makes her deliveries when the subject isn't paying attention. Sure it would be much easier to do it while people slept. But come on now, she's anything but perfect, does anyone honestly think she can catch a city’s worth of people while they slumber?
“If she could get caught mid-delivery what would that be like?” I ask you. “Maybe your en route to the toliet and all of the sudden theres a lil woman hastily stuffing something under your pillow?” I don’t have to convince anyone of something I know true to my heart.