The Sprite of Shindiggery

A haze took me, I felt like I were floating, coasting through the room unhindered by any barrier. The walls blurred and the floor fell away and muddled voices came to, buried and slurred, unintelligible against the humming in my skull. I blinked once and suddenly, like a bird, I looked down at the world, I saw vehicles and people, town square and the surrounding traffic; stands being risen, banners being hung, grills billowing smoke, and streets being roped off for the parade yet to come.

The energy was palpable, I could feel the excitement take me, and I lowered myself into the crowds and joined them on the street. I hovered over shoulders admiring the work of others. I shared in their laughs and bathed in the joy, their readiness to dance and to celebrate and to lose themselves in food and drink. Festivity took me and I gave myself willingly following the music and the odors from one corner to another.

A familiar voice reached me, “that’s enough. Come back,” it beckoned and I turned away defiantly. Why must I go back, I was happy here where I could sing and dance and was free of fear. I was weightless and joyful and finally somewhere pain couldn’t reach.

“You must or you will wither and this disembodied illusion will become real.” But this was what I wanted. “And when the celebration ends, when these people leave this place and take with them their laughter and gaiety?” Then I would wander this place and embody their joy until they returned to maffick once more.


Daily Prompt: Illusion

Word of the Day: maffick


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