pixiebelle

“I don’t wanna do this.” I repeat this phrase to myself over and over again, as the warm water from the show cascades over my body. 

I stare blankly at the wall and wish I could just go back to bed. It’s too early for this. I’m already not a morning person, but these treatments make me even less eager to get out of bed. 

Eventually I pull myself from the warm shower and crawl back into bed for some temporary comfort, wrapping myself in my blankets but careful not to lay back down or close my eyes. I scroll through Facebook while I warm up enough to get out of bed for the second time. I eat a quick breakfast, usually just an apple, before throwing on some leggings and a long t-shirt. I almost forget to grab a scarf or hat to cover my nearly hairless head, but a quick glimpse in the mirror reminds me. I don’t want people knowing I’m sick. I just want to blend in with everyone else. 

I just want to feel normal. 

When I was diagnosed with cancer, I told myself that I wouldn’t become one of those people who only talked about my illness. In fact, I told people I didn’t want to talk about it at all. My life isn’t just cancer, and I want it to be a blip - some minor annoyance that happened in the background of my life - not something that would define me. 

pixiebelle

The dragon’s scales glimmered, reflecting the sunlight in a rainbow of colors. His chest no longer rose and fell with each fiery breath. Dark, red blood pooled around his body, forming a stream that would soon be miles long. 

The four heroes, bloodied and exhausted, stared down at the magnificent beast’s corpse. Relief washed over them. 

Their quest was now complete. The dragon was dead. 

The End.

.

.

.

The end? What do you mean “the end”? We still have a long way to go. Sure, the dragon is slain and will no longer torment the local villages, but we’re thousands of miles away from home. That long, perilous voyage to get here? We have to travel it all over again. That bridge that collapsed, you know the one where we lost our wizard, is still out. We have to figure out a way to cross it again, and this time, we are injured and battle-weary. 

Speaking of injuries… Frido might lose a leg from when the dragon flung him around like a ragdoll. That is, if the blood loss doesn’t take him first. You think these wounds magically heal themselves once the climax is over? 

And just because the dragon is dead doesn’t mean other monsters don’t lurk in these forests. The smell of fresh blood and the scorched earth and trees have likely alerted all of them to our location. We’re sitting targets here, as our healer does what she can to repair our broken bones and torn flesh. Do you think monsters care that we are heroes? No, to them, we all taste the same.

pixiebelle

CW: Fertility and cancer. 

When I was younger, I made the mistake of having the same therapist as my partner. 

As I sat in her office, a pillow in my lap and tears in my eyes, I confessed to her that I was thinking of leaving my boyfriend. 

“Why? Aren’t things going well for the two of you?” 

“Well yes,” I said. “Very well. I have never been so happy.” 

“Then why are you thinking of ending things?” 

I struggled to say the words, because I knew what she was going to say. 

She was going to agree with me, I just knew it. Anyone with half a brain would agree that I needed to end things sooner rather than later. 

“I want to have children,” I blurted out. 

pixiebelle

It's ironic that the topic this week is "The Way Back" since all my energy has been on trying to find a way back to the US to fix all of my problems. It's all I can think about — how am I going to get rid of my apartment? Will my landlord find out I'm not there? Knowing him, will it mean trouble and more calls where he brings me to tears? What about my cats? My niece is expecting to move in June, but what am I going to do about my cats. I miss them, but if I go back now, I may not be able to return to my husband for a year...maybe more. This pandemic has uprooted my life, and I can't find my footing — as I'm sure many of you understand. 

I fought my way back into Idol, and I never thought of myself as a quitter. I hated dropping out in December, and I told myself it wouldn't happen again, but as the deadline approaches, I just can't motivate myself to write. Life has been too much for me this last week or so, and I'm feeling depressed. Too depressed to give it my all this week, and I'm sorry. I feel like my heart just isn't in it — and I feel terrible for taking a place from someone who can give Idol their all. I haven't felt much like reading or socializing, and to me, that's what Idol is about. I haven't been responding to comments or even commenting on other entries, and then I just end up feeling bad. 

pixiebelle

"I'm sorry." 

My husband looked over at me from his seat in the back of the ambulance. 

"Why are you sorry?" he asked me. 

"Because I know this will be a waste of time. It's probably nothing." 

"Well, that would be good news, wouldn't it? We want it to be nothing." 

"I suppose so."

 Back in the United States, I would never dream of going to the emergency room because I'm uninsured, and it would financially destroy me. 

Even though I know it's different here, I still fall into the same mindset.  What if I'm just being a hypochondriac? Yes, I had two different doctors tell me to go to the emergency room, that this was serious. But usually, I ignore that advice, and so far, I've turned out fine. 

But what if this time, they're right?

What if I wouldn't be fine? 

When we got to the hospital, the French receptionist seemed to be angry. She was yelling and throwing her hands around, but I couldn't make out a word she said. In my mind, I knew what she was upset about though — it's because I'm American and I don't have access to the French healthcare system yet. I felt terrible as I sat there, not knowing what she was going on and on about, but assuming it was about me and my lack of health insurance here in France. 

And I sat there feeling like I had done something wrong. Because in my country, healthcare isn't a right — it's a privilege I don't have. 

pixiebelle

CW: mention of rape, miscarriage, abuse 

pixiebelle

Singing was my life. People used to say I had the voice of an angel, that I would go far with a voice like mine. My entire life revolved around music. I went to a special high school for the arts, while most of my friends went off to magic schools. I worked my vocal cords while others learned charms or potions. Magic was in my blood, but music was in my heart. 

My parents hadn’t been happy with my desire to pursue music instead of magic, and as my sixteenth birthday approached, all they could talk about was my future powers.  My friends, one-by-one, grew into their special powers and it was all they could talk about. Fiona was a healer, which delighted her since she was always interested in helping others. Gia could talk to the dead, which suited her for a life in criminal justice. She would one day go into practice interviewing the dead in order to find out who murdered them. Soon, it would be my turn, and I would have my entire future laid out for me. 

But all I wanted to do was sing. I couldn’t care less if I could shapeshift like my father or if I had a green thumb like my mother. None of that mattered to me. I would rather stand in front of a crowd and watch them smile from the power of my natural voice - no magic required. 

pixiebelle

The demon sat at the bar, her long, black-stocking clad legs crossed seductively. Her pursed lips painted red and inviting. She flipped her raven hair over her shoulder with a flick of her wrist, turning her dark eyes on a group of poor, unsuspecting men over by the broken jukebox. 

That was until I took a seat next to her. 

Her eyes darted over to me, and one thin, perfectly arched eyebrow raised upward. 

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you too good for a place like this?” 

I waved the bartender down. “Martini please.” 

“You don’t drink?” she asked me again. 

“Well, things have changed, Luna,” I muttered. “A lot has changed actually.” 

She gave me a once over, her black eyes widening as the realization hit her. 

“Celeste, you haven’t been-- have you?”  Her lips pulled back into a smirk. 

“I have been cast down from heaven, yes,” I said. “Well, at least temporarily. I’m going to find my way back up there, just wait and see.” 

Luna cackled and people around us froze and stared. She had that sort of power over mortals - she could pierce their hearts with fear or bring them to their knees with just a sound. It all depended on what her intentions were. The bar became eerily quiet as everyone waited for their instructions from Luna. Even the bartender froze in front of me, as if unsure what to do with the bottle of gin in front of him. 

Luna waved her hand. “Oh come on, pour the poor lady a drink already. She’s had a very rough day.” 

pixiebelle

I think my husband has taken for granted that I don't speak French fluently. Yes, I took four years in high school, and I keep studying. I can read a good bit of French, but speaking and listening are a lot harder for me, mostly because I've been taught with an American accent. Pronunciation is hard, and I'm still getting used to their accents.

My husband's parents don't speak English at all, so when we visit them, they mostly speak French.  I remember being so proud of myself when we first met — I understood a phrase his mother had said. 

She had said, "Il aime le chat." Which means, "He loves the cat." 

Yeah, yeah, anyone who uses Duolingo for even an hour can understand that. But it was still the first phrase I ever understood outside of the traditional greetings, so it meant a lot to me. And until recently, it was the only phrase I ever picked up on from their conversations. 

pixiebelle

My fiancé doesn’t fit the French stereotype. In fact, until I started coming around, he never bought baguettes. Like, how is that possible? You have some of the best bread in the world at your disposal - there are literally boulangeries every few steps. They’re like Starbucks for bread. And you never have one at home? How is this even possible? Are you even French if you don't have a baguette with every meal? 

People even break their own rules when it comes to bread. For instance, it's frowned upon to eat on the run. They think meals should be eaten while sitting at a table, enjoying the food. Except when it comes to their precious baguettes.  People break off bits of the baguette, munching as they walk home from work. People give kids hunks of the hard, French bread as they run around the park. No butter needed. Just a chunk of bread. 

But not my fiancé. 

Not until I came around, that is. Because apparently, in some ways, I'm more Frenchified than he is. 

It started with me venturing to the stores on my own, just an excuse to get out and about. I'd pick up a baguette to go with our dinner since it felt like the French thing to do. I'm really struggling with finding meals for me to eat there. A lot of the brands I'm familiar with back in the United States don't exist there, and it's been a frustrating process for me. I'm used to eating certain things, almost always the same types of things, every day. And now I need to find new things to eat.