Bite the Dust

In today's story, Bite the Dust, fairy life is shaped by prophecy

Today's prompt is an idiom that means to die or come to an end. It takes on a very different meaning in this story of life in the fairy world. 

If you enjoy today's story, please share it with your friends and leave a review for Freely Written. You can also send me a prompt suggestion, and I'll be sure to credit you in the episode. Thank you!

More about Susan Quilty

Susan Quilty mainly writes novels, including two standalone novels and her current YA series: The Psychic Traveler Society.  Susan's short stories for Freely Written are created during quick writing breaks and shared as a way to practice her narration skills before she dives into recording audio versions of her novels.

Website:  SusanQuilty.com
Facebook: Freely Written
The Freely Written Book: Freely Written Vol. 1
Freely Written merch: Bitter Lily Books Shop

Transcript

Below is the transcript for Season 1, Episode 146 of Freely Written, a podcast by author Susan Quilty:

Welcome to Freely Written, where a simple prompt leads to a little unplanned fiction. 

[Light piano music]

Hi, friends! I’m Susan Quilty, and today’s prompt is Bite the Dust.

Today’s prompt is another idiom. When I teach English to adult learners, it’s always fun to offer a lesson on idioms. When you’ve grown up with them, these figurative phrases can seem perfectly reasonable. Yet they can sound awfully strange to those who are hearing them for the first time!   

The idiom in today’s prompt, Bite the Dust, means to die or come to an end. I’m not sure of the origin, but I always think of someone in an Old West shoot-out dropping to a dusty road. Of course, it’s used for more than people. If I drop my phone down a flight of stairs, it would likely bite the dust. 

As always, I tried to avoid literal thinking with today’s story. I used my typical Freely Written approach: using a prompt to write whatever might come to mind, with no planning and very little editing, before recording and sharing the story with you. 

Here’s how that went today:

Bite the Dust

Jeanette was a clumsy fairy. She didn’t mean to be clumsy, but somehow, she always found a way to spill her honeysuckle, slide off a mushroom, or get tangled in the blackberry brambles. Her family and friends didn’t mind Jeanette’s silly little mishaps. They knew she meant well and was always a dear about cleaning up after any spills she might make. If anything, they enjoyed Jeanette’s clumsy ways. They enjoyed teasing her and laughing when she inevitably dropped, bumped, or stumbled her way through a gathering. 

Jeanette did not enjoy being clumsy. She put on a smile when others laughed, but she wasn’t smiling inside. It didn’t feel good to make so many little mistakes, even if she was good at the more important parts of her life. And everyone agreed that she was very good at her job.

In some ways, the pride Jeanette felt in decoding prophecies outweighed the embarrassment of having butterfingers and two left feet. Still, she would prefer to possess the gentle grace of the other fairies. They all seemed to glide through life so effortlessly. 

Occasional mishaps did befall the other fairies, of course. They might drop a sack of fairy dust or trip over a hidden root in their path, but those missteps were also a chance to tease Jeanette. With every little fumble or flub, the fairies would laugh and invoke Jeanette’s name. 

Way to pull a Jeanette! Nice going, Jeanette! Oh, hey, Paula, I thought you were Jeanette!

Jeanette did not like that kind of play. She wasn’t the only one singled out for a trait. Steven was teased about his frequent snacking, always nibbling on a berry or a flower petal. Leslie was the fashionista of their tizzy, wrapping and draping her dress in complicated styles. Marcus was the funny fairy, making the others laugh with jokes instead of stumbles. And Gwen… Gwen was known as the prettiest of them all. 

Why couldn’t I be the pretty one? Jeanette would often wonder while flying through the forest. It was an ironic thought as Jeanette was quite pretty herself, but that was lost on Jeanette, who only saw herself as the clumsy one. 

Yet those thoughts fell aside when Jeanette settled down with a scroll and quill. 

There were many seers among their fairy tizzy, which led to many prophecies recorded in moments of ardent yet cryptic insight. The seers themselves could rarely offer a clear meaning for their inspired words. They all said the same thing: the words had come to them in a flash, insistent phrases fully formed, and that was all they knew. 

It was the work of decoders like Jeanette that gave the prophecies practical meaning. Often, a decoded prophecy would lead to a quest. Something to be passed on to the humans who looked to the fairies for wisdom. Sometimes, a prophecy was a warning. Perhaps a means to keep them safe from the humans who wanted to capture and enslave them. 

Occasionally, a prophecy would be a reward from the ancestors. A bit of knowledge their tizzy had earned through good works and societal growth. These rewards were precious as they came from the collective wisdom of ancestors who had watched their progeny progress through centuries of evolution. 

When a reward was decoded, the whole tizzy gathered to gain from the new perspective. This was often a challenging process, shifting societal norms into a new light. 

The most recent reward, gained nearly four years ago, had been a prophecy about the use of needles from the hemlock tree. For as long as anyone could remember, hemlock tea had been served on rainy days. It was thought to chase the chill and allow for a drowsy sleep until the skies cleared. Yet, the prophecy warned that hemlock tea caused more ill than good. 

This new knowledge was greeted with skepticism, especially by those who adored their rainy-day rest. Still, the prophecies were greatly revered, and the tradition of hemlock tea was stopped. Within weeks, the fairies began to notice a lightness in their limbs that they typically only felt during the dry, airy days of deep summer. It was soon understood that the hemlock tea had been causing a mild fatigue that lingered heavily in their lithe bodies. 

In light of their discovery, the fairies began to see the connection between the hemlock tea and the symptoms they had all assumed were simply part of life. They shook their delicate heads at the folly of their discarded tradition and thanked the ancestors for greater understanding. 

Jeanette had decoded several prophecies regarding quests—some of which had been given and others that were waiting for a more auspicious time. She had also decoded a few warnings, including one that had saved their tizzy from a human war rampaging through a swath of the forest. 

While she felt quite adept at decoding, her heart quickened when her quill scratched out a possible interpretation for a short prophecy that had been vexing her for weeks. 

The original words were written at the top of the page:

One by one, alike in turn 

Apples shared are sweet to all

Named to one is oft to spurn

Bite the dust, the veil will fall

For some time, Jeanette had been pondering the symbolism of the apples. Were they a prize to be found on a quest? Or was this message a warning? The prophecy had a sense of impending danger or a prodding to change… Change. 

The idea of change had excited Jeanette’s imagination. Change could come from wisdom, like the wisdom offered by the ancestors. The thought struck Jeanette with an urgent certainty. 

She reread the words, wondering again and again what the apples might mean. She closed her eyes, hoping for an idea… and that was it! An idea. 

If the apples were an idea, an idea shared among the tizzy, it was an idea that needed to change with new wisdom. But what idea was sweeter when shared among all? What idea, when “named to one,” could cause a fairy to be spurned?

Clumsy, Jeanette thought in a flash of insight. Insatiable, fashionable, funny, pretty. If the apples were traits, they were sweet when seen and appreciated in each other, but could cause criticism and distress when divided and assigned to one particular fairy. 

In her excitement, Jeanette ran to call a special meeting of the tizzy without completing the translation. She rattled off what she’d discovered to the assembled fairies, only to be greeted by stony skepticism. 

“I know it’s true,” Jeanette pleaded from her perch on a fallen log. “I feel it just as I’ve felt the certainty of my past translations.”

“But what of the last line?” one of the elders asked gently. “Bite the dust, the veil will fall? What is the dust? And how can one bite dust?” 

Jeanette’s face flushed as the others murmured agreement. She had been clumsy in her haste, bringing one of her typical missteps into her work. Her feeling of elation crumbled to dust, only to be replaced by a thrill of understanding. 

“Steven!” she called quickly. “How does it feel when you eat a fresh blueberry?”

Steven smiled weakly as eyes turned his way. “It feels good, I guess? Tasty.” Those around him laughed lightly, some rolling their eyes or shaking their heads. Typical Steven. 

Jeanette saw Steven’s face flush and asked, “How does it feel when you are teased about eating a berry? When something about you is mocked, but not mocked in others?” 

“It feels bad,” Steven admitted uneasily, though there was a light gradually filling his eyes. “Like the sweetness of the berry turns to dust.” 

“Yes,” Jeanette agreed before turning to others. “Leslie, how does it feel when you’re called out for spending time on your dress and hair? Marcus, do you always want to be ready with a joke? Gwen… Oh, well, I guess there’s nothing wrong with being pretty…”

Most of the fairies laughed, though some were tilting their heads in concentrated thought. 

“I don’t want to be the pretty one,” Gwen suddenly announced with tears in her eyes. “I mean, I like to be pretty, the way anyone likes to be pretty, but I don’t think I’m prettier than anyone else, and when everyone calls me pretty, they don’t see anything else about me. They don’t see that I’m smart and funny, or that sometimes I’m clumsy.” 

Her eyes met Jeanette’s surprised gaze, and a light of understanding dawned on them both. All around them, they could sense smiles fading and heads bowing. The fairies had bit the dust of their misguided way of labeling each other. The veil had fallen. 

“You are more than pretty,” Jeanette told Gwen, as the crowd listened and learned. “I saw you trip near the stream last week, falling to one knee in the mud. I saw you help Sarah braid her hair. You told a joke that made me laugh the day I spilled an entire bag of fairy dust. You are pretty, clumsy, kind, funny, and so much more.”

Gwen crossed the gathering to join Jeanette on the log, taking her hands to say, “I see how you decode prophecies. I see how you help us all. You are smart, caring, and very pretty, too.” 

Across the glen, fairies turned to each other, recognizing the myriad traits they saw in each other. The complex personalities that were more than one given label.

The veil had fallen with a bite of dust, leading to the sweetness of better understanding. 

The End 

Thanks for listening. I hope you enjoyed that story. The message went a bit deeper than I had expected, though I’m happy with the direction and where it landed. We all could use a little more understanding, dropping the labels and seeing how much we have in common. 

If you enjoyed this story, please share it with your friends. I would also love for you to check out my novels and other projects. You can learn more about my books on my website, SusanQuilty.com, or search for “Susan Quilty” wherever you buy books. There’s also a link in the show notes. I truly appreciate your support. 

Until next time, try a little free writing of your own. Let go of any planning and see where your imagination takes you. 

[Light piano music]