GetLit is a semimonthly series featuring works of fiction and creative nonfiction submitted by New School students. Each month has two opportunities to submit: an open call and a themed call. To submit your work or find more information, please visit GetLit’s submissions form.
October’s theme was “Season’s Greetings.” This month’s themed call selection is “Periwinkle” by Mel Pecegueiro.
Mel (she/her) is a second-year in the creative writing MFA program, where she studies writing for children and young adults. She grew up in Portugal and Spain and mostly writes young-adult fantasy.
I know it’s time to go when I can hear the noise. It may be just a little later than noon, but on this rousing day, the moon is already reclaiming the sky.
After three long months of silence and desolation, an endless humming fills the air with life and music.
Most people will sleep through it, oblivious to the magic around them. For them, there is nothing special about tonight. Although they can’t notice this subtle change, this new song being played by Nature’s magical orchestra, I can.
Today, a cacophony of sound is tugging at me. The bumblebees are buzzing, the sprigs are sprouting from the ground, and homesick birds are returning home at last. They are all singing, begging me to leave the glittering halls of this immense palace.
Which I’m just about to do.
In one…
I eye the large oak outside, replaying the places I need to use as a foothold to climb down in my head. Little Periwinkle would praise me for the number of times I’ve snuck outside successfully. Two…
I open the window, inhaling the brisk night air that carries the smell of new beginnings: moss and dew. With my elbows on the windowsill, I pull myself up. The oak is so close I can see its gnarls and grooves, a tapestry woven by Time.
Three!
I leap, wrapping one arm around the trunk and gripping a higher branch with the other. I grit my teeth, careful not to slip into a dooming fall. My legs swing below me, feet pointing down like arrows. Once I’ve reached a lower branch, I rub the sweat off my forehead. Almost there. Almost there. Taking a deep breath, I jump one last time.
My landing is almost as graceful as any cat’s, if one turns a deaf ear to the loud clang of bracelets. The tall grass scratches my legs, but I hardly mind.
During this afternoon, my senses are heightened, my magic is at its most potent, and I feel the most alive.
I pause, rearranging the dark stretch of fabric hanging over my head like a hood.
Someone says my name.
I turn, heart clashing against my chest. But there is no one there. No one except…
Ants.
A soft laugh bubbles up out of me. The ants, like all insects this time of the year, are chanting. Their joy is too large a river to be contained. Tonight is the vernal equinox, the one time each year when the white blanket of winter finally gives way to the green cloak of spring.
A sweet perfume permeates the air, as light as a breeze. I don’t need to look to know fresh flowers are blossoming in my hair; the tingling sensation of magic is like no other.
Brushing my dark hair with my fingers, I pluck a peony and place it on the damp grass. Next to the bustling ants, the pink flower blooms. A small token of appreciation, for all they do for us. With no hesitation, the ants start climbing its stem. They pause for a moment, and I know that, in their own way, they can understand me.
I turn slowly, ensuring no one has followed me. Why would they, anyway? I’m the perfect girl with the most boring life ever. To be honest, not even I would follow myself. My days are spent indoors, in an endless cycle of studying and practicing magic. It’s rather challenging, but one day I’ll end up as the Minister of Spring, my ultimate goal.
In the distance, bursts of green paint the sky. Their colors are so vibrant, it looks like invisible hands are throwing colored powder into the air. For once, the murky waters of the Canal of Solidão, the grand channel that connects the four boroughs of the city of Dream, are emerald green instead of deep blue.
March 20th is by far my favorite night of the whole year. Magic abounds in Dream; its pulsing beauty leaving me breathless every time. On this special date, when night lasts as long as day, the spring apprentices will use their decade of training to change the seasons. They will make all plants in Naaxos flourish, ask the Sun to shine brighter, and encourage the loaded clouds to let their tears fall.
Failure has never been an option; the rest of Earth is counting on us.
For almost a decade, Lord Gabriel and I have stayed inside during this night. Since I’ve known him, the Minister of Spring selects a closed peony to be brought in from the greenhouse on this day. In the council room, we eagerly await the opening of the bud, for it means spring has successfully arrived to Earth. In theory, we should also be expecting some distressing calls from spring apprentices who desperately need our help. I can count on one hand the number of times this has happened. Usually, Lord Gabriel and I miss the action entirely.
But I haven’t asked to be dismissed for nothing. I won’t miss anything tonight.
I’m on a mission to meet up with History. Not that there’s a Minister of History in Naaxos; our four ministers tend to the seasons. History must be a preposterous name some narcissist gave himself. He might turn out to be the most pompous man in the universe, but still… I need him to find a way out of this illness that has ensnared me since I was a child. He may not know it, but for the last week I’ve scouted the spring borough, searching for his lair. The stars haven’t smiled down at me yet, but I feel like tonight will be different. After all, March 20th is all about my season.
After catching my breath, I venture east, to the part of Dream where spring reigns. The stars shine brightly overhead, as if they’re trying to help me by illuminating the right path.
Red ribbons attached to boater hats flutter in the light breeze. There are many people offering a gondola ride through the canal, but I politely decline them all. There are fewer chances of being recognized if I travel by foot.