Ella’s Party

Someone had let loose a ripe one. The air was thick with it. I looked out over the chaos and sighed, then set to work searching through the bodies for the culprit.

“Whose child is this one?” I called out, swinging the offender through the air by his armpits, steaming buttocks as far from my face as possible. He giggled hilariously, drunk on watered-down orange juice and bubble mixture. A mother hurried forward to catch him and I sympathised with the squirming battle she was about to enter, having been subjected to many myself.

A small hand tried to reach up my skirt.

“Whoa there, little one,” I protested. “Hands to yourself, now.”

“Bubble,” declared the expectant face of a two-year-old angel, a sprinkling of Vegemite dirtying her otherwise perfect halo. But the bubble mixture had disappeared within that first hectic half hour. I pulled out a selection of limp rubber sausages.

“Choose your colour,” I grinned at the angel, hoping the distraction would work. It took, and she pointed pink fingers at an equally garish sausage with approval. I reached behind my tool belt and produced a balloon pump with a flourish. “A pink puppy it is,” I said, working quickly. A tie, a few quick twists, two round eyes drawn in marker. She burst into tears.

“Wanna kitty!” Okay then. I paused, evaluated. Added some whiskers, then passed it back.

“That’s right, it’s a kitty.” The crying tap turned off instantly. Another took its place. And another.

“Wanna kitty too.” Presumably Angel’s twin.

“Nooo, engine, engine.” Another face, floating above a fireman’s outfit.

I want a Ninja Turtle.” I turned to stare at the older sibling in the crumb-covered t-shirt as my hands continued to pump, tie, twist.

“I can’t do Ninja Turtles. How about a Ninja Dog?” The suggestion was met with pure disgust, vaporising the hopeful smile from my face.

“You’re not a proper fairy if you can’t do Ninja Turtles.”

I sighed. To avoid the laser eye treatment, I glanced across the room. Under the trestle table bowing with party snacks, two tiny feet were disappearing. Grasping the escape, I dropped my unfinished canine creation and hastened through the horde. Waving the glitter wand parted them almost magically.

“Hey there birthday girl,” I addressed the toes under the sparkling tablecloth. “Time to come out.” I reached in and gently extracted the princess from her hiding place. But her revealed face was alarmed and turning blue. She made no sound. She was choking.

Instantly I flipped her over my arm, giving her back a sharp blow. “Come on, spit it out,” I urged her. My fingers opened her mouth as I slapped her again, head down. And again. Suddenly she coughed, and my sister swooped down to cradle the now screaming baby. I stared dumbly at the button dislodged from her throat.

“Well done, Brian.” A hand rested on my shoulder, and I peered up at a sympathetic smile. “You really are a fairy godmother today.”

Party whistles
Image by Hans Braxmeier from Pixabay

This was my response to the Furious Fiction June 2019 writing prompts for a 500-word story:

  • The story had to take place at a PARTY of some kind.
  • The story had to include a BUTTON.
  • The story had to include the following sentence (which was to be completed with one or more words): The air was thick with _______.

Why not have a go yourself?

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