The Fairy

A tiny fairy runs into a very unpleasant surprise in the strange world of her author's mind.

As fairies go, this one wasn’t particularly impressive. She was about the size of a pencil, presuming the pencil had not been nibbled or snapped in half by some frustrated office worker who had momentarily lost their grip on sanity. She was built like a pencil too – very narrow and delicate, her skin ivory white, and a pair of iridescent wings fluttering wildly behind her. All in all, an unremarkable, slightly stereotypical and very uninteresting sort of creature.

This particular morning, she was flitting aimlessly around and, as fairies do, probably looking for some wayward traveller to pester. There were certainly a lot of people around, people of every shape, size and description, a diverse mob that could never have come together anywhere else but in this particular stretch of the author’s imagination. However, today there was nothing much going on and the people were simply milling about, chatting idly and comparing their most recent adventures.

The fairy whizzed in and out of the groups, flitting past ears and avoiding the hands that rose up to swat her away as if she were some irritating fly. She tinkled irritably to herself, for tinkling was as close to speech she could manage. No-one was paying much attention to her, but then again they never did. After all, with so many heroes, villains, vagabonds, knights and other persons of interest wandering about, why would anyone cast a second glance at such an unremarkable creature as her?

Suddenly, the fairy’s tiny body smacked into something cold and solid. She plummeted to the ground, landing with an soft thump and a lot of angry tinkling. When the world had finally stopped spinning, the fairy looked up at the solid thing, rubbing her sore head and wondering what on earth had happened. From somewhere overhead, the author’s voice let out a sigh.

“Idea fairy,” it said, “meet brick wall.”

The End

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