For a complete treatise on Fairies, and how fantastically evil they are, see Lords and Ladies by Terry Pratchett.
These weren't those.
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| By Rosetti Photographic Studios [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons |
These were the kind kind.
It would have been easier to have discovered them as a wee young lad, before the cynicism had a chance to encrust. But no, that's not how it happened.
It was only a couple of years ago, just past that mid-life crisis crest, which I survived for some reason, and well before the trough of the subsequent years.
In that glorious summer, they presented themselves to me. They acknowledged me. I acknowledged them.
The riding mower (and the motorbike, and the sports coupe) were all part of that crest. I was on it, devastating the overgrown, mangled mess that was the garden I had inherited. I was methodically laying waste, working away from the house toward the bottom. The light was fading, it was almost time to quit. I was going to make one more swing before packing it in, as I made the turn they popped up in front of me. A line of them, barring my way. They were about two feet high, they were all shimmery and beautiful, they were ephemeral.
I slammed on the brakes. The mower stalled. I smacked my chest pretty hard on the steering wheel.
Androgynously beautiful, they were mesmerizing. The way they stood, shoulder to shoulder in my path was a message. Rubbing my chest I slowly eased of the mower and walked toward them, hesitantly.
"Can I help you?"
Not sure how I stayed calm. Not sure why I didn't immediately question my sanity. Didn't question my sobriety. Not then. It wasn't an issue then. But I just asked the question.
Their voices where whispery soft, but clearly distinct.
"Please?" They said. They spoke in unison, many voices in harmony. "Please?" they pleaded.
"Please, what?" I asked.
"Please don't destroy us."
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