Flash Fiction First Friday is an effort to publish something small on the First Friday of every month. The goal is simply to write more and to share more, and not get completely bogged down in huge projects. These pieces can spawn from writing exercises, prompts, or just freewriting. The point is that they're low-commitment and just for fun.
I'd love to see your flash fictions pieces if you participate, too! Either use the tag #flashfictionfirstfriday or comment below with a link to your blog.
Pixie Problems
The coffee pot broke this morning. It was the final straw.
Yesterday, the laptop blue-screened. The day before that, the vacuum had exploded in a cloud of dust. The watch had stopped accepting charge into its battery. The microwave started making a horrible buzzing noise.
The pixies had to be stopped.
She’d angered them. She knew that. But she’d assumed that their anger would wane if she gave them enough time.
Camille knelt down just inside her front door, a position of supplication to the whole house.
She poured a saucer of rich cream and placed a fresh crust of sourdough bread next to it.
“I bear ye gifts and apologies, friend,” she said in the old tongue. The pixie was not her friend, to be clear, but some traditions were important.
Camille waited longer than she thought was appropriate or considerate before the glimmer of pixie dust alighted on the saucer. Finally, a miniscule blue body materialized. It was like a little man made of clay had been stretched out too long. Even its head was pointed and long, chin tapering to a point like a sharpened pencil.
“I did ye wrong when I swept away your dust bed in the kitchen. I’m sorry.” The little pile of dust and kitchen grime had been there for nearly a week before she cleaned it. “And I accidentally mowed your fairy circle in the lawn.” Because she’d let the grass get too tall for fear of disturbing the other creatures that inhabited the back yard. “Will you take these gifts as recompense?”
The pixie crossed its arms. It was an odd imitation of a human mannerism. The creature’s limbs were so long that its forearms crossed and still extended well past its torso.
“No?” Camille asked.
The pixie pointed at the saucer of milk and grinned, exposing its shark-like serrated teeth.
“Again?”
Camille stared down at her fingers. Old scars dotted the flesh. Every time she gave of herself to the fairies, the stronger they became. But it was the only way to keep them from destroying her life.
“Will you fix my coffee maker?”
The pixie looked off into the ether, considering. Finally, it shrugged and nodded.
Camille pulled a sharp pocketknife from her belt and drove the pointed tip into the meat of her palm. The cut was neither long nor deep, but it was enough to draw blood. Just a few drops were all it would take to appease the creature.
The pixie eyed her hungrily, its beady little bug-eyes glittering with anticipation.
Camille held her hand above the saucer and let her ruby red blood drop—once, twice. thrice, as the old laws bade—into the saucer. The cream turned pink as the liquids mixed.
The pixie drank down the bloodied cream, sopped up any stray drops with the bread, and sat back with a satisfied look. Its narrow belly was distended with fullness.
In a wink it disappeared.
The next time Camille ran a pot of coffee, it came out perfectly and nothing leaked. She should have asked for the microwave to be fixed as well, but that might have been pushing her luck.
Those three drops of blood only bought her so much negotiating power. There would be two, maybe three weeks of peace. Hopefully the house showings and inspections would be complete before then. Camille was ready to leave the ways of the old world behind.
Copyright KR Holton, 2024
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