https://designyoutrust.com/2016/05/bodies-of-strange-creatures-were-found-in-the-basement-of-an-old-house-in-london/
“Are those? Wings?”
“Yes?”
“On a person?”
“Yes?”
“On a tiny person?”
Yes.” This time my voice is certain.
“Like a fairy.”
And now my voice is gone. That’s what this thing looks like. A delicate little fairy. Dried and preserved and tucked away. Pinned to a piece of pine like a butterfly. A specimen.
“It can’t really be a fairy. Those aren’t a real thing.” I say. My eyes poke Jessie, prod him to confirm my words. His eyes stare back, unable to tell me I’m not seeing what we both think we’re seeing.
Someone caught a fairy. I’d feel better if I knew who that someone was.
I ask the question. “Who do you think put this here?”
Jessie’s eyes slide from mine back to the fragile figure sprawled in front of us. He reaches out and trails one finger across the miniature brow. I expect it to break under the weight of his comparatively substantial finger, but it doesn’t. He moves down an arm, across a papery wing. Like the head, the wing is sturdier than it seems, refusing to crumble under his touch.
“She’s perfect.” His voice is soft, as gentle as the finger that lingers. Reverent.
“How do you know it’s a she?” I want to ask if fairies even come in hes and shes, but this doesn’t seem like the time for a discussion of fae anatomy and physiology.
“Dress.”
“Oh.” She, or whatever, is covered by a scrap of white fabric that might have passed for a dress when this thing was still alive.
Jessie is still staring, but at least he isn’t touching her anymore. My breath moves easier. His loving touch on her corpse was starting to creep me out.
“Jess.”
He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t blink.
“Jess.” Louder this time, my voice sharp.
His eyes fly to mine.
“What should we do with it?”
“Her.”
“Okay. Her. What should we do with her? I mean, should we bury her? Burn her?”
Jessie’s brow turns stormy, his eyes darken. “Why would we do that?”
“I don’t know. I’m just not sure we should leave her here.” Wherever here is. Jessie never answered my question. We don’t really know where we are. We have no idea who lives here. Who visits here. Who saved this fairy.
Jessie lifts the lid I had pushed to the side of the table and settles it in place, blocking my view of the body.
“We should take her with us.” Jessie lifts the box, shifting it toward his backpack.
This isn’t right. Taking her. It feels like sacrilege. It feels dangerous.
I should stop him, stop this. But I don’t know what to say. I am searching for words when the edge of the box snags on the zipper of Jessie’s bag.
He tries to hold onto her, to catch her. But he can’t shift his grip fast enough. The box tumbles. One corner hits the ground, the unforgiving concrete knocking the lid free. Knocking her free. She flies. For one moment, her wings flutter as she moves through the air. The ground finally catches her, shatters her. She is nothing more than a cloud of dust that drifts back to coat the grey concrete in a light layer of brown.
We are frozen, staring at the remains.
I break the silence. “Well. That just happened.” I feel like I should feel bad. We just destroyed a fairy. But she was dead long before we got here. Right?
Jessie is still silent, still staring at the dusty floor.
I try again. “Should we clean her up? We could still bury her…” This has passed awkward. I’m now contemplating some sort of funeral for fairy dust.
“It’s okay,” Jessie finally speaks. He turns back toward the tall brown cabinet where we found the former fairy on the top shelf. “I have another one.”
