Phineas caught it.
Two hands cupped around a sprite and it bit him a few times, he thought, since he felt a few pinches.
“I’ll be havin’ me wish now,” Phineas spoke between thumbs in his normal brogue.
“You’ll be having nothing of the sort.”
“But, I caught ye. Ye owe me a wish.”
“You are mistaken, sir. This is the twenty-first century, not the sixteenth. We sprites have rights.”
“Sprites rights!” Phineas’ laughter trailed off like smoke. He fell into a heap on the forest floor.
The sprite held a tiny syringe in her hand.
“That’s not entirely true.”
A soft noise from behind him broke his anticipation and he spun around.
The Dark found him at last and his lighter flew from his hand in the spinning. He cursed as he made a clumsy lunge. Luck brought the lighter back in his hand. The Dark folded around him and squeezed. A thumb fumbled the wheel and flint as folds of darkness enveloped. He tasted metal from the crimson welling up. Darkness was tunneling his vision; was he losing consciousness or was it the Black itself?
One last flick could end this chase forever, if only it would light…
For thirty years, I didn’t sleep.
I know that sounds odd and it is, but I speak the truth. I’ve seen several doctors and from what they can tell me, I’m still human. I have no diseases or maladies. No tumors. Nothing.
You are so much more productive when you can’t sleep. I took up a lot of hobbies and I became well known for my sculpture. Then I became well known for my animatronics. Then robots. I have robots that serve, robots that fix cars, robots that can walk your dog and robots that kill.
Now I can sleep.
Superior armies are on their way. I felt like my stomach was weighted with stones, and I was one of the first ones in their way.
“Throw your spear now,” said voices in my head.
“I would hit nothing but earth.”
“I might look like a fool, but at least they’ll notice,” I said to myself.
Stepping out five paces in front of the line I took my throw.
Five more mines exploded with spears and shouts rising up all around me. Half of the enemy was gone. The rest were running.
Fair toothed and clean-shaven, he donned a suit made of bird.
Fine speeches made he, a thousand dollars every word.
He was a man of wealth; he wanted everyone to know,
So every morning he stepped on his brand-new Febroe.
It’s a fine-feathered thing made of gears and soft leather,
And a dozen umbrellas keeping him out of the weather,
A steering wheel, feathered seats, flapping wings and ten lights,
So that everyone would look up and notice the sights.
The beasts of the air, they noticed him to boot.
They stopped him, mid-air, and took revenge on his suit.
“Quit moving so much,” the lab technician yells.
Why must I live like this?
I do things like this because of the quick money, which I need because my art does not feed me yet. Even if it did, I’m not sure I could stop this addiction.
You start with minor experiments like weight loss or herbal drugs. Then you move on to major medical experiments with loads of paperwork to sign and weeks of lab imprisonment. Eventually you get in with the teleportation crowd.
This marks the first time I consented to losing a limb or sections of organ.
Just before morning little Sally sat on the roof. Her lungs filled with sweet April air as she closed her eyes, concentrating while the streetlamps dimmed to blackness.
She sighed the clouds away to allow a little more room this time.
“Sleep tight everyone.”
With her purple brush she made large strokes across the sky, tucking in the stars with her dawn blanket. As she stood on her tiptoes to reach the horizon with her red paints she glanced toward the moon.
“Sleep tight, Mr. Moon,” she said as he nodded and tucked himself away in the hills behind her.