Magical Flash Fiction – Aurelia by Darcy Isla

The constant dusk of Christmas-time. That was where she came from. Originated out of the spirited ether, like any other fairy. I believe she had wishes, but she never voiced them to me. She wanted me to share my thoughts. She elevated me, made me vital. Her being was not important to her. Only mine was.

She used to charge the railing across the footbridge with static energy, and I watched her, distracted from our conversation, feeling it build inside my own hands, despite not touching either her or the metal. She was not affected.

We would marvel at the sporadic floods, the surprising things that happened in the half-lit evenings. This was the best time of year for the curious and the young. Those with nothing to lose and nothing to work towards. Endless summers of Christmas.

“Do you think you’d like to spend some time with Aurelia tonight?” My mother brought her into my social life, encouraging enterprise and acceptance. Willing me to be a better person in the future, or at least do her part in enlightening me, should there be any depth to me at all. I believe she doubted that and, subsequently, herself.

I found Aurelia interesting; captivating at least. I used to watch her. She didn’t need anyone in particular for company; she required no response. She mused happily as long as you were looking, smiling, or something. Some kind of acknowledgement. She did appreciate that much, like anyone would. Perhaps she did teach me some manners.

She trickled down the steps at the far end and waited for me, flickering a bit of thread in her fingers. She folded in two as a bike came out of the tunnel and into her stomach.

I don’t remember feeling protective over her. I remember arriving at the bike, tugging it out of the way, discarding the rider’s excuses. A little blood showed on her lips as she looked up at me and caught me looking back. She was grateful, and I embraced her.

This was not supposed to happen to fairies. Somehow, though, it was our recipe for friendship.