Oh, you know how to revive a fairy all right. Clap, clap, clap. Clap your hands and believe. Only, that's not what you're having difficulties with. And you've believed in her, all right, ever since you came home to find this little green creature pressing her tiny breasts up against his face, wings throbbing madly. Yes, that was the word you wanted. Throbbing.

He was just trying to investigate the local folklore, he'd said. You didn't believe that. After all, you could see that he had something throbbing as well.

No, honestly, he'd protested. This whole thing - clearly not anything real. Just look at her. And anyway, given the size considerations --

You had not known he could blush like that.  As you were thinking about the size considerations, the little fairy had looked at you both and quite deliberately, provocatively, stripped, showing off her perky little breasts and quite impossibly tiny waist and literally glowing skin.

You couldn't believe that.

And then, with a decidedly obscene gesture, she'd flown off. You really couldn't believe that.

That had been two months ago. You'd watched him pretty carefully since then. No fuzzy green wings, no glowing lights, no unexplained pirate costumes, anything. Just ongoing studies of, as he put it, folklore. You did your own studies of personal profiles on internet dating sites. Still. You'd almost decided to relax about it.

And now this. Him, stretched out, on the couch, eyes closed, and her. Fluttering right over his very naked chest, her entire body pulsing and glowing as she makes her way down --

You really don't believe this.

You focus, hard, on just how much you're not believing this. You focus so hard it even makes him open his eyes. You can see quite clearly that he doesn't want to believe this either.  Your face encourages him in this disbelief.  He gets the message, all right. "I don't believe this," he gasps. "I don't --"

The little green creature actually looks hurt, if you can believe that, and you don't. She slowly, sinuously makes a tiny circle around her lips with her impossibly tiny tongue, and bends down to kiss his lips, even as he keeps muttering, "I can't believe --"

The words hit her hard. You can tell. That glowing, pulsing look is fading.  The green of those wings looks dimmer already.

You so don't believe this.

He's sitting up, rubbing his eyes, muttering, refusing to see. To believe. You watch as her fading body plummets to the floor, almost colorless, transparent.

You sit down, quite firmly, on your hands. It's a satisfying feeling, all right. But damned if you're going to clap for it.








Mari Ness  Mari Ness's website lives near a large, alligator infested lake in Central Florida, which she claims has a tendency to eat her words. Her work has previously appeared in numerous online and print venues, including Fantasy and Polu Texni. She keeps a disorganized blog at, and lives under the delusion that she may, one day, convince her two cats that her laptop is not a cat bed.

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