A Twitter follower requested a prompt for a flash fiction where the hero is a psychotic spirit and the heroine is carefree and innocent with a shocking but hopeful ending. This is what I came up with, with a promise to myself that one day, I will write a full-blown story about these amazing creatures.
Red, bloodshot eyes stared sharply at her from under thick, black lashes.
She flashed him a radiant smile which lighted up the dreary, bleak box that was his prison.
“I just graduated yesterday at the Academy.”
Smirking, he drawled, “Let me guess. You requested this assignment, eager for a quick promotion.”
Her shoulders shrugged in an adorable manner. “Guilty.”
“Well, you’re in for a disappointment, lady.” And she did look like a lady, clad in a white lacy blouse tucked in a pair of black tailored pants.
There’s something in her smile, though, that tugged at his insides. Something’s off with her, he thought to himself.
“There’s nothing I have to say that I haven’t told the other agents before you. I alone killed those children. I killed them all by setting fire in the orphanage, by myself and myself alone. I have no accomplice. I will die by execution tomorrow standing by my confession.”
For a while, she just stared at him, smiling. He fidgeted under her piercing, yet, kindly eyes.
Then she spoke in a soft voice, “Are your handcuffs too tight on your wrists?” pertaining to the cuffs around his wounded hands which were shackled to the table.
He scowled. “A little.”
“Let’s take it off, shall we?” She fished out a key from her pocket.
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“Should I be?” She successfully freed his hands and sat back on her seat across him, still smiling.
“I imagine you should. I’m a convicted psycho killer who murdered 100 children,” he replied, massaging his right wrist.
“You can thank me for removing your cuffs by telling me who made you do it.”
“I told you. . . ,” angrily, he started to speak.
But swiftly, without warning, and in complete contrast of her gentle stance, she reached out to him and tightly gripped his wrists.
The moment her skin touched his, it was as if a bomb exploded right in front of him. His body shuddered horrendously. He closed his eyes shut as red and white blinding light flashed before his sight.
“It was you! You’re the witch who made me do it! You cast a spell on me to burn down the orphanage and kill those poor children!” he shouted in horror.
Still smiling, still gripping his wrists, she stood up. She loomed over him.
He cowered, leaning back frightfully in his seat, “What. . . what are you going to do to me?”
“I’m going to set you free.” Her enigmatic smile taunted him.
“No! Don’t kill me! I obeyed your orders! I didn’t tell them about you!” Wildly he looked around, searching for the guards. But the prison bars were no more. In its place, an opaque white wall surrounded them, rigid and sturdy.
“And I’m glad you didn’t. Now kiss me,” she commanded.
“No! No! I won’t fall into your charms again! Guards! Guards! Help!” he yelled in panic.
She gripped his hands tighter, and he was paralyzed, frozen with fear. She lowered her head, seizing his lips in one fell swoop.
And suddenly, his mind cleared up.
He is not a psycho killer.
He is a fairy soldier.
He didn’t kill children. He destroyed the Evil Witch’s dolls which she used to cast spells on fairies.
He was captured by the Evil Witch.
He was hexed and put in an enchanted state to coax out of him the location of the fairy kingdom.
The kiss continued, her lips tasting like sweet, buttery Tupelo honey, sending shock waves that swept away the cobwebs in his brain.
And with each passing second, everything fell into place.
She is not a witch. She is a fairy princess.
Her father, the King of fairies, sent her to free him from the Evil Witch’s clutches and bring him back home to their kingdom.
As he eagerly returned her kiss with tender passion, he remembered that which is most important.
He loves her and she loves him.
They are in love.