My life as a pixie? It’s more fun than you’d imagine. First, I can fly! Who wouldn’t want to do that? Flying is probably the best part of my daily life. My ears are superior to the other pixies, and they help me zoom in and out of the flowers when I visit Maggie, the local herb collector. I usually visit Maggie once a day, and while I’m there, I pick up the special herbs that I use to create poultices at the clinic where I work. I use the poultices to treat the worker bees‘ wings that are injured during flight. You see, we take care of the bees by planting flowers for them. Once the flowers are grown, the bees drink their nectar and collect their pollen. Sometimes bees are injured while doing this, or their wings just get overworked. So they come see me at the clinic, and I help them heal.

Since we help the bees in more ways than one, they give us enough honey so we can survive the colder months. The cold months were coming soon, and I hated them. I couldn’t visit Maggie as often as I liked because of the cold.

We have a huge nesting area nestled in a grove of trees. The bees love it here because there is a Lot of room to plant flowers. Everyone here has their job. Workers ride the bees and guide them to the best flowers that are ripe and ready, nurses work at the clinic, and nursery workers help tend to the baby bees and make sure they have enough food to help them grow. We also have gatherers, like Maggie, who collect things that are useful from the woods around us. This is a dangerous job because you can be seen by humans. Only the fastest pixie’s are gatherers. Even though I am one of the fastest pixies here, I was able to land a job working with the bees because of my ability to make such good poultices. I spent many hours with Maggie, perfecting this method, so that I could work in the clinic. Everyone here has their job. We all work together to accomplish great things.

Born into mother's breathless arms with a story of guilt wrapped around my bloodshot eyes and hideous horns- at least dad calls them that.

He threw spears of hate into those eyes as he clung to his wife I'd just murdered, or maybe my birth did.

I was an orphan with a father who saw me as the opposite ghost he'd rather live with.

What was I expecting anyway?

I wasn't gorgeous or remarkable.

I wasn't my mum.

A pixie?

I was a scoff for the name.

Too hated to be embraced by any besides me.

Broken wings are sad,

But aggrieved wings adorned with colors that look like scars can't dare to fly.

A morning, the only glorious one I ever had as an adult, I came across a Polaroid of mum.

She was soaring high in the Ataskka forest and I made that picture my mission.

I found the forest and nature has a way of nourishing beauty without fail.

Gorgeous leaves and celestial petals...

I basked in it...

Something began to rise from me,

Was it?

Above the ground and nearing the skies, I shed a tear as I felt closer to mum and nature.

How could I have known I had this in me?

The universe never gave me a rainbow that spelt my name.

But this moment was nothing earthly words could amount to.

Mum called me Hyacinth and I'll live the rest of my days trying to blossom.

I’m the troublemaker . . . you ne’er wish to meet.

You bet I’m a shaker, bed down in the heat.

When I feel salacious, flying fast I scamp.

Sure, my word’s fallacious. I’m a primo vamp.

I’ll take up the gauntlet. I will never fail.

Uttering my tauntlets, crudities prevail.

Hungry for some fresh meat? (Sinful grin I flash.)

Crunching bones in my teeth, gleefully I gnash.

Tendrils dangling idly make you wonder why

I fly effortlessly, flutt’ring lobes, my, my!

Hanging by a tendril to this hellish life,

I trod ever downhill, digging all this strife.

My life’s testimony to the scum I am.

I’m an acrimony, a fickle, black lamb.

Compete with my father, as well, with my son.

I’ll beget with fodder from where’er it comes.

Whisk until I’m sixty, rush for many more.

Such is life for pixies, devils to the core.

The life of a pixie is very good indeed. I can do as I please all day long and into the night. I can go where the humans do when I’m bored and watch them live their strange lives. I can even invite myself into their homes and cause mischief to see how they react.

The humans have so many strange things, big things, little things, things that glow, and things that make noise. Things I wish I could take back to my nest. Sometimes I do; pretty chains that I can wrap around my horns and rings that fit my head just so. The humans wear them differently, they wear them wrong. Who would decorate their hands, surely that only gets in the way? Silly humans with their silly ways.

A pixie knows much better.