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The Trouble with Fairies
The trouble with fairies is they’re so tiny. Tiny bodies, tiny wings, tiny arms, tiny legs. Tiny heads. You know the saying pea-brain? Well a fairy with a brain the size of a pea would be a fairy genius. If you ask them to add two plus two, they won’t say four, or even five, they’ll say something like “a fox” or “as much cheese as I can eat”. That’s how they are.
My trouble with them started when we moved house. Mum and Dad had this idea that living in town was turning me into a “problem child”, even though I only get told off at school as much as anyone else does. But they found this tatty old bungalow for sale, with a long garden backing onto woods. “The country life,” was how Mum described it.
When we went to look around, I wandered to the end of the garden wondering what on earth Mum and Dad were thinking, and that’s when I saw my first one. A real, really-there fairy! Flying out of the woods, her wings sparkling, wearing a dress made of leaves and petals. My mouth fell open as she fluttered level with my face, and we were eye to eye for a moment. Then she put both her little hands on my nose, giggling like it was the funniest thing ever, and pulled really hard.
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