Twinkle was pissed off. It just wasn’t fair, she thought as she trudged along, hands stuffed deep in her pockets, hood pulled well over her face. Why did she have to be the youngest?
And why did she always get the crap jobs?
Pausing for a moment, Twinkle tightened the laces of her 14-hole Doc Marten boots. Even her Cloak of Humanity was a hand-me-down and didn’t fit properly, her wings were beginning to chafe already. The boots were a nice touch though, no one wanted to mess with a girl in boots like those.
A group of youths sitting on a garden wall on the other side of the street, jeered at her as they drank their late night cans of cheap super-strength lager, though none of them had the courage to abandon the safety of the pack and face Twinkle directly.
‘Fuck off!’ she snapped back at them. One look at Twinkle’s expression silenced them instantly.
That’s right, Twinkle fumed to herself, tonight is not the night to be acting like idiots and picking a fight with me. I have work to be doing.
All Twinkle wanted was to be like her sisters, to be a proper Urban Combat Fairy, instead she was stuck with this crappy job because none of them wanted to do it. Ok, Ok, if she got it done, they’d let her join, but honestly, what a job. Didn’t they realise how difficult it was to track Christmas Pixies at the best of times, but in the middle of January when they ought to be hibernating? It was almost impossible. Everyone knew that. And rogue Pixies could be especially tricky.
Twinkle patted her pocket for reassurance, feeling the comforting bulk of the Banshee pistol under her jacket. Her sisters had given it to her, but the ammunition, that had been down to her to acquire and had taken some finding at this time of year.
Didn’t the Big Folk realise how valuable those things were? What the Little Folk used them for, and what they could fetch on the open market if you had the right contacts? So why, oh why, did they festoon their Christmas trees with them and throw so many away after New Year? Crying bloody shame, thought Twinkle.
It had taken her ages to hand carve each of the candy canes she’d found in a bin behind the shops, but now six bullets nestled in the pistol’s magazine. Twinkle wasn’t even sure what range they’d have on them being past their sell by date, but they were all she could find – six, finely crafted, red and white striped points of death. She’d just have to get close. Real close.
Now, she thought, all I have to do is find those bloody Pixies.
* * *
Nearby, dangerously nearby had they known it, Messrs Pogmorten and Swazzle were settling down for the night in a wheelie bin. Normally they would have been hibernating, but being on the run had a strange way of concentrating the mind towards not falling asleep for too long in the same place, at least according to Mr Pogmorten.
‘What was your worst ever Christmas present?’ Mr Swazzle asked.
‘That bag of used cat litter,’ replied Mr Pogmorten with a yawn.
‘Really? I thought it was quite tasty,’ replied Mr Swazzle, tucking himself into a carrier bag of soiled nappies for the night. Suddenly he froze.
‘You hear that?’ Swazzle hissed.
‘Nope,’ replied Pogmorten dreamily.
‘There’s somebody out there,’ Swazzle insisted, ‘or something. Go and have a look would you, see who it is.’
‘Get stuffed! You look, I’ve just got comfy.’
Swazzle, grumbling, was on the point of crawling out from his bag of nappies when there began a rapid banging on the outside of the bin which sent both him and Pogmorton reeling.
Their ears were still ringing when, a few seconds later, Twinkle whipped open the lid of the bin.
‘Gotcha!’ she exclaimed with grim satisfaction before emptying her full clip into their still stunned bodies.
Swazzle took a round clean through the forehead, killing him instantly. Pogmorten took two in the chest, the second of which pulverised his dark little Pixie heart.
* * *
Twinkle swaggered along the street whistling cheerfully to herself, the bodies of the two dead Pixies swinging from her belt. Contenting herself with the thought that her sisters would have to accept her into the UCF now, she did allow herself a passing thought as to why the Pixies had been declared rogue in the first place.
I hope you enjoyed the story. Don't forget to check out the rest of this week's #fridayflash stories by searching the #fridayflash hashtag on Twitter, or by visiting the #fridayflash Facebook page.
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