A day in the life of a pixie

No one saw it. No one but me. And I’m not too sure about me, either. As I sit here, hastily jotting this down so that the memory doesn’t fade, even I find it hard to believe what I saw.

I had gone out into the woods to meditate, as the noise level in the house was far too high to concentrate. I sat down on a rock near a small creek and emptied my mind of everything, striving for inner peace. After I had meditated for an hour or so, I sat there, enjoying the sunlight shining green through the leaves.

I was growing drowsy, and was about to drop off to sleep, when I heard a small voice, in a cocky English tone, say, “It’s all right. The jolly big blighter ‘as gone to sleep, the lummox! I think I’ll just step outside for a bit, and rest my feet.”

Opening my eyes just the slightest, I was just in time to see a small head poking out of a patch of blooming daffodils on the mossy side of the bank. Looking around quickly to see if there was any threat nearby, the small figure emerged into the open. It was a little man, scarcely six inches tall, dressed in a tunic that seemed to be woven out of some kind of fibers, and dyed brown.

Settling down onto a pebble, the pixie (for he had to be a pixie; in fact, everything about him screamed pixie) drew from some tiny pocket a small object, and started fiddling around with it. It was only when he put it to his mouth and puffed away at it, and then blew a miniature smoke-ring, that I realized it was a pipe.

All was quiet for some minutes, before a shrill voice shattered the stillness. “James! If oi’ve told ye once, oi’ve told ye a thousand times, don’t smoke that thing in the doorway, it blows right inside! Oi can’t stand the smell!”

I heard the little man mutter to himself, “Oh ‘ell, here we go again.”

The shrieking continued with a will, seeming to rise in volume even more. “And what are ye doing out there, anyway? Ye’re always running off and hiding with that pipe, when you should be in here helping me, not that you’re any help anyway, fat, lazy slob that you are! Oh, why oi married you, oi’ll never know! Ye’ve never done a lick of work in yer life, ye always just sit there with that blasted pipe of yers, letting the world go by! What’ll happen when ye get old and feeble and don’t have anything put away, eh? What then?”

Throughout all this, the man had said not a word, in fact, his expression was one of extreme boredom, like a man who had heard it all before. As the harangue finally wound down into silence, the man let out a tiny sigh of relief. Just then, a second little figure came into view, coming around a rock in the bank, and stopping near me. He beckoned James over and, when the two had shook hands, sat down on the moss and pulled out a container from a pouch slung over his shoulder. This container appeared to be made out of a large acorn, and removing a stopper from it, the newcomer took a long pull from the opening in the end. “Ahhh,” he sighed, handing the acorn to James, “she’s certainly got a temper, ‘asn’t she?”

James smiled ruefully. “Aye, that she does! That was the reason I fell in love with her to begin with. She was a fiery beauty! And you know, Bill, it ain’t so bad, once you learn to turn a deaf ear to most of it!” The two men (obviously old friends) had a good laugh over that, swigging away at whatever was in the acorn.

“JAMES! I know ye’re out there with that Casper! He’s more useless than ye are, with his likker, befuddling’ th’ mind an’ weakenin’ th’ body! That poison’ll kill ye one o’ these days!

The pixie with the acorn cringed. He had obviously ran afoul of the voice’s displeasure before, and didn’t want to repeat the experience. Jumping up, he stuffed the acorn back into its pouch. “I gotta go”, he whispered hurriedly, just on the edge of hearing. “Anyway, the wife’ll be looking for me soon, and if I’m late fer supper again, I’ll be in hot water fer sure! I’ve been late three times this week already, I daren't risk it this time!” Taking one last frightened look at the patch of daffodils where the voice was still to be heard (though much quieter now, grumbling away), Casper rushed off out of my sight, and I didn’t dare turn my head to follow him with my eyes, for fear of alerting James.

James now stood up, looking up at the darkening sky, stretching his limbs to their limit, groaning in pleasure. He had just got out his pipe for another smoke, when the stillness was broken one more time.

“JAMES!! Supper’s ready, an’ ye’d better come git it while it’s ‘ot, or ye won’t git any at all!”

James grumbled, and stashed his pipe away again. Ambling over to the daffodils, he took one more look around, before ducking his head and disappeared into the greenery. I can only assume that they had some kind of home in there, hidden away among the flowers. I sat there for ages, not moving a muscle, waiting for them to return, but to no avail. I finally got up, long after the sun had gone and plunged the world in darkness.

Pushing my way through the woods, I rushed home, and here I sit, writing these words, to prove to myself, as much as anybody, that what I saw was real and not the crazed imaginings of my mind. Believe me or not, this is an accurate account of what happened this day. I will try to return to that spot tomorrow, and see if I can find them again. Although, perhaps I won’t. Perhaps I should leave them in peace. Perhaps it was all a hallucina... No! I know it wasn’t all in my head! It can’t have been! Could it?