Bigbooty Bernard's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Bigbooty Bernard wanted a fairy to love him, but his garden bored them silly. He had watched dozens flit over his fence at dusk. Each one slowed, looked at his dirt patches and dead weeds, and flew away. The prettiest fairy came last, wings the color of wet glass. She hovered one breath above his gate. Then she yawned and left too. Bernard sat on his step and rubbed his beard. His big backside spread over two stone tiles. His hairless cat pressed against his leg, all wrinkled skin and oversized ears. The cat blinked its green eyes at him, as if it also thought the garden was hopeless. "Fairies want beauty," Bernard said. "I've got weeds and a fat cat." He stood and looked at the mess. Fairies did not linger where there was nothing to see. If he wanted one to stay, he had to give her a reason. He grabbed his shovel. All afternoon he dug. Sweat soaked his shirt. He tore out weeds until his hands blistered. Then he hauled in the one strange thing he owned. It was a blue lily, tall as his chest, with striped petals and a blossom that sprayed water into the air. He had bought it years ago and left it in the shed. Now he planted it dead center in the garden. Water arced from the flower and caught the low sun. Tiny rainbows scattered across the yard. The cat batted at the droplets and sneezed. Bernard stepped back, breathing hard. It looked good. It looked, for the first time, like a place worth stopping. He waited past sunset. The lily kept spraying. The rainbows faded to a soft shimmer in the dark. Then a light bobbed over the fence. The pretty fairy again, wings like wet glass. She circled the fountain once. She dipped through the spray. She laughed, a sound like a small bell, and landed on the rim of the blossom. Bernard's heart pounded. She had stayed. His plan had worked. He stepped forward to speak. But the moment his boot hit the tile, the fairy froze. Her eyes fixed past him. Bernard turned. A tall metal silo loomed beyond his back fence. Fairy lights spiraled up its sides and glowed against the night. Its great door stood open, warm and welcoming. Music drifted out. And now Bernard saw dozens of fairies streaming toward it, a river of light pouring into that door. The pretty fairy rose off his fountain. She looked at Bernard, almost sorry. Then she flew after the others, toward the glowing silo, and slipped inside. Bernard stood alone in his wet garden. His fountain sprayed for no one. He had finally made a place fairies would notice. But someone else had built a place they wanted more. He wiped his face and stared at the bright silo door. If he wanted her, he would have to go where she had gone.