Hungover Fairy

God, I don't think I've been this wasted since my college days at the University of Michigan, when the guys from Phi Delta Theta and I crammed into the dorm basement and downed two liters of tequila because someone said that if you didn’t, you weren’t a real man.

But yesterday, I had a reason. My boss, that fucking asshole, managed to dump a bucket of shit on me right in the middle of the office. I don’t know what parallel universe he lived in, but when you work at a marketing agency and not in some goddamn infantry unit, you’re not supposed to scream at your subordinates like they’re in the rear guard of fucking Vietnam. But that bastard, with his perfectly styled hair, shiny Rolex, and the smug look of a man who makes ten times more than you, decided that today was the perfect day to publicly humiliate me in front of the entire team.

All I did was suggest an alternative strategy for the client. Nothing radical. But apparently, the idea of not licking his boots until they sparkled was something absolutely unacceptable. So he stood up, leaned across the table, and started yelling at me:

— Do you think you're the smartest one here, Bennett?! What the hell is this circus? You're not an analyst, you're not a strategist, you're NOBODY, got it?!

At that moment, I felt the blood rush to my temples. My throat tightened, my hands clenched into fists, and I— a grown-ass 35-year-old man— wanted to do something completely irrational. Punch his smug face? Maybe. But I had a mortgage and bills that, unfortunately, no one but me was going to pay.

So I just nodded. Grabbed my folder, my laptop, my coffee (fuck it, coffee— I took it on autopilot), and walked out. Then I got shitfaced.

I woke up… well, actually, I didn’t wake up. Because this was something entirely different.

First of all, I wasn’t in my apartment. Not in my bed. Not even on Daniel’s couch— my buddy, who might have dragged me to his place while I was passed out.

I was lying on… grass?

The sun was blinding me. What the fuck? Did I seriously pass out outside?! Nice one, Bennett…

But something was off.

First, the grass. I could see it, I could feel it, but it was… massive. Freakishly tall, like I had somehow shrunk down to the size of a mouse. The green blades swayed in the wind, looking less like regular grass and more like a damn bamboo forest. What the hell?

I jerked up. Or at least, I tried to— but the moment I moved, I lost my balance and flopped right back onto the ground. My body responded with a strange, unfamiliar lightness. I blinked and lifted my hands in front of me.

Hands?

No. These weren’t my hands. They were thin, delicate— porcelain-smooth, with no sign of hair. Shit, I would’ve thought they belonged to a kid if not for…

My eyes slowly drifted downward.

Ohhh, fuck.

Right in front of me, on my own now-tiny chest, two delicate, round shapes bounced slightly, as if to remind me: "Congratulations, Mr. Bennett! You are now the proud owner of your very own set."

My breath hitched. My heart pounded like it was trying to break out of my ribs.

— What the… — My voice wavered. High. Pure, like a damn forest stream. So soft and sweet that it made me sick.

I sat up again, more carefully this time, and frantically looked myself over.

A white, light dress— straight out of some fairy-tale Barbie set. Fragile, bare feet, slender ankles. And behind me… oh, no. Oh, hell no.

Wings.

Two transparent, trembling wings, shimmering in the sunlight like they were made of glass. I tried moving them— and holy shit, they moved. Like, for real. Like I was some kind of Disney fairy from a kids’ movie.

My brain officially refused to process any more of this. I swallowed hard.

— No, no, no… This can’t be happening. — I grabbed my head. Everything was so small, so delicate, so tiny. Even my ears were… pointed? What the actual fuck…?

Alright. Stop.

The last thing I remembered was downing some ungodly drink at the bar, muttering "fuck it all" and "I wanna be a fairy."

And apparently, the universe decided that my last drunken toast wasn’t just wasted rambling— but, fuck me, an official goddamn request.

I touched myself again— narrow wrists, thin fingers, smooth skin with absolutely no trace of the hair that used to be there. I squeezed my eyes shut, shook my head, hoping that this was just another hangover nightmare that would disappear the second I opened my eyes. One, two… three.

Nope. Nothing changed.

The giant blades of grass still swayed around me, and the thin strap of this ridiculous white dress still rested on my shoulder.

— Oh, fuck… — I exhaled, and again, that ridiculously high voice yanked me out of reality.

No, come on. Seriously?!

I got to my feet, feeling the light fabric of the dress hug my body, the soft material brushing against my skin. Against my chest. Fuck. I glanced down and saw those two round, small, but unmistakably female shapes outlined beneath the thin fabric.

My poor brain locked itself into a brutal cycle of denial.

— This is a joke. This is just a joke. I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming.

I grabbed my chest, hoping… I don’t even know what. To convince myself it wasn’t there? But it was. Soft. Real. Tangible. I immediately yanked my hands away, like I’d touched a hot stove.

— Okay… okay, Bennett… Just… stay calm.

Breathe. In, out.

But how the fuck do you stay calm when your hips are suddenly so narrow, your waist so tiny it looks like a porcelain doll’s? When every movement feels different? I leaned forward, and those fucking wings twitched again behind me.

They moved.

For real. They moved.

I nearly screamed, but I forced that weird new impulse down, though a tiny squeak still escaped my lips— the kind of sound I wouldn’t have made in my worst nightmares.

— No. No. This is impossible.

I took a step forward, then another. But my movements felt… light? Weightless? Like my body barely weighed anything at all. And for some reason, I was barefoot, and I could feel the cool grass beneath me with such clarity, like the skin on my feet had become ten times more sensitive.

Shock hit in waves, drowning out any remaining sense of logic.

I shook my hands, twitched my wings again, and— fuck me— at some point… I lifted off the ground.

For a second. Half a second.

My tiny body jerked up about eight inches before landing back down.

— Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…

I didn’t know what pissed me off more— the fact that I had turned into a miniature fairy, or the fact that I had just literally lifted off the ground like some goddamn Disney Princess with magic to spare.

Fuck.

Just yesterday, I was a guy. A 35-year-old man with a mortgage, a shitty job at a shitty agency, an asshole boss, and normal, human problems.

And now… now I was a tiny, fucking fairy with ridiculous little wings.

I covered my face with my hands.

— God, why…

— Why are you just sitting here whining, sis?

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

The voice came from way too close. I whipped around and— oh.

Right in front of me, arms crossed over her chest, stood another fairy. Only, unlike me, she looked completely comfortable and way more at home here. Her fiery curls tumbled over her shoulders, and on her back were the same transparent wings as mine— except hers shimmered with a golden hue.

She looked me up and down and raised an eyebrow.

— What’s wrong? Can’t handle the mushroom honey?

What the fuck? Mushroom honey?! You’ve got to be kidding me.

So this… this was real?!