Tears flooded down her cheeks. The girl’s most outrageous fantasy had been realized: a pair of unicorns, in nature.
As she surveyed their matted, blood-soaked coats with horror, her eyes froze on contact with the victor, who, looking elated but puzzled, said: “Why do you think we have the horn?”
Kai Gaitley is pursuing an English major at the University of Hawaii at Hilo, and enjoys discovering the energy that resides within every format, whether it is a sonnet, a blog, or a well researched essay. This dalliance with fiftywordism is a new and exacting path, full of high-stakes promise and brutal editing decisions.
My invisible unicorn dies, so I dig a big hole in the garden and sing a happy song. My parents come outside and frown.
“If he’s in unicorn heaven,” they say, “why dig the hole?”
I cry, and they hug me. I love all this.
My unicorn dies quite often.
Brenda Anderson’s fiction has appeared in various places, from Andromeda Spaceways to SpeckLit. She lives in Adelaide, South Australia and tweets irregularly.
“Diana! Why? We have more than enough meat in the larder.”
The thirteen year old put down her bow and glared at her little brother.
“They keep coming up to me every time I go in the forest. Oddest thing. Big white deer, with one horn.”
Eliza Archer is writing a novel and drinks too much coffee.