A quote: “The passions grafted on wounded pride are the most inveterate; they are green and vigorous in old age.” ~~ George Santayana

I’ll start with a story …

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The day the Uber dropped Ms. Vernon in front of the small bungalow that came as a piece with the one-room schoolhouse across the gravel road, she let her dark cloud of resentment lift some. She felt even better inside the home, with its freshly white-washed walls, glowing heart-pine floors, and a vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen counter.

She grinned. If she was going to have to spend the last years of her career in this hillbilly hellhole, she expected the honor and deference she was due.

Monday morning, she was pleasantly surprised that the children were punctual and sat quietly at their desks. Even more later, as she discovered they all were reading at or above grade level.

But her assumptions over their backwardness were confirmed when she saw Jacob through the window, bowing towards the woods and talking to someone unseen. She had sent him out to gather smooth rocks for an art project and questioned him as he set the basket on her desk.

“Why, ma’am, I was showing my respect to the Little People.”

“The what?”

“The Little People. Green Fae. Never know if something you pick up is theirs by right. Only proper to explain why you’re taking it and thanking them for it.”

Ms. Vernon was floored, “Jacob. You’re twelve years old. You know that’s not true.”

He looked at her, shocked.

She rose from the desk to address the room, “I’m here as your teacher, class. I tell you now, fairy tales are just that. Tales. Fiction. Not-reality. You will stop this nonsense NOW.”

She started sending children to gather things from the woods and if she caught them “explaining” to the air, she punished them.

Stamping out this nonsense was paramount. When some parents complained, she set them right.

It felt so good.

She was closing curtains before bed when she saw a light near the school. Ms. Vernon was enraged. Burglary? Vandalism? What mischief was this?

She grabbed bat and hurried across the road … it was a small child. Barely two-feet tall, with an angelic face and long curling hair almost to her knees.

Ms. Vernon dropped her bat, enchanted by the child’s beauty and soft smile. She held a small lantern and waved her other hand for Ms. Vernon to follow and headed towards the wood.

She did, unaware as they crossed the edge into the dark, that the child’s smile widened, sharp teeth lengthened, and eyes glowed green. Matching other glowing eyes ahead.

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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image Adobe Stock standard license.