I once stumbled upon the little thief, gleefully toying with his stolen treasure. “How amusing it is,” he cackled, “watching those wicked giants scramble about in panic for these shiny metal discs… They must be incredibly valuable…”!
I could only see it from afar, across the river. A graceful, leaping figure draped in what looked like a living cloak of grass and moss. As it moved, the cloak drew in bottles, plastic wrappers, and cans, as if magnetized.
I was not surprised to discover that there are fairies aboard birds in charge of picking up the cigarette stubs thrown in the woods. I wish these fleets didn't have to exist.
A man emerged silently from the trees. Although an adult, I thought he might have been a child abducted by the fairies. He didn't speak, just passed by with a sorrowful expression, as if carrying the weight of a life that was not his own.
One day, I ventured too deep into the forest and was confronted by a tribe of sprites. They threatened me and urged me to turn back. Their tools and artifacts were clearly fashioned from discarded items scavenged from the nearby picnic and camping areas.
It would be logical to think that his tribe had seen how the "evil giants" used their weapons to hunt. They had also found the remains of their destructive power and carried them to obtain their strength or as a symbol of resistance to them.
She appeared suddenly, emerging from the undergrowth. For a brief moment, we locked eyes, silent, still. Then I blinked… and she was gone. But I’m sure of what I saw: she was wearing headphones, shaped like a morning star.