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I DON’T REMEMBER MY birth, but every day I’m reminded of what a traumatic event it was. Not such a traumatic event for me, but for everyone in attendance.
A fairy’s birth is something to be celebrated, as the petals unfold and reveal the little cherub. I have spent a lot of time imagining my birth.
Yawning, I look up at the pink petals over me and try to grab one with my fist. I can’t quite grasp it, but my uncoordinated action hits the petal causing it to tremble and a noise outside my cocoon startles me.
I try again to get that pink petal and this time I am able to catch it and I pull it down and it comes off, draping over me. I giggle in delight that I got my prize. The bright light the petal hid makes me squint and I hear “ooh”, “ahh”, “look at the dimples”.
Trying to get away from the light, I squirm back and forth until I flip onto my stomach, crushing the sweet smelling petal under me. A scream shatters my idyllic birth and someone yells, “She has no wings”. The sky opens up and mourns with the adult fairies, as I am quickly hidden away.