Flash Fiction: Party Girl

Her dance moves literally defied physics. She tapped both her feet on the ground at the same time and rose several inches. And drifted back down with a twirl which took her hemline and lifted it to her thighs.

And her arms hugged her body afterward, and she swayed as the surrounding air froze to the slow motion of the dance.

I stood, looking, staring, ogling, at her, and nearly dropped my drink. Nearly let it fall on the glittering tiles.

“Don’t even try it,” my friend Kevin said, “She is way out of your league. Not even the same dimension.”

“But…I mean, look at her,” I said.

“I am, along with every straight guy here. You don’t try and get with pixies.”

My heart hammered, and I kept looking. It was like all the anxiety of the approach was hitting me before I even attempted it.

I swallowed. Thought two words: fuck it.

“I’m going to do it.”

Kevin took my cup and stared into it. “You barely drank any of this. Wait…wait, you’re saying this when you’re sober? She’s a pixie, dude. Like, a pixie. Do you know what they do when they are not partying?”

“I know what I want her to be doing,” I said and took a step toward her.

As if my desire alone was enough to draw attention, she swiveled to look at me and her irises widened to fill her entire eyes. Blue marbles.

“You’re an idiot,” I heard Kevin say behind me, and I stepped closer to her, and she hovered across the floor. Up close, her gossamer wings—thinner than paper and nearly invisible—beat a steady breeze over my face.

Which was helpful because even being this close was making my skin burn from a blush.

She stroked my cheek with her hand. Her wings beat soft against my side. I reached out and took her fingers into mine.

She alighted and was lower than me now. I looked down at her eyes and tried to communicate all my attraction through them as my mouth gave up on talking. I leaned forward. I leaned down.

I closed my eyes and felt a finger push on my chest.

My eyes snapped open. She smirked with impish glee, and a burst of magic shot through my sternum.

And my body hit the wall a second later, my entire frame blasted off my feet. I felt dazed, but otherwise unhurt, and scrambled around for footing. A hand lowered into my sight, but did not offer help. Instead: a beer bottle.

“Drink,” Kevin said, “I think making you less sober is going to be a good idea at this bar.”

“I nearly kissed her,” I muttered, taking the bottle. My chest stung, and I gulped down the entire beer in one go.

“Yeah, yeah, sure you did.”

I swiveled my eyes until I saw another girl, this one flowing around in a bench all to herself, smoke pooling off her hair.

“Who is she?”

Kevin followed my gaze. “I take it back. Drunk is not going to be better. She’s a Djinn, dude.”

“I’m going to do it.”

Kevin sighed. “I am never taking you to this bar again.”

Special thanks to: Bob GerkinCollin PearmanDylan AlexanderJerry Banfield, and Michael The Comic Nerd. 

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