At the Bottom of the Garden
      a short story by Jo Walton 

      Foreword 

      I wrote this on a Sunday evening after reading one too many twee bed-time 
      stories about flower fairies and pastel-coloured children. This story gets 
      a remarkably uniform reaction out of people. Absolutely everyone's 
      response has been "Ugh". 
       
      At the Bottom of the Garden 

      Katie Mae was sitting cross-legged on the lawn carefully pulling the wings 
      off a fairy. The wings were lilac and gold and slightly iridescent. She 
      had one wing almost completely detatched. The fairy was still struggling 
      feebly, squeezed in Katie Mae's firm grip. Katie Mae gave the task all her 
      attention. One of her golden plaits was coming slightly undone, and there 
      was mud and a little ichor on the bodice of her pink cotton dress. 
      "What you got?" Brian's dirty face appeared over the wall that separated 
      their gardens. 
      "Fairy," said Katie Mae casually, and showed him, keeping a tight grip on 
      it. 
      "Cool. Where'd you get it?" Brian's hands joined his face, and shortly the 
      rest of his body followed as he squirmed over the red bricks to land on 
      the grass beside Katie Mae. 
      "Here." Katie Mae resumed her tugging. 
      "How'd you catch it?" Brian peered interestedly at the fairy. It appeared 
      to be a little man, about six inches long, with butterflywings. Brian 
      flung himself down full length beside Katie Mae, a position the 
      grass-stains on his t-shirt marked as habitual. 
      "It was sitting on a flower," said Katie Mae, in a tone of disgust. "I 
      just crept up and grabbed it. It tried to bite me, but I stopped that." 
      "What you going to do with it?" Brian sat up again and prodded it 
      tentatively. It squirmed as much as it could, which was not very much. 
      "Get the wings off so it can't fly away." Katie Mae sighed at the idiocy 
      of boys who required the obvious explained. Just then the wing came off, 
      with another leaking of ichor. The fairy made a little whimpering noise. 
      "I can see that," said Brian. He picked up the detached wing and folded 
      and unfolded it a few times. "Pretty," he said, generously. "But what are 
      you going to do with it then?" 
      "Well I was going to put it in my Barbie house and dress it up in Ken's 
      clothes, though it's a little bit too small I think. But I think it's 
      going to die," said Katie Mae. 
      "I think so too," said Brian. "Oh well. We could have a funeral." 
      "We had a funeral for the hedgehog," Katie Mae reminded him. "I'm bored 
      with funerals." The other wing started to peel away, and she bent her 
      concentration on it. "They're fixed on really tough below," she said. "The 
      top part's easy. But I think I'm getting the hang of it, it won't take so 
      long next time. There it comes." The other wing came off. The fairy leaked 
      more ichor, but did not cry this time. His eyes were closed and his face 
      screwed up. "What did you come round for, anyway?" Katie Mae asked, 
      realising now that her task was done that Brian was more than just an 
      appreciative audience. 
      "Oh, I forgot," Brian said. "My mum said we could go swimming, and we 
      could take you if your mum will let you, and she's gone round the front to 
      ask your mum." 
      "Yowsa!" said Katie Mae, dropping the fairy and stamping on it hard. Then 
      she pelted at top speed up the garden towards the house, Brian close at 
      her heels. 
      "It's so sweet the way they play together," Katie Mae's mother said to 
      Brian's mother as the children hurtled towards the kitchen door. 
      Meanwhile, at the bottom of the garden, next door's cat was eating the 
      remains of the fairy. 

      © Jo Walton 2000.
      This story was first published in Odyssey.