is participating in the International Literary Creation Competition, 7th Edition, from Târgu Mureș, Romania and is 17 years old. We thank her for her participation and wish her success.

One Last Sacrifice

The frozen air is running through my hair. Shivers are going down my spine as the cold ground freezes my bare feet. My heartbeat increases with every second I lose sight of him. My breathless body is screaming at my lungs to fight for more air. The knife in my hand is getting sticky from the blood on my fingers and is making me wonder if all of this is worth it, if I should’ve let him go and bury it all in the past. But I would rather bury him.

4 days earlier

“Looking forward to turning these ideas into something memorable. Thank you again for this opportunity! Have a great day, sir!’’.

“Finally!”, I say excited as I end the video call I just had with my new boss. Getting to work as a copywriter with one of the most exquisite fashion brands down here in Storybrooke is not for the weak, especially when the assignments are given you at the very last minute. My creativity and reliability drew me to working as a copywriter, but there was a greater reason for why I chose this job.

Storybrooke is like any other city, overpopulated, greed taking over people, propaganda, but it wasn’t always like this. Centuries ago, Mayfaire was a place where fairies would enjoy their time living freely and happily. This colony was also the place where my parents were born, until the neighboring cities chased all fairies away because Humans wanted their land to use in expanding their real estate industry. My ancestors, who lived up to 100 years old, fought for decades with the Humans, not letting their guards down and with a single desire in their hearts, to keep their descendants safe and sound so they could take over the throne once the war is over. But there was no throne left to rise to. Humans conquered Mayfaire and turned it into their most beloved fashion and real estate centre, Storybrooke. There were a few fairies who escaped the terror they were subjected to, among them, my parents. I grew up hearing all kinds of stories from them, of how despised fairies were by Humans from the beginning, but they remained strong and dreamt of living to the day of making peace with them. But it was never meant to be, we were too different from Humans.

My parents remained in Storybrooke, infiltrating among the rest of the people as Humans, cutting off their wings so they can provide me a normal and decent life. I was forced by them to hide my wings from people’s eyes, because I refused cut off the only piece that could remind me of my ancestry. And so, after years, I decided to choose a job that could let me stay at home and work out of people’s sight, unless I need to make a video call with my team, like this time.

I finish the brand’s commercial and as I release my wings from my shirt, I give myself a little back massage. I head to bed, but not before I send my boss, Aaron, the assignment I worked on, hopefully thinking it will leave a good impression of what I’m capable of as a copywriter.

The next day, I wake up with an email from him: ,,Good morning, Myriam! I am impressed by your work and your determination to make the commercials appealing to the public. I also looked up some of your articles online and I must say, you possess some real talent. I would be delighted if you accept my invitation to dinner tomorrow at 5 in the evening at ,,Le Scene” restaurant. Let me know if you are able to attend. Aaron.”. To say I was speechless would be an understatement. I was looking at my laptop in utter shock, grateful that my years of hard work are being finally appreciated, and indecisive if I should or not have dinner with him.

”I must leave this apartment and meet new people, I can’t lock myself in here forever, but what if he notices my wings?…”, I asked myself while starring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. If someone finds out there are still fairies among them, they will kill me and haunt down all the rest of us. I never searched if there are more fairies alive, my parents used to say they were the only one’s who managed to run away, but I always thought they just told me that so I won’t try to look for others and keep in touch, because that would put all of us in danger and become more vulnerable.

The next day

I gather my thoughts, take the risks, and decide to go. I search in my closet through my dresses for nothing sophisticated, but more formal, to draw his attention from the shape of my wings. To my advantage, my wings are quite flexible and thin. I get in my car and drive to the restaurant he proposed to meet at. I look for him as I enter, when suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder:

”Myriam? So glad we could finally connect in person. Please, have a seat.’’, he says as he kisses my hand and pulls my chair so I can sit. He’s wearing a marvelous navy-blue suit, matched with a white tie, his curls slightly slicked back with one hair strand in the front.

“Aaron! Glad to meet you!”, I say as I sit and calmly adjust my wings so they won’t show.

“As I mentioned in the email I sent you, I looked up some of your previous work in the ,,Destiny’’ magazine about how difficult it can be to adapt to the new social norms of society and believe me when I say, I was blown away by your writing.”

I froze. ,,How did he find that article?! I thought it never reached the media!’’, I say to myself as I try to appear calm and quiet in front of him. I was given the opportunity to publish a personal story in that magazine a couple years ago. I wrote about how inconvenient it was for me to adjust to Humans lifestyle in order to not be recognized. I had to learn their manners of speaking, their humor, their likings, so I can pass as one of them. I obviously did not mention my ancestry, I turned the story around, but I kept the essence, my feelings, my belonging, my sadness. These were all true.

“I didn’t know that article gained media’s attention…”, I tell him, with a shake in my voice.

“My team have gathered some background information online.”

We discussed for some hours and at Aaron’s suggestion, we agreed to go to his place so we can talk more about the future assignments I might receive. As we arrive, he pours me a drink and continue our conversation. He kept giving me glasses of wine, one after the other, and because I was already dizzy, I stopped questioning myself why, until I passed out.

I wake up the next day from thunders coming from outside, but it the window wasn’t from my apartment. I remember being with Aaron, so call his name. Nobody answers. I get up from the bed and as I see my dress on the floor, I feel a sudden pain in the back. I place on the back so I can massage… my wings. Are gone. I run in a breath to the nearest mirror. My back, covered in blood, with a few feathers sticked to the outside of my back. Tears are rolling down my cheeks as they heat up, my legs start to tremble and I fall to the floor, crawling outside the room. I get out and see the living room. Aaron’s living room. ,,No… It can’t be…”, I say in my mind as the scenario is playing in my head. Aaron cut my wings. But why? I put some clothes on from his bedroom and I see a note on the desk: ,,You’re not so special now, are you?”. My fists clench. I raise my head to look out the window, just to see a trail of blood outside the building. In desperation, I get a knife from the kitchen and follow the trail, before the rain starts pouring.

I drag my feet across the street, my cheeks are burning and my eyes are stinging from all the crying. In the distance, I notice a blurry shadow. As I get closer, I see Aaron, sitting below a willow tree, next to a lake, with my wings in his arms and a pool of blood beneath him. I tried to hold myself back, to keep my distance, even though every part of me wanted to confront him for the pain he caused me and the way he took my most valuable thing I possessed. I fought to stay composed and not give in the temptation to cut his head off, but that wouldn’t torture him enough. The rain starts and I feel my wound clean and burn at the same time.

“Why did you do it? Wasn’t enough for you, Humans, to take our land, our people, our history?”, I say in between my tears.

“You have no place in here. My great-grandfather died so his descendants could live a better life in this city. You were all a mutation. I searched you down, I put the dots together from your heart-warming article, poor Myriam, living like an outsider.”

I get closer to him, so my knife is at his throat, slowly getting into his skin, watching small drops of blood coming out of his neck.

“I have no intention of letting you live, hunting me down until you get me killed.”, I whisper as struggle to pull my wings back from his arms, but he holds them tightly. I stab him in the stomach and as he melts to the ground, I pick up my wings and watch him drown in his own suffering.

“Whoever planted those ideas in your mind must have been deeply disturbed, much like the world you come from. I might just go to your house and steal all your beloved money you care so much about, but what you have taken from me cannot be measured in anything you value, nor compared to the pain that echoes through generations before me. You took my most precious thing, and now I will take yours.”, I say, while I stare into his tearful eyes. He grabs my ankle and I fall to the ground due to the fatigue and as he tries to reach for my knife, I grab it before him and stab him in the neck.

I let him agonize below the willow tree, in the pool of his blood, but also mine and I recall how the fairies were slaughtered, their death being the very price of our survival. They bled out, drenched in their own blood, but also in the Human’s who were injured on our forgotten land. Of their all sacrifice, of all their love, only two fragments remain until this day: my wings.