Flash Fiction (6)

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I went to the small white-shelved store registered under Midas Enterprises. They didn’t have to tell me not to touch anything, I knew I couldn’t normally afford anything in it whole, never mind  broken.

I passed by the purse which was strangely calling to me despite how simple it was in design. One of the assistants saw me looking at it and piped up.

“Could have done with more of those to prevent the fiscal crisis but the leprechauns started getting sniffy about them…” The satyr who worked in the store said. I kept a sharp eye at all times on where his hands were.

“Oh yeah?” I queried.

“They always flash that message up at first so someone buys them, plus I guess it’s a compliment to the bearer. It tells you how well your finances are doing, according to how much money you put in there.”

“… So does it help you take care of your savings?”

The satyr laughed at me.

“It’s roomy and forecasts like an inane Facebook status. But if you want to take care of your savings, that’s what I.S.A.s are for Pixie Doll.”

After that annoying epithet he looked me up and down for a while.

“Say… I’m having a… party…. later, wanna come join?”

“No thanks” I said curtly. He’d probably been living in some shady part of the States for a few thousand years judging by his very forward manners.

“Got a better offer?” He asked mischievously. “Because in my opinion you need fairy-dusting…”

“I’ve got a shit ton of dragon gold that needs keeping safe… and not much patience with Financial Advisers, reptiles or fur-balls.”

His mouth fell open.

In order to show him I wasn’t joking around, with my minuscule height, short hair, cobweb dress and flat shoes; I  hefted a hessian pouch as big as my skull onto the counter with a muffled thump.

“How much for the purse?”

(© Copyright Pola Negri 13/04/2017)

 

 

 

 

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