They called in her dreams: Beyond the compost heap, among the foxgloves. She found them in the morning sun, gossamer humanoid things, large-eyed and curious.
They fluttered all around her and trilled with laughter: You came.
One by one she caught them, tore away their pretty rags, pulled their wings and pinched off their heads. Each and every one.
‘Alice! Alice, come in for tea.’
In the night, in her dreams, Alice danced and danced. Danced her feet to bloody stumps. Danced with flowers in her hair, laughed and sang and did not care.
Until she woke.
No. 31 in the ‘Beyond the Streets‘ sequence – a series of 100-word flash fiction.