The Pixie's Cage

She seemed tired and her gaze was always lost on the horizon, but she was alert. Her long dark hair fell to her narrow waist to rest in a small cage where she reclined. Inside was me.

She wore my cage on her belt anytime she left home, but even when she set the cage down, she never let me out. I am a Pixie, and Pixies are slaves, kept for the magic humans can steal from us. She need to only touch my cage, and my powers were hers to command.

The convenience of exploitation and subjugation had collectively robbed humanity of its memory. The sad truth is that humans are magical beings as well, each one possessing an aura just as potent (if not different) as that of any pixie. The entitlement of elitism took their magic

At specific moments, humans can still feel a hint of the magic that they once possessed. They call that feeling 'love', 'happiness', or even 'enlightenment'. But it's all the same. And people are all the same to me. I hated them and now, somehow, I was stuck with(in?) this human.

I felt myself trapped in a bag of emotions that I couldn't understand and when she saw the frustration in my eyes she seemed disappointed. All of the sudden this new feelings took over, 'hurt', 'shame' and 'sadness'. And I was surprised to find myself thinking I wanted to go back

to a simpler time, back to an easier life. I sighed and turned the dial on the time circuit to July 4, 1976. “I’m going back to that beautiful bicentennial parade, will you join me?”, I asked her.

"Kid," she said, "you've got yourself a date." Years whirled past us as her her hand slipped into mine. My heart danced. As time slowed, the parade was in full swing. "All hail Ilu-shuma, King of Assyria!" the crowds chanted. I looked at the chronometer. It was dialed to 1976 BC.