I found the fairy skeleton on the beach, nestled tightly between two grey, pockmarked rocks. I was crying, for reasons that need not be mentioned. Really, it was only a small fight at the pub and I wouldn’t have cried only that I’d had so much Jameson’s and it always makes me melancholy. And when Seamus said he’d rather toss a bum’s salad than kiss me good night just then, the drink welled up in my eyes a bit. Ok more than a bit, I walked from Brown’s to Brilliant Rock and probably lost a fifth. So it was a wonder I saw the wee thing through my tear-stained lenses. But I’m drawn to bones.

            I understood the importance of the dart game. Understood that it was early yet and the game had just begun. I was only sleepy and, as before I mentioned, melancholy, and wanted to wrap myself in my grandmother’s wool and warmth and sleep like in the womb. But Seamus don’t know what he says when the darts are flying. With unkissed lips I stumbled along the dark and moody beach. Against all the dark and grey the fragile white ossa beamed. I wiped my tears away and cursed Seamus for the chill against my skin. He used to love me, now he’s used to me. Don’t think that each kiss might be his last. Might be though.

            It was a delicate exercise, to get the bones from between the rocks. With trembling fingers, from drink and cold and sorrow, I picked each tiny fragment from its harsh grave. The wind rushed against my back, its cold caress a Seamus mimic. But soon I had the skeleton laid out on my cold hand, a head at my fingertips and feet my heel. The wings were long gone, too delicate to last. Ah, that’s too obvious. I shook my head at my own silly thoughts. Love’s too delicate… a shame to even think such melodrama. That’d be the whiskey thinking. Love’s like fairy wings- I leaned over, thinking I’d puke onto the sand. Seamus loves like an octopus, I said to the wee skeleton, he’s got no bones.

 I wondered how the fairy had died. Thought they were immortal really. I looked for injuries. I had seen on the TV how stab wounds or teeth-marks would leave cuts on bones. Fairy forensics failed me, the bones were so tiny and I was so shivery from the cold I could barely hold my hand steady to get a proper eye full. I felt so sad for the little fella, or miss, impossible to tell really. Just dying there amongst the rocks. Maybe it ran to the cold grey beach like me, after a spat. Maybe its wings were heavy with drink and sea spray and it sat down to think and got comfortable in its burden and never got up. I looked around me. Grey expanse of beach stretched for miles. Carefully, so as not spill my passenger I laid down in the sand, my arm outstretched and cradling my dead fairy.

Me and the bones stared at the dark grey sky. The wind pushed the clouds across the heavens in speedy wisps. We were comfortable, we were feeling happier in the womb of grey.

“What are you doing?” A voice, from the sea, loud booming, Seamus.

“Looking at the sky with my fairy skeleton.” He didn’t have to question and I didn’t have to look at him to see the disgust on his face. I held up my hand.

“That’s a bird, Dingbat. Get up and come back to the pub, will yeh.” His edge softened. I watched the clouds swirl above me as I thought about my next move.