Bill hated fluffies. He really does. He’s spent his life kicking them, shooting them with his rifle, chopping them up, throwing them to dogs. Bill stood out from most people in our village.
But that didn’t bother me. I’m a fairy, you know. Some people would call me a witch, but it’s more complicated and irrelevant than that. The point is Bill.
So, Bill’s a bastard. He hated fluff, but he hated people who didn’t look like him. Bill was a racist, sexist bastard… And it really got on my nerves.
Early Tuesday morning, I was drinking my coffee and feeding my horses and fluffies when Bill showed up. He was drunk, yelling, waving a knife left and right. He jumped over my fence and started coming towards my fluffies.
“I’m gonna gut these things!” he yelled between belches. I stepped away - my fluffies are all good and nice. My horses love them. Bill is the only one they don’t like.
“Go away, Bill! Get out before I do something you’ll regret!”
“You? You’re a fool! I’ll kill you and the rats!” and he stabbed me.
In one swift motion, I pulled the knife out and read a spell over it. Bill laughed.
“What? I’m gonna kiww yu aww! Hey wat dis?”
Bill slowly shrank. His body contorted, his legs and arms shriveled. His skin had turned to hair. His face changed, stretched, humped up. His words fell apart.
“Evil humin! Witch! Biww kiww yu!” he moaned. I grabbed him by the neck and threw him out into the street.
“Have fun, Bill! Don’t worry, it won’t kill you. I took care of it.”
I saw him again the other day. Bill, beaten up, pulling himself together and howling. As soon as he passed out, his body immediately reassembled and Bill, the smarty, began to suffer again. He deserves it, don’t you think?