Goodr Vincent's Absinthe night Terrors
It’s unclear how much of the absinthe he had drunk when he first saw the green fairy. Almost certainly too much. He sat at his usual table in the corner of the bar where he would spend hours sketching in preparation for his next painting, all the while taking down glass after glass of milky green liquid. It helped him focus on his art. At least that’s what he told other people. Really, he just loved getting wasted and hitting on the red-headed waitress that worked there.
Normally, he would have excused the sight of a green fairy as a cliché hallucination brought on by his over-indulgence. (I mean, really? A green fairy? He was more creative than that.) The drink played with your perceptions and made you question those things you normally take for granted. But this… this was different.
The fairy looked “off” somehow. He was admittedly inexperienced with fairies, but he was fairly certain that this one did not have good intentions. It flew in erratic fits, sometimes landing briefly on the ground and then jetting off at an odd angle. It wore a cheap V for Vendetta-style Guy Fawkes mask , clearly a thrift store impulse buy in an attempt either to make himself seem more historically relevant, or to cover a hideous visage; perhaps both. More disturbing, it was carrying some sort of razor blade.
The closer the fairy came, the more panic began to set in. He looked around desperately at the other bar patrons. Some were engaged in quiet conversation, but most kept their eyes fixed down at their drinks. None appeared to notice the fairy. Oddly, the red-headed waitress stared at him from behind the bar but gave no indication that she saw the nightmare approaching him either.
Then, in a movement that defied the laws of nature, the fairy launched itself at his face. He screamed as the fairy latched on and an outrageous scuffle ensued as he madly attempted to pry the monster off. Suddenly, he felt a searing pain on his ear. Summoning all of his strength, he grabbed the fairy and threw it to the ground. To his horror, he could see that the fairy was laughing as it hit the ground. It was covered in blood. His blood. In one of its hands it still held the razor blade, now bloody. In the other hand was a chunk of his ear.
Without thinking, he grabbed the bottle of absinthe and smashed it down on the fairy over and over again until the bottle cracked and broke and the remains of the beast were thoroughly mixed with the absinthe.
As he looked up from the mess, he saw that not one bar patron had looked his way. But the red-headed waitress was still staring at him. As he made to get up and walk over to her, she reached into a pocket in her dress and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. Matte black frames and lenses of absinthe. She slipped them on and mouthed “Wake up.”
And with that, Vincent woke up violently in his bed. His headache was legendary. Jesus that was a hell of a nightmare, he thought to himself. As he sat up, he felt a warm liquid run from the side of his head and down his neck. He touched his left ear and his hand returned bloody. Startled, he looked around the room, steeling himself to see that damned fairy. But the only thing that caught his attention was his nightstand on top of which was a half empty bottle of absinthe, a bloody razor blade and a pair of black sunglasses with teal lenses.
Vincent shook his head in disgust. That dream was probably a message of some sort. Maybe he should stop drinking that green shit. It was no good for him. He had the same thought a few more times as he drank from the bottle that morning.