ಬಣ್ಣದ ನೆರಳು

The little flower-picking fairy was there again. She sat with her legs stretched out, slowly turning over the flowers she had gathered in her skirt. I made a sound with my feet. She slowly lifted her head. Flowers began to fall from her eyes. She filled them in her hand and scattered them all over the ground, asking, "I need to string flowers, do you have a thread?" "Oh dear," I said, "I don't have a thread. I have a mask. If you want, I can tear off its string." "No, I don't want that," she said, scrunching up her face. "What else do you want?" I asked. "Give me the necklace from your body, give me your guts, to string the flowers," she said. "Is that all? I'm ready," I said. "Really? Then give it," she said, extending her hand. I had shown enthusiasm to give. But I was confused about how to give nerves and how to pluck out guts. As I was in

confusion, there was a sound where she was. As I watched, all the flowers there disappeared, and only she remained. In the next moment, in the place where the pile of flowers had been, she herself appeared as a flower and floated in the air, drifting until she reached the roadside, turned at the bend, and suddenly disappeared.

- An excerpt from 'The Pigeon Story of the Little Fairy'.