"Faeries and Paint Don´t Mix" by Richard B. O´Keeffe

That's one afternoon I'll never forget...

But before I launch into my tale, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Wish and I am a faery. No, not as in a rude term for a homosexual, as in, you know, a little tiny person with dragonfly wings on my back. My hair is a pale shade of green, but I prefer to cover it with a black hat. I have three earrings in one ear, none in the other. I have a skinny beard on the tip of my chin and usually wear a sleeveless black leather jacket with my patched stripe pants and tankerboots. Some people think I'm a freak. I think I'm just an individual.
Anyway, on to my story. Well, last week I was having a bad morning. I woke up late and had to rush to get out of the house before the tides rose in the pond I live beside. Then I was on my way about my usual schedule of trying to get to work by nine o'clock so my boss didn't chew me out. When I finally got there, I had a message waiting. It was my girlfriend. She wants to "be friends". My computer was fried from the power surge last night. I had too much work and too little time. By lunch I was overwhelmed, so I went home.
For a while I just sat in a corner and rocked nervously. Then I noticed that the paint had started to chip in a little spot there. I picked up a piece of bright blue flaky stuff and examined it. It was pretty. I placed it on my tongue. It tasted bitter, but I got a fuzzy feeling when it hit my stomach. I took a little nail file and started peeling more pieces off the wall and eating them. I was happy for the first tim I could remember. It's the most amazing feeling ever. It's like there's nothing in the world but you and the world feels happy. Something told me to go get the meat cleaver from the kitchen cabinet and play with it. I looked at it, all bright and shiny like the sun, I put it next to the skin of my right arm, and pushed. It made such a deliciously painful feeling shudder through me as I cut muscle, skin and bone happily, my arm now a beautiful mass of dripping red. For hours I just sat and stared at the blood dripping down onto the floor.
I think it was around three o'clock when I started feeling the hurting in my arm, and I knew what had to be done. I raced over to my little corner and peeled off some more paint and chewed it thoughtfully. The meat cleaver was still there, although slightly less glorious than before, with bloodstains caking it's blade. I looked at it, then over my shoulder, and saw my beautiful transparent green wings. They have to come off, I decided. I reached out and drew one of my wings in closer, lifted the cleaver, and with a little effort cut through the delicate bones and membranes, and laughed in glee as the wing dropped to the ground. So pretty, I thought. Blood was coming from the stump now, too, I realised. So pretty. I heard the door open, and saw my mother walk in, her expression quickly fading from one of vague happiness to one of horror, and then she began to scream. No words, just a long, gut-wrenching cry of fear and empathic pain. All I could say was, "Paint....yummm......" before I passed out.