Lessoc Fountain - a fairy-creature tale

Ch. 7 Kindness

The three youngest children paused in their game of kickball to snort like donkeys. The girl stopped playing with her braids to complain that something stank in the square. The oldest boy, done with his story, moved to block the farm boy.

"Didn't I tell you to go around the village, the last time I saw you? Or did you forget? It was fifteen minutes ago, after all." In spite of the fact the village boy was several inches shorter and twenty pounds lighter, he stood arms crossed and chest puffed up with importance.

"The street is free for everyone," said the boy, tugging the reins for his donkey to keep moving.

The donkey had other plans, though. Standing stock still, the animal let out a piercing bray and then dropped a large pile of dung on the gravel.

"Oh! Disgusting!" shouted the girl. "Is that what they taught you at the orphanage? No wonder Monsieur Ruffieux makes you sleep in the barn, you're no better than the livestock!"

"Get out of our village!" the village boy hissed.

Cocot watched as the boy lowered his gaze and yanked on the reins to make the donkey follow. One of the younger children—the boy with bushy hair—found a small stone and threw it at his back.

"Hey!" shouted Cocot at him. "Leave him alone!"

"What's it to you, gypsy girl?" the blond girl asked.

"Yeah? What do you care?" the short boy asked and threw a pebble at her.

"At least my mother taught me manners!" Cocot said.

"Before or after she transformed you from a poppy into a girl?" asked the oldest boy.

She bit her lips closed, a thousand hurtful words crowding in her mouth. After a deep breath, she said, "After. You have to have intelligence to learn."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked the blond girl.

"How about learning to take a bath?" The village boy dashed towards the fountain, and with both hands, splashed water on Cocot's face, soaking her all the way down the front of her shirt and pants.

She sputtered and gasped from the shock of the cold water. A buzzing filled her ears. The children in the square froze, holding their breath to see what she would do. As shock faded, anger like rumbling thunder rushed in to fill the empty spaces of her heart and she stepped forward, fists clenched.

The village boy was laughing at her, egging her on. When she took another step, though, Soufflé popped into view at the boy's shoulder, his wings a shining blur.

"Coquelicot," the old fairy said, "now stay calm. There's nothing to be mad about. It's only water. It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," she hissed, staring at him.

The village boy twisted his head to see who she was talking to, but found empty air. He snorted. "Crazier than a cow in the cabbage!"

Cocot rushed forward and shoved him as hard as she could. She had only an instant as he fell backwards to congratulate herself, when the other boy plowed into her stomach with his head.

She hit the street, wind knocked from her lungs. She started to yell for help, but the girl was on her, pummeling her face and chest with her fists. The other children joined in to pull her hair and kick her wherever they could, and everyone was shouting, Cocot too. She didn't know what she was saying, she didn't know what she was doing. Arms and legs thrashing, she struggled to stand, to fight, to hide, to run, to explain.

"Get off!" shouted a voice over the others. "Let up, already, she's had enough!"

One by one, the boy from the farm pulled the other off, and sent most of them running.