The vicious little thing, that looked like an ordinary eight years old boy, had a rotten day. He had the onks. Gnomes were prone to get the onks, especially the young ones; and being a member of the royal family did nothing to prevent that. It was bearable in human disguise though, mingling, watching these oafs, doing little mischiefs was entertaining enough to stand the bad days.
He strolled down the Bridle Path, enjoying the sweet shadow patches beneath the canopies of the trees, minding his own business, slurping his third Vanilla Tabasco Topped Triple Espresso, when a big bright blue man knocked him down hard, spilling his coffee.
“BRAT! Look where you step,” the man yelled at him.
The boy’s eyes flashed with the hot orange of molten glass. His back burned, the air around him sizzled. In one heartbeat he summoned enough magic to vaporize the park.
Since when dared a man to step on a prince’s foot, knock him over, spill his coffee, call him brat, on the same day and expect to get away with it? The boy thought about annihilating the Area of Central Park. That would go too fast. Severe punishment awaited the worm who dared to touch him. Something delicious and fun, he thought.
He had a brilliant idea, and snapped his fingers. Thunder filled the air. The ground shook, the air froze, the trees trembled in fear. People grabbed dirt. The man, who had yelled at him was no more. A small pug sat in a heap of sweaty training shorts.
The boy went to the dog, bent down. “I’ve always wanted a doormat,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. He picked it up by the scruff and shook it.“Who’s the brat now?” His eyes lit up with crimson sparks. The dog yelped and wiggled his little body out of the sweaty electric blue spandex shirt. It peed itself, terrified beyond the capabilities of his little doggy brain. The bulging eyes, and the heavy short breaths made the gnome prince giggle. “Now you’re mine! Forever.” The pug whined.
“What’s your name?” The dog whimpered. The boy plucked a blade of grass and twirled between thumb and forefinger. A long green rope emerged between his fingers, and tied it around the dog’s neck. He put it down and looked at it quizzically, tapping his forefinger to his chin. “Hmmmm… Let’s see. Sit!” The dog sat. “Speak!” The gnome prince demanded.
“Hi. I’m Carl.” The dog answered with a yelp of surprise.
The boy grinned satisfied. “Take that onks!”
Author: Ramona Darabant
R. C. Darabant was born Romania and lives now near Vienna, where she works as a family physician. When she isn’t working, she writes poetry, flash fiction and short stories. She recharges her batteries during storms and night strolls. In her stories, there is a distinct lack of happy endings. It’s not pathological, rest assured, she had that checked.