It was Holly’s twelfth birthday, and her mother had taken her to visit the unicorn pen. Holly remained outside on the broad sidewalk while her mother entered the butcher shop.
“Mrs. Flynn, what can I get you?” the ruddy-cheeked butcher asked.
“I thought I’d buy a delicacy for Holly’s birthday. Just a small cut, please.”
“I’ll pick the most tender morsel for you,” the butcher said kindly.
Losing interest in the adults’ exchange carried through the open door, Holly pressed her palm flat against the clear glass display outside the shop. The unicorn grazed on bright-green grass and rainbow flowers on the other side of the unbreakable barrier.
“Beautiful thing,” Holly cooed, “c’mere.”
The unicorn’s eyes were a moist, eddying black, its coat a pearlescent white. The longer Holly stared at it, the more colors she could discern. She swayed on her feet, dizzy from her attempt to name them all. For years, she had been begging her parents for a pet unicorn. It would be her bestest friend and confidante. She would braid flowers through her unicorn’s silky mane, ride on its back, and they would play games together in the garden all day.
Holly beamed when the unicorn pressed its snout against the glass separating them. The unicorn’s ribbed, tapered horn clicked gently against it. “Mom, come look!”
“Just a moment, birthday girl,” Mrs. Flynn said as she opened her wallet and thumbed out several crisp twenties. A delicacy as rare as this was, of course, expensive.
The butcher handed her a small parcel wrapped in wax paper. The thinly sliced steak inside still dripped blood as pink as strawberry syrup.
“Anything else?”
“Can you throw in a smidgen of ground horn? After all, it’s a birthday tradition.”
“Right away, Mrs. Flynn,” said the butcher. “Your little girl will have the best prophetic dreams tonight. Just have her ingest the unicorn dust at bedtime.”
Over the adults’ conversation, the unicorn neighed in ear-splitting bursts. A ring of white appeared around the night-sky-dark of its eyes. For the first time, as the unicorn reared back on its hind legs, Holly realized just how small the glass cage was, almost like a coffin.
“Take care now,” the butcher said.
Mrs. Flynn stepped out onto the sidewalk with her purchases. “Say goodbye to your friend, Holly,” she said with a merry wave.
With one last glance at the unicorn, Holly took her mother’s hand. Together they walked down Main Street to finish their shopping for her birthday celebration. Holly thought about the dreams that would visit her tonight, after the sweet, sibylline dust had dissolved on her tongue.
She hoped the dust would show her a pretty unicorn all of her own.
—
Avra Margariti is a Social Work undergrad from Greece. She enjoys storytelling in all its forms and writes about diverse identities and experiences. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Daily Science Fiction, The Forge Literary, The Arcanist, and other venues. You can find her on twitter @avramargariti.
