[THE ONION FAIRY]

finn m. pestle

1.	Dice	2.	Fireflies	3.	Blood	4.	Sea	5.	Glass
6.	Boil	7.	Machine	8.	Fantasy	9.	Dog	10.	Lust
11.	Titan	12.	Free	13	Electrify	14.	Regret	15.	Children
16.	City	17.	Waste	18.	Smile	19.	Shackles	20.	Lights
21.	Song	22.	Holiday	23	Villain	24.	Hero	25.	Fly
26.	Tease	27.	Touch	28.	Hide	29.	Night	30.	Naive
31.	Animal	32.	Hush	33.	Soon	34.	Still	35.	Friend
36.	Close	37.	Together	38.	Fight	39.	Mask	40.	Clean
41.	Stars	42.	Panic	43.	The End	44.	Text	45.	Return
46.	Magical girls	47.	Gundams	48.	Bishounen	49.	Tentacles	50.	Writer's Choice

[THE ONION FAIRY]

DICE

Finn held the two dice in a sweaty fist. His eyes flickered to the man sitting across from him. Nicholas was a good friend, but sometimes he made Finn feel like he was roasting on a spit, waiting to be devoured. Finn noticed the dangerous glint in his eye and squirmed in his seat—a charming garbage bag that smelt of a horrid amalgamation of rat droppings and armpit sweat.

“Well?” Nicholas asked, raking a hair through fine, honey-blonde hair. It, along with a pair of emerald green eyes, was probably his best feature, and one that he showed off. It was thick with hair gel that slicked it backward. He could’ve looked handsome if he tried really hard—and lost a couple hundred pounds. He wasn’t obese, but sometimes Finn thought he could use a visit to the gym.

“I ain’t gettin’ any younger here.”

Finn grimaced. “Shut up already. I’m throwing.” Nicholas bellowed with laughter, throwing his head back and patting his over-sized belly.

And he did. The dice left his hand, tumbling toward the rusty silver bowl in front of them. The sounds of clattering were drowned out by the throaty buzz of voices in the background, peppered by car honks and coarse language.

Finn’s eyes lit up. “Double sixes! You've been beat, old man!” He leapt from the garbage bag, and a wide grin spread across his face. Behind Nicholas, men laughed, a chorus of merriment and coughs that coalesced to form a strange, deep harmony, so loud that Finn could feel it through the soles of his feet.

Nicholas himself was looking particularly abashed as he drew himself upward. He was taller than Finn by a good head, and Finn was certain that if anybody from his school had come face to face with the man, they’d be quivering in their boots. He had when he first met him.

“Good boy,” he said, slapping his back with a meaty hand. Finn tried not to yelp, and the chorus of laughter began anew. And, following that, a sharp twinge of belonging pierced his heart, and it dulled Finn’s grin.