Pixie Dust

4-8-12

Fiction-y.
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She looked up at the person in front of her. Funny clothes or not, they didn't have the facts straight. "You're wrong," she said.

"And why is that?"

"He is the king. You said he wasn't." After all, hadn't Mommy braided her hair into pigtails and they'd dressed up and come to the place with the pretty green lawns and the camels and people wearing funny clothes because he was the king? The person in front of her, however big and tall and adult-like, surely wasn't smart not to know that.

"He isn't," the person said. "Otherwise he wouldn't be here to be judged."

"You're wrong. He's the king. And you're mean."

"You know what? We're winning," the person said. "We've got Barabbas free."

"It doesn't matter," she said, her hands on her hips. She leaned forward, like Mommy did when she got upset about something. "He's going to rise in three days and then he's going to win and come back and save people, even those who hate him, like you."

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"You're wrong," the little girl said. She couldn't have been more than six years old. Her brown hair in pigtails, hands on her hips, jaw set in determination. Sort of reminiscent of a pixie, for some reason.

Of course, she knew she was wrong--in fact, she didn't believe what she'd been saying. It was all an act, but if the kid believed it, then maybe the adults had as well. "And why is that?"

"He is the king. You said he wasn't."

How hard it was to keep in character when a child called you out on the lie. Still, one didn't get to argue with a child every day. "He isn't," she said. "Otherwise he wouldn't be here to be judged."

The pixie's hands clenched tighter, a look of fierce determination in her eyes. "You're wrong. He's the king. And you're mean."

That last statement was wrenching; her heart already hurt from the terrible things that had been portrayed that day. All an act, one that someone had to do in order for the Story to be properly told. "You know what? We're winning. We've got Barabbas free."

"It doesn't matter," the girl said, leaning forward. If she weren't so serious, it would be amusing for such a small girl to look so intimidatingly fierce. "He's going to rise in three days and then he's going to win and come back and save people, even those who hate him, like you."

She had to keep in character and not grin at the girl's answers, especially after noticing that a nearby adult (probably the girl's mom) was grinning at the whole exchange. If this conversation with pixie dust faith kept up, she was going to lose her composure in the middle of the scene. As one of the big bad mobsters up front, she had to stay angry.

She turned away and screamed her lines and prayed that the girl still believed when she was four times as old as she looked to be now. She prayed that the girl would never forget her argument with the mobster who was just plain wrong about the facts of the story.
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