A Different Kind of Gold - Short Fiction Story by Emmie Christie

 

A Different Kind of Gold

 

Short Fiction Story

by Emmie Christie

 

 

The shaft of sunlight through the far barn window spun the hay dust into a different kind of gold. The colour lent the old barn a sense of prestige and solemnity, like a king’s robe draped over a farmer—lifting his hollow cheeks, straightening the wrinkles on his brow.  

Tracy lay on her stomach on top of the hay bales, holding her breath at the nobility of it. She peered down at her old farm boots and imagined them in that colour.   

“Woohoo!”  

Filo swung on the rope swing, crossing from one end of the barn to the other in one fell swoop. He dropped and rolled down, panting, next to her, holding onto the thick, knotted end of the rope. “I almost got to the top that time! I landed on the seventh bale! Did you see?”  

“Mmmhmmm.”  

“You did not. You weren’t even looking.” Filo pooched out his lower lip. He couldn’t sulk for longer than a few seconds, though, and bounced up and down on his toes. Her mother said he needed lots of interaction because of his ‘state’ as an only child. 

“I don’t know why you come here, anyway,” Tracy said. “My brothers are more exciting than me. They chase the chickens and run around more.”  

“My mom doesn’t like when I go to your house. She says it’s filthy.”  

Tracy huffed. She grabbed the rope. “Well. I guess this filthy girl will just have to reach the top first.”  

“Wait—I don’t think you’re filthy,” Filo said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked some loose hay off the edge of the tall stack. “Besides, you won’t come close. You haven’t even gotten past the fifth bale.”  

He spoke the frustrating truth. On her last swing, Tracy had just reached the fifth bale, let alone the tenth up close to the rafters. But his comment burned inside her like a pepper, acidic and raw and hot. She held the rope and marched as far to the back of the barn as she could.  

“Trace, not that far back—” 

She leapt.  

Ah! The rush of air, the sweet release of her weight, the loosened ties of gravity—she tilted her head back and let the motion carry her. The other end of the barn rushed towards her and the rope swung upwards; higher, higher it soared, and the top of the haystack waited like a dare, like a sneer from Filo’s mother. The rope stretched further, and she soared into the rafters, above the highest bale and through the beam of royal sunlight. She let go.  

She flipped mid-air, as if swimming, not falling, and treaded the golden motes of hay dust. Something feather-light wrapped around her.  

Then gravity tossed her onto the highest bale with a somewhat hostile force. She tumbled, and almost fell, but caught herself just in time.  

“Trace!” Filo’s voice rasped out in panic.  

She coughed from the impact. “I’m fine.” She got her legs under her and leaned against the nearest hay bale, dragging breath into her lungs. Something shimmered in the corner of her eye, and she blinked and whirled, trying to catch it. Her shirt had transformed into a dress of royal gold. It flowed with her like silken sunlight, and her hands felt like a noble lady’s hands, the nails trimmed, the skin soft and pale.   

“Trace.” 

Filo had clambered up the hay bales to get to the top. How long had she stayed there, entranced, in the dress of royal gold?  

He surveyed her, his hands at his sides. “So, it’s happened.”  

“What? What happened?" 

Filo’s clothes radiated in the light from the barn window. His jawline strengthened, his cheekbones sharpened, and his lips reddened as if he’d eaten strawberries. “You can see now.”  

She crossed her arms. “Why am I—why did you change?”  

“I didn’t change,” Filo said. “You passed through the sheen. It opened your eyes to faerie.”  

“But I’m just a farmer’s daughter!” Kings and queens, and other noble folk could become faeries, sure. Legends said the royal life caused the faerie condition. The huge castles and hundreds of servants enticed the ‘sheen’ to wrap around them, like ivy wrapped around a tree.  

Filo spread his arms. “Some people attract faerie by nature, not riches.” He paused. “Like those who feel they don’t belong.” 

Tracey snapped her mouth closed, then stuck her feet out from under the dress. Gold slippers encased them instead of her old farmer’s boots. Faerie sheen, just like she’d imagined. Just like she’d always wanted. “I did. I did feel that way.” She paused. “But what about you?” 

“My parents are faerie,” he said. “That’s why my mum lets me play with you, even when she doesn’t like your family. It’s a whole thing, with faeries, pretending they’re better.” 

“Wait! You knew this would happen?” 

“Well. When your eyes are opened, you can see the sheen on others. Even if they don’t know it yet.”  

He rose on his tiptoes then sank back down. Still the same happy Filo, just with a sheen, that underneath-part of him still brilliant through the glamour.  

Heat rose in her cheeks. He stayed the same underneath. His happiness shone through the gold, and she liked it that way.  

But . . . 

“Will you and I be like your mum?” she crossed her arms. “Does the sheen change us?” Am I already like that? Do I think I’m better than others? 

Filo stilled, his shoulders shrinking in. “I don’t know.”  

She studied him. “I don’t think you have to worry. You’re more like my family. You run and shout and say what you want. You’re happier.”  

“Only when I’m here. With you.” Filo plopped down on the hay bale, his swath of golden robes spreading around him like sunlight on the water. “When I’m with her, she makes me say bad things.”  

Tracy clenched fistfuls of her dress. “Then you don’t think my family is filthy?” 

“No! No. They made you who you are! You might love pretty things, because you’re faerie, but you love people, too. That’s why I come here, to be with you.” He scuffled his feet against the hay. “And I like spending time with you.”  

A warmth spread through her, like a faerie sheen in her lungs, and she launched herself to hug him. “I think we make each other better when we’re together. Do you want to meet here again, tomorrow?” 

“Yes! Yes, please, let’s!”  

They took turns swinging across the expanse of gold. The late-afternoon sunlight glimmered and twinkled in the humble barn, shining brighter as they both laughed.

  

 

 

 

 

Emmie Christie’s work includes practical subjects, like feminism and mental health, and speculative subjects, like unicorns and affordable healthcare. Her novel "A Caged and Restless Magic" debuted February 2024. She has been published in Daily Science Fiction, Infinite Worlds Magazine, and Flash Fiction Online, among others. She also narrates audiobooks for Audible and loves bringing stories to life out loud as well as on the page. Find her at www.emmiechristie.com, her monthly newsletter, or on TikTok.