My mother started cutting when I was nine. On Sunday afternoons, she'd sit at the kitchen table arranging coupons into what looked like a coupon-themed game of Solitaire. She'd tuck a few under he ... [+]
Amy Power Jansen is a South African living in the Netherlands. A heterodox economist working in development finance. A specfic writer of stories that have been published by presses such as Flame Tree, and magazines such as Deep Magic and Compelling Science Fiction. "The Starship of Random Acts of Sparkles" is in Short Circuit #19, Short Édition's quarterly review.
Cleo curled up on the rainbow-coloured beanbag next to her mom's desk. It had been bad enough when she had to go back to school to finish out the term after Dad's accident. But adding insult to injury, her mother had insisted that she come into work with her. Didn't want her to be alone at home.
Sure, when Cleo had been a kid, she had loved the call centre, with its cupcakes that tasted of moonsong and starberries, and the never-ending supply of sweet heartflower tea. What her mom did granting wishes seemed magickal until she had discovered that living on a ship with a Wishing Well couldn't bring the people you loved back.
Cleo heard the telltale chimes of an incoming call, and her mom picking up her headset. "You've reached the Call Centre for Rainbows, Flutterbies, and Unicorns. How can I add more sparkle to your day?" her mom asked, her voice perky.
Cleo burrowed into the pillows.
"A mother unicorn? That's awfully specific. But we can't send a mother without her young, and we can't send more than one unicorn."
Cleo heard the low thwup and puff of the pneumatics routing information to her mother's desk.
"Hmmm, it looks like your Elfland recently requested a pregnant unicorn. Unfortunately, we cannot fulfill another unicorn request so soon. What about your existing unicorns?"
Cleo opened an eye. Her mom's voice had taken on an edge.
"Oh, oh dear! The mother unicorn died in childbirth. That's very rare. . . Ah, it's the baby unicorn you're worried about. It won't stop crying?"
Cleo sat up. Her mom caught her eye and motioned Cleo closer. She leant down and opened a drawer. She pulled out a tome.
"You need to know how to look after a baby unicorn?"
Her mom tapped her finger on the tome. Cleo shuffled closer, picking it up. Flipping through her mother's multi-coloured flags, she found the baby unicorn section.
"Where are you keeping it?" her mom asked, and Cleo pointed out the relevant section. "In the stables with your Immortal Steeds." Her mom smiled at Cleo. "Now, what are you feeding it?" Cleo paged to that section. "Hmmm, okay, that sounds good, maybe mix in some starflowers with the hay . . ."
They worked through each section, her mom hmmming and haahing, suggesting small alterations based on what Cleo pointed out to her.
"Alright, I see, well, it does sound like you're doing a great job adapting how you look after your Immortal Steeds to work for a unicorn. It sounds like your baby unicorn is in good hands and just needs time," her mother said. "But you haven't used your wish if you did want one . . . You want to return the baby unicorn? Are you sure?"
Cleo stared at her mom in horror. Returning wishes whooshed back into the Wishing Well, returned to the fairy dust from which they were made. When she had been told about her dad's accident, when the Wondering Wind had plucked him from the ship and sent him spinning into interstitial space, it was what she had pictured. She knew it wasn't what had happened, but it was what she saw whenever she closed her eyes to sleep.
"Okay, if you are sure," her mother said, inscribing the request form. "Thank you for calling."
"How could you do that, Mom?" Cleo said. "How can you return a baby back to dust for missing its mother. Is that how you feel about me?"
"Oh, Cleo." Her mom pushed the request form towards Cleo. "If I had to send you back to the Well for grieving, I'd have to send myself. Look." Her mom tapped the form. In her mother's elegant scrawl was their cabin address.
"You're sending the baby unicorn to our address?"
"It needs someone who understands. It was surrounded by immortal elves that didn't understand grief. They were doing everything they could to look after it, but they couldn't understand that these things take time. That sometimes it's okay to just cry. Or sulk. Or hate everyone and everything. Or stare into space all day. I thought I knew a family that might know something about that."
"After you send the request, how soon will it arrive?"
"Not long after I pop this into the system."
"If it's okay with you, then maybe I should go home. I don't think we should leave the baby unicorn alone."
Her mom smiled, and Cleo could see the tears in the smile. She flung her arms around her mom and hugged her tight. "Thanks, Mom." Cleo pulled back to meet her mom's eyes. "Will you be okay on your own?"
Her mom nodded, her eyes glittering. "Yes, sweetheart. Now hurry."
