It was late, too late to be drinking redbull.

The location was Portugal in a town that stank of sardines.

Subject 1 was trying to ride the night all the way to the beach. Almost sunrise and slumped in a corner. Brain haemorrhage music had done its job. Legs no longer worked. Lost and defeated.

Subject 2 entered the room. Not walking. Hovering like a humming bird. Little wings. Feet just off the floor.

Subject 2 floated towards subject 1.

That’s when it happened… The vision. Inception.

The stokefairy lived. Not as a person nor as a shapeshifter but as a spirit. An entity. A lifesaver. A radical thing.

He lives within us all. That silly woooo you make seeing a friend take a bomb, that whistle you make seeing a mate make a grind. That’s him.

Let him rule.