Just to be clear, “made-up beastie” was not a euphemism for the unrecognizable crumplings of some unskilled artist. Sal was very, very good at origami. He could make delicate butterflies, majestic dragons, and cranes both floating and flying. But these accomplishments, splendid though they were, did not appease the demons of inspiration which some romantics dignify with the term “muse.” In addition to being more than proficient at the mechanical aspect of the craft, Sal was relentlessly gifted in the imagination department. It wasn’t a bragging matter. “Damn things get into my head,” Sal often complained, “and they won’t leave me alone until I fold them.” He didn’t consider it a gift. As far as he was concerned, it was a liability.
Tonight was a case in point. Sal sucked on his injured finger, dunked it in his drink, then hissed a curse as the margarita salt got into the cut and made it sting. The bartender looked on in amusement. The sight of an origami critter coming to life hadn’t fazed her; she was herself relentlessly gifted in the empathy department and was used to seeing her customers’ pink elephants.
The paper creature had now landed on top of Sal’s head. Sal peered at it sulkily in the bar mirror....
This has been an excerpt from the Friday Fictionette for December 8, 2017. Subscribers can download the full-length fictionette (1238 words) from Patreon as an ebook or audiobook depending on their pledge tier.