They call it the spring carnival like it isn't a flimsy cover for the fae to swoop in slit as many throats as they feel like before staggering back to the woods all bloated with blood. We started the parade through the woods in the hopes that they wouldn't be so ravenous with their prey so close by... it only worked once.
We made elaborate costumes to make us look just like them, hoping they felt enough empathy for their own that they might spare more of us. If anything it made them more cruel, made them take their time in cutting throat as slowly and deeply as possible. They made it clear we'd insulted them and we're still paying the price.
Over the last couple of years we've taken to drinking poppy tea to numb us in case we get taken, to help us slip slowly away instead of struggling against arms like tree bark as we choke on our own blood. We wear masks that represent something important to us, to make them realise we are deserving of life.
Sometimes it seems to work and they just stare into our eyes like they see something precious. Other times they strike deeper and harsher and take dozens down to gorge while the rest of us try to carry on, stepping over their bodies like fallen trees.
One foot in front of the other til next year's carnival.
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