I trampled back to the weekend market with my bag: my ill-purchased scam. Like fool's gold. Like knotted clown shoes. I approached the store surrounded by pomegranate trees and shouted a bath of potato wine at the owner's face, demanding my money back. “I should've known this is not a unicorn horn, this is not magic! This is just narwhal! Cheap, plentiful narwhal!” Mid ramble, I looked over and saw a timid family of narwhals selling the clerk handfuls of their own sawed-off horns, tearfully saying how unicorn commissions are the only way to afford diapers for their little ones.
Author bio: Benjamin Niespodziany is a librarian at the University of Chicago who runs a multimedia art blog known as neonpajamas. He self-released a chapbook of poems in December known as Dress Code Aquarium and has had work published in The Occulum, formercactus, tenderness, yea, Water Soup Press, and 1833.fm.
Commission is part of 101 Fiction issue 18.