THE SCOTTISH LOTTIE

I first saw her outside a supermarket in the pouring rain and she spoke with the strongest Scottish accent I had ever heard from anyone who was not from those pastures.

An angelic creature, chaste and virginal, beyond the touch and seduction of the man-hunter, if I did not know otherwise, she was a real-life fairy before my very own eyes.

Fairies come third in the order of things behind Goddesses and Angels.

There was definitely something about this young woman in a childs body which was truly enchanting and spell-binding.

Be in no doubt.  She is a real person and lives an ordinary life among us.  She lives in an apartment in a big city, has a day job, drives a car, works out at a local gym, eats out with friends at fancy restaurants, visits the salon for beauty treatment once a week, sings karaoke and occasionally throws caution to the wind, as fairies invariably do.

Only a fairy in tight levi jeans and bright yellow stilettos on a day such as this would ask a complete stranger to carry her overloaded bags of grocery shopping to the car and offer nothing in return, not even a phone number to satisfy the man-hunter’s curiosity.

You might be mistaken to think that this fairy of south-east Asian extraction learnt English from a dour Scot whose birthplace was Aberdeen or Dundee and whose physical appearance resembled William Wallace or Alexander Selkirk with a long straggly beard.

Alas, in the blink of an eye, with the shopping loaded into the boot of the car and the raining still teeming down relentlessly, the Scottish Lottie sped off, leaving the stranded stranger at the kerbside.

That, of course, is not the end of the story.  Or even the beginning.

That night, this enchanting creature appeared in my dream.

As cool and untemperate as it seemed, she sat invitingly on a small rock on the banks of a Scottish loch, not moving, looking over to the mountains in the distance and the summit of Ben Nevis, completely and utterly oblivious to the presence of the man-hunter captivated by her.

Years later, as fate will have it (and fate always lends a hand), I lived that dream for real.

I was drawn to that same exact loch depicted in my dream and there she was, a fairy dressed so plainly, poorly, purely and primitively, her naked shape I could clearly see, a fairy possessed of a power no man on Gods earth would be able to resist.

Bedraggled by the incessant pouring rain.  Just like in my dream and that day outside the supermarket.

She was the yellow glow of the sun when the sun did not shine.

A man-hunter can engage with a fairy and fall in love with her if the door to the fairy world is left open.  She entered my heart that day and she has never left.

I call her Lottie for no good reason than I remember the first time I saw her outside a Jakarta supermarket in that pouring rain.

If the truth be told, the reality comes before the dream.

Here before my eyes sat but a child who was from another time and of another age.

Somehow, I just knew that our paths in life were meant to cross and I would meet her again.

Dear Readers, there is a lot more to this story than can ever meet the eye.

Whenever a rain cloud forms overhead and rain drops start to fall.

Whenever I see a woman walking clumsily on uneven paving in yellow stilettos.

Whenever I see a fairy working out at a gym in a costume as tight and bright as the sun itself.

Whenever I visualize a woman inside a childs body, demure, virtuous and righteous beyond deception of my eyes, I feel the presence of the Scottish Lottie.

Then I get a telephone call on my cellphone from an unknown number and a voice speaks to me.

Tenderly, sweetly, strongly.  With a Scottish accent.

Fairies can do things like that.

 

 

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