Clancy imagined he was a regular heighted, regular sighted, regular mighted man.

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Hi Ink Well friends; can't believe I hadn't seen the St Patrick's month challenge until today. Of course, I got my leprechaun on, and want to introduce you to Clancy.

Let me be clear, Clancy is not a leprechaun – at least, not in the sense that he chooses to be called a leprechaun. He chooses instead to imagine himself as a regular heighted, regular sighted, regular mighted man. Yet, his imagination was always bigger than his actual height, actual sight and actual might; thus creating the blurred line of which he chooses to live his life.

Never deterred by his belief in his own masculine appearance, he looked at his pointy incisors in the mirror and he couldn’t help but feel proud of the way they reflected his hunter spirit. He knew he’d make a good provider, the yellow discolouring of them only serving to make him stand out to the opposite sex. In this certainty, he had joined an online-dating website, posting an artistic shot from behind, showing his little green hat, and staring out towards a rainbow, the latter dominating the composition of the shot. It was a magnificent photograph, and one couldn’t help feel enchanted by the vibrancy of the colours. He was certain women would see him, and before swooning, send him a private message.

With a PING of his phone, and a couple of coy sentences to the woman who had responded to his profile – he set up a time for dinner, and ever the gentlemen, told the young woman, who had a penchant for kittens and knitting mittens, that he would meet her promptly at 7pm and that she would be expected to pay for her own meal. She was intent on meeting such a mysterious man, and had made it clear in her profile that love is more important than appearance. Doubtful of any woman not being drawn to his own ruggedness, Clancy was hopeful of finding love at first sight. Her sight, not his own. He had every intention of finding an Aphrodite to anchor to himself; his own Helen of Troy who would adore him. Adoration was his goal, love was a concept he couldn’t quite understand.

With that sorted, Clancy made the decision to catch a bus to the local grocery store, where he would need to pick up a couple of things, milk being the priority, and some coriander, which reminded him of the shamrocks he would eat as a young boy. He walked the aisles, and not deterred by his height, strictly browsed the shelves within three feet of the ground. If he wanted a pack of the cream biscuits beyond his height, he would choose to go the plain wafers on the shelf below. Did he want the gravy powder, on sale, on the highest display shelf – no, it was not something he wanted, unless he found the same product discarded around the shop, at a position which would allow him to greedily grasp it and throw it into his basket. Of course, given his poor sight, he never seen the children run and clutch their mother’s legs and whimper. Of course, given his sight, he never noticed the faces gaping – but he did notice their stares. Of course, he understood this to be due to his magnetism.

Later that night, having had his large glass of milk, Clancy was ready for his night on the town! Clancy had dressed in his shiniest black shoes with gold buckles, and wearing his emerald green coat, made his way down to the La Trattoria near his home. He has been especially keen to polish his golden buttons that afternoon, and they reflected the moonlight as he sauntered down the road – later, he thought, they would reflect the candle light at his table. He had called ahead and booked the best table in the entire establishment!

On arrival, he came in with a flurry, shouting, ‘Ciao Bello’ – and, despite considering it rude not to receive the same greeting from the hostess, he followed her past the window tables, to one positioned equally between the kitchen and the bathroom. Clancy was puzzled; the restaurant was empty – he inquired of the buxom woman in front of him, not seeing the horror in her eyes – given his sight, and the absence of any real light source beyond a trio of candles on each table. He had demanded the best table, he had said – but his objection was met with an offer for free bread sticks. Greedily, he rubbed his hands and sat down, beginning to count the seconds until the bread was delivered.

Time passed, and Clancy became increasingly agitated, he had been clear with his directions to his new lady friend, yet her promptness was not being displayed, as he noted it had been 128 seconds since 7pm. As he sat, and crumbled bread stick after bread stick, he did not notice a woman come into the restaurant wearing a burgundy coat. The woman shared a hushed conversation with the hostess, and she had left, looking hastily over her shoulder. She took a few quick steps to rush past the window, her gaze becoming increasingly horrified as a little pointed incisor was illuminated by the candlelight on the over side of the room.

At 492 seconds since 7pm, a couple came into the restaurant laughing. It was clear they were in love, and Clancy listened to their intimate mutterings with a green heart. At 1644 seconds since he’d been seated, Clancy got up from his chair – brushing crumbs from his lap to the floor. He walked to the hostess, who he caught off guard, and wished her the same greeting as before – and again, without a return of the greeting, he left the restaurant.

Clancy walked home slowly, not because his heart was breaking, but instead, because the span of his legs did not allow for a speedy retreat from the disastrous evening that was behind him. Upon arriving home he resorted to his treasure, a magical replenishing pot, not of gold, but something more valuable: chocolate coated almonds. Thereafter, he cried his little eyes out, until he fell asleep.

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