literature

Fairytale

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Literature Text

Once, a lifetime ago, before brokenness, bruises, and betrayal, I believed in fairytales, the way any little girl does. Everyday seemed an endless drudgery of repetition, constant boredom, never-ending sameness. But I always knew, I always believed, that somewhere out there, beneath a smiling sun and friendly azure sky, there was a prince, the prince, the one person who could rescue me from my troubles, who would sweep me off my feet and ride with me into the sunset.
I knew, without a doubt, that there was a fairy godmother, just waiting to help me, that if I just believed hard enough, she would appear in thin air before me. I sought solitude, thinking that she would find me in my aloneness and come to my aid. Deep inside my juvenile heart, I yearned for the day when my ordinary life would become extraordinary, when my child's garments would be magically transformed into a phantasmagorical ball gown, complete with glass slippers; my young body, blossoming suddenly into glorious womanhood. I would ride triumphantly to the ball and find my Prince Charming. I would dance into oblivion and live Happily Ever After.

One day I found out that fairytales really were true. I discovered that I had a fairy godmother. She had finally found me, alone,
beneath the dying stars and blackened, sinking moon. Her name…
She did tell me her name.
Her name was Logic.
Logic told me that only time could transform me into the beautiful woman I always wanted to be. She informed me that to believe in something was not enough to make it true, that I had to fight to get what I wanted, that only I could make my life extraordinary. She also told me that there really was a Prince Charming for me, and I would meet him very soon.

She was right, of course.
I did find him, and he told me his name too.
He called himself Experience.
My love affair with Experience taught me that solitude wouldn't bring anybody to my side, only make them forget my existence. He explained that the fantastic dress I always wanted to have would be tripped on, muddied, torn, until it was nothing more than a covering of rags. Experience showed me that the beautiful glass slippers I always wanted to wear would inevitably make my feet sweat uncontrollably, that eventually they would crack, break, shatter, and drive shards of agony into me, that every step would be another step through the hell of my isolated life. Experience helped me learn that whenever I am swept off my bloody, aching feet, I shall be dropped, like unwanted baggage, back to the cold, hard, unforgiving dirt that is reality.

He told me the Royal Ball played one song, one song only, and its name was "Heartbreak".
He told me the Royal Ball had one dance, one dance only, and its name was "Sorrow".

The more I listened to Heartbreak and danced to Sorrow, the more I understood that there is no Happily Ever After. There is nobody to save me from my own pain, nobody to rescue me from my troubles, nobody else in this gargantuan world but me, and me alone.

I am still madly in love with Experience, and every night we go to the Royal Ball. (I found out that the Royal Ball had another name, too. Logic called it Life, once, and Experience said nothing to the contrary.)

Every night we dance in Sorrow to Heartbreak.
But the little child inside my soul, the one part that didn't die with the rest of me, still believes that there is something more. That child will not leave, no matter how many glass slippers of dreams disappear from beneath her, no matter how many beautiful dresses of love are torn from her body, leaving her naked, cold, and hurt.

She knows that someday there shall be a Happily Ever After. She knows I shall find a new song, a new prince, a new dance, and become the queen of my own imagination.

Somedays, when I wish wishes came true, I wish she would just grow up, as I had to.

And other days...
Other days, I hope she's right.
Sometimes they do come true.
© 2005 - 2024 vertigo1473
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scaryzwer's avatar
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