Disclaimer: I own . . . EVERYTHING (insert maniacal laughter here) . . . in my perfect little fantasy world anyway. In this one I own nothing. Shit.
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REALITY FAIRYTALES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . By P. Maximoff
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 600 Word Essay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Reality fairytales. That's what the sheet said. Write a fairytale based on real events. I tried. I spent hours on it, and I came to a rather -depressing - conclusion. You can't. Life's shit. There's nothing anyone can do about it, it just is. In the real world there aren't any princes trotting around saving the beautiful, innocent princesses trapped in solitude and furore - in the real world the princes are the evil dragons themselves.
So I don't know I'm supposed to do this, but I'll try anyway. I'll even throw in the princesses, just for you.
Once upon a time there was a town . . .
The town was, well, a town. Some good, some bad, and a whole lotta indifference. The town centre was stuck between the rich and the poor, sun and rain, day and night. If you got deep into the darkest part of town, you'd find a house. It was the dilapidated shit-hole, falling over and really, really . . . decrepit. Run down. Decaying. Crappy. Take your pick. Its residents were our princesses - an amphibian, a bulldozer, a hyperactive narcissist, and a delinquent. They were the bad-boys of the school-yard.
The thing that set them apart from the other inhabitants of the mouldering street is that they trusted each other - wholly, completely. They loved each other like brothers. That's why they're our princesses. Well, that, as well as the fact that they were all mutants. Did I forget to mention that? Oops.
Of course, this just happens to spell out the perfect beginning to a 'reality fairytale' - good people trapped in a bad situation. They had been abused for most of their lives, so it's understandable that they have some authority issues, right? They didn't have to worry about those raping pieces of shit called parents anymore, though. That was the bright spot of their dismal situation. I'm not here to tell you about their pasts though. I'm here to tell you how this 'fairytale' ends.
They die.
Late one night, while everyone was asleep, the Friends came. They broke into the house with their guns and their chains and they took the princesses away. They took them to rooms with cages and bars and machines. It's wasn't jail, it wasn't the tallest tower in the land. It was worse.
"We have to make sure our children are safe," the Friends said.
So they stuck the princesses full of tubes and poured fire into them. It flowed through their veins and into their souls. And slowly, one by one, their souls left, and their bodies rotted away. It happened day in, day out, until only one remained. He had thought he was a god. He was the king of speed - except he wasn't fast any more. His life slowed to a snails pace, like every movement sent a pain worse than death through his thin, fragile body.
Then, and only then did the princes come. Led by old Baldy the King they swooped in, and, upon seeing who the princess was, and viewing the cages and bars and machines and guns, they promptly swooped out again. They would never have hurt the Friends anyway.
The princes ran all the way home just like the little piggy, and left the princess to get out all on his own. He did, eventually. He got so thin he could fit into the walls, and he hid there for days and days and days. And then he got back to the dilapidated piece-of-shit house, and collected his belongings. Then he went to school, to the movies, to anywhere even remotely normal, so that the Friends wouldn't take him away again.
His teacher gave him an assignment one day - 'Reality fairytales'. Yeah, right . . .
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"Uh . . . well, Pietro. That was very . . . uh . . . nice. Very . . . um . . . fictitious." Mrs Malloney, English teacher extraordinaire, looked him over scrupulously. For the first time her beady eyes fell on the leaden, haunted eyes, the pasty skin. He was shaking slightly, staring out the window into the grey nothingness that filled the air around the school.
"Yeah . . . Fiction."
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MWAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!
Not much 2 say now. Plz r/r : ) I'll luv ya if ya do! Hints etc. would be great. Flames, cherry bombs, whatever. Kia ora.