Title:
Fairy Tales
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not me. Fox.
Once upon a time, Ryan Atwood believed in fairy tales. There was a time, years
ago when he put faith in the idea that princes rescued princesses (complete
with Rambo gear, because cool princes just didn't wear that froo-froo crap),
that lovers (the ones who were actually nice to each other and didn't pound the
shit out of each other) were a match made in heaven, that everyone had someone
in the world to call their own (but not in the pimpin' kind of way) and
everyone had someone who loved them (and meant it when they said it, instead of
just giving empty, useless words).
Back in the days when he was dumb enough to just be scared of the boogey man
under the bed, Ryan used to believe in love and in his parents and in good
things that could happen to someone like him.
He figures every kid starts out like that, and he figures that it's just kids
like him who get the raw end of the deal, and that really, the world is all
about sucking it up and taking it. Because no one likes a whiner. Or, at least,
that's what he's gathered from the long line of illustrious father figures he's
had over the years who have accentuated that particular sage opinion with
fists.
These days, in the fairy tales of Ryan's imagination, the fairy god-whatever is
there to deliver a couple of shiners and earth shattering advice like "shut up,
bitch, and grab me a fucking beer out of the fridge". The princes are there to
keep his princess of a mother in her shit, because god only knows she's a
nightmare when she's off it.
And sitting in the parking lot of the gas station, looking at the pay phone
like it's gonna deliver the next message from God, Ryan has to wonder how any
kid could ever place faith in a bunch of stories. Fairy tales are a load of
crap. The good guys don't win in the end, all parents don't love their
children, there is no fucking God, princes are only out for number one,
and princesses are only interested in themselves.
He's sure that, out somewhere in the world, there are decent people.
But as he's sitting on the two foot cinder block wall, watching the sun set and
thinking over his meager (non-existent) options, Ryan's sure that it's just
another pipe dream he's been chasing all these years.
He's spent the vast majority of his life letting people fuck with him. Even as
he pulls Sandy's card out of his pocket to look at it, he can't help but wonder
what in the hell he's thinking. There are lessons that he's learned the hard
way. Lessons that should have stuck.
It doesn't matter how fucking smart he is, or how damn many points he can score
on the SATs, it don't mean shit. It doesn't matter what venue he chooses to
seek help from, they're all either going to try and shove him back with a
mother who apparently doesn't want him and never did, or shove him with people
who could fucking care less. It doesn't matter how tough he tries to act,
because there will always be someone bigger, badder, and better who will see
right through him. The world, as a whole, wouldn't give a shit if he fell off
its face.
It's something of an emotional suicide to put faith in a do-gooder fuck like
Sandy and hope for the best. He's lived seventeen years already with putting
his faith in fucks who've had a lot more backing them and having his hopes
splattered against the back wall like a bullet through the brain. He's tired of
the hoping, and the living the lie and the picking the pieces up afterwards.
The coin slot of the payphone can be his version of Russian roulette for all he
cares.
He dials the number, listens as the phone picks up and thinks to himself that
after this, he'll give up wondering if fairy tales ever really do exist.
*****