[un]happy endings {sam}

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cass
Retired Staff

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[un]happy endings {sam} Mar 14, 2013 2:55:54 GMT -5

Post by cass on Mar 14, 2013 2:55:54 GMT -5

A fallen star,
Fell from your heart,
And landed in my eyes,
I screamed aloud,
As it tore through them,

When I look up into the sky it is night time. The stars dance across the sky, twinkling and shining. The moon sits above it all, gazing down on the world it watches over. I feel safe knowing its light filled embrace wraps its way around my thin body. The light that lingers on its surface protects me, warding away the bad dreams and night mares that tumble endlessly into my life. It is not only sleep that I fear. It is only dreams that I fear. Dreams are the most fearsome of them all, when they have engulfed you, dragging you within the depths of their stormy confines there is no escape. You can never tell reality from the fake and your are thrown and tossed around, all your worst fears dragged to the surface. Normally I scream. Normally I wake up crying, sobs clinging to my lips, my eyes leaking salty tears and my face streaked with water. My blonde hair plastered to my face, eyes red and worn out. Every day the bags beneath my eyes darken and I fear that one day I will not sleep at all. For I fear it too much.

I chose not to sleep today. Sometimes I like to drag myself back into the fairy tales mother would tell me. The ones where the handsome prince would come and save his damsel in distress. I would will it with all of my aching heart to come true. Because I want, so desperately, do I want for those dreams to become my reality. Those are the sweet ones, the ones that make me smile when I awaken. I cling to the lingering threads of it in my mind, wrapping my hands tightly around it. I don’t want to let go of that little bit of joy that has managed to weasel its way into my head. But as always it slips by, dreams fade, especially the good ones. The bad ones leave a stain on your heart, and its spreads with each new horror and terror until there is no room for good any longer. I’m waiting ever so patiently for my knight in shining armour to come and rescue me from the horrors of my life. Mother once told me that he would, she told me he would be the fairest and kindest of them all, and when he came there would be no more bad. It would all go away.

(So I’m waiting in my castle built from sand, dreams and wishes hold the foundations together. A weak structure, but as long as I believe it will stay true. Each day a wall crumbles, and I’m loosing count of them all. I’m waiting for him to come and break me from these chains, and rescue me. I need him, he may not know it yet, but he needs me.)

The old fairy tale book that I have stays hidden in my room. I look at it every now and then, but I usually refrain myself from doing so. Those nights are always the worst. It pains me more then I can say when I flick wide-eyed and fearfully through those pages. Blood stains many of them, and the beauty that had once inflicted itself upon my mind was tainted by the memories that play stronger. There is little love for that book anymore, the stories only make me hurt, they no longer bring the comfort, love and joy that once had fled from the pages and into my heart. Now when I turn my dull eyes onto the old words I only see the day that caused the blood to spill across the book. The book has become no more than a rigger for haunted memories. Yet I keep it. Locking it away where no one can see it, but where I know it can be found. It is all I have left of my mother, her crimson drops had filled the words of my favourite story, and now it was poison. No longer the honey that had once tasted so sweet, no one wants to drink from a poisoned cup, but I do.

It is a beautiful dance that I do. The trees watch me, they always have. Most night I come to the orchard, preferring the safety that it gives me. At night there is no sound, but the beat of my heart and the swift, careful breathes hat keep me alive. At night the only other sounds can be the soft patter of life upon leaf, the gentle ruffle of a breeze as it kisses a tree, or the delicate, delighted hoot of an owl. They are all sounds that pose no threat, and instead make me feel whole again. The orchard that sits outside of the orphanage is my home, more so than the orphanage. It is where I go to escape it all, to feel free and safe. The trees show me no fear, but friendship. They welcome me and they protect me from the terrors that chase me, they dare not follow me into the orchard. So I stay here and name it my home, it protects me as a mother protects her child and it is here where I feel safest. The trees have wrapped their arms around me, and so I dance, I dance among them.

I breathe in deeply, the cool crisp air slipping past my parted lips and racing down my throat to once more fill my lungs. When I breathe out I close my eyes, holding the harmony of the peace around me. It is not so fragile here as it is every where else. There is strength behind its frail appearance. Most people cannot see what I do. I tip toe down a row if trees, my farms extending to embrace each and every tree. They graze the delicate leaves of outstretched hands. I can feel the softness of their touch, and if I think hard enough I can almost, almost imagine it as my mother very own hand. As she gently grazes her fingers along my open palm. She use to always do that, it would always make me laugh. A sweet song that would make her tired old eyes crinkle at the edges. I can remember her eyes clearly, tired, but bright, they are like mine, except behind the folds of the brightness is a sadness that has pinned me to the core.

When I look up into the sky I see the stars, for the stars are the nights guardians, just as the trees protect me from my dreams the stars guard me from the darkness.

And now it's left me blind,
The stars, the moon,
They have all been blown out,
You left me in the dark,
No dawn, no day,

Last Edit: Feb 17, 2014 5:26:47 GMT -5 by cass

Wonder
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everything is zoe's tbh.

[un]happy endings {sam} Aug 13, 2013 0:58:49 GMT -5

Post by Wonder on Aug 13, 2013 0:58:49 GMT -5

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j o r d a n s n o w

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Once upon a time, a broken girl sat upon a stool in the middle of the kitchen. on a line of lined paper, she wrote everything that she had heard about herself - every insult that she had ever deemed worthy enough to pierce her rock hard skin. She was a giant made from rock hard coal, every Christmas the only presents she received were chunks of herself that had fallen around the living room that she obsessively glued back on in the night times. Still, they would chip away from her bit by bit. She was a painted wall, chips of paint slowly falling and revealing it's old colours. They saw only rock hard grey, but slowly she started to show her seeping red. It would seethe out of her as if blood along carpets. She dyed things with each step, and slept in a puddle of her own self-hatred. On a blank piece of paper she wrote everything that anyone had chipped away from her, "you're fat" "you're ugly" "you always play the victim" "you're unworthy of anything" "you will never make it anywhere" "you always do whatever you can to make my life hell" "you're not funny" "you're just like your father."

"You're a monster" she wrote that one three times. "you're a monster, you're a monster." Just to make sure that she would always remember what everyone thought she was. And when she thought it wasn't enough, she tattooed it along her left forearm just to make sure that she knew as much as everyone else did. She tried different fonts, until she decided that six times on one arm might be enough, and she was not skilled enough to try it with her left. She left for town, crunching through leaves with bare feet, and head up in the sky - she admired the height and often wondered how high it truly went. They would tell her the skies the limit, and she wondered if she were to drown in her own red, how high the sky could be filled up. Each morning she saw the red of sunsets and knew it was another of her species dying, there were very few left, she imagined. But what did she care? She was a monster.

On a warm August morning, she trailed into town leaving bits of bread crumbs in her wake. A Gretel without a Hansel, she lived everyday within a fairy tale and wished for a witch to eat her dying bones bit by bit; however, she knew she was not nearly tasty enough for anyone too eat. The grease of her bones, and the hatred that swelled inside her was enough to turn a cannibal into a vegetarian, but nonetheless she tried. She walked through patches of nettles and rosebuds so her feet would chip away even further. Any way to rid herself of a grey exterior, she tried. Sharpened her nails with files and bit her triceps with werewolf fangs. Tallying the amount of times she hated herself with knives. Carved the hatred into her thighs as she ran out of room. On a warm August morning, she walked to town to fling herself into the sky, when he stopped her so quickly in her tracks. He watched her, He loved her, He kept her safe from harm.

She melted from the sky and dripped onto the grassy earth below. Once upon a time, she turned from red to yellow and dripped with happiness, and dripped blue when she was sad. She dripped every colour she wished but stayed intact as she did. She dreamed of life - she dreamed further and further into the future, days, weeks, months, years. She imagined what it might be like the shed her rocky exterior and brandish her fingers with a ring of solid gold. She imagined what it might be like to give life to a creature that shined white light through it's veins and banished darkness. Her lips were cherry red, but would need to be reapplied every couple of hours from deep kisses and wishful and hopeful love. She absorbed in kindness and let herself shine.

On a cold mid-October afternoon, He stole a lined paper from her jacket pocket and read it aloud. "you're fat" "you're ugly" "you always play the victim" "you're unworthy of anything" "you will never make it anywhere" "you always do whatever you can to make my life hell" "you're not funny" "you're just like your father" "you're a monster, you're a monster, you're a monster" He took the lined piece of paper and kissed every single bit of hatred out of her. He kissed and kissed, and she let him consume her, every remnant of her being. Let him suck out the yellow, and blue, and pink, and green. Until all she was left with was red.

Once upon a time, she fell in love with Hansel, but her trails left too much for him to follow.

On a windy March evening, the night after He had left her, she found a lined piece of paper in her jeans and read it aloud. "you're fat" "you're ugly" "you always play the victim" "you're unworthy of anything" "you will never make it anywhere" "you always do whatever you can to make my life hell" "you're not funny" "you're just like your father" "you're a monster, you're a monster, you're a monster" "you are heartless."

That evening she swore a vow to herself, that she would become everything that people told her she was. She carved out her heart with a knife and set it in a plastic box underneath her bed. She watched the time tick, throughout the day and skulked around at night. A monster, bleeding out red through the streets and living life as if she had no heart. She found Him and placed his slender hand where her heart had once been and watched him wither.

Once upon a time, a broken girl sat upon a stool in the middle of the kitchen and wrote everything she hated about herself and blamed it on others.

**

She twisted the piece of paper in her pocket and skulked outside, another story too close to home, she debated burning it in a fire before never thinking about it again. Regretfully, she cursed herself for spending so much time on something that no one would ever hear - what kind of story was that. A diary. That's what it was, a diary entry and nothing more, it was useless to anyone but her. She watched the orchards with a hand to her chest, gently feeling the wishful pumping of her heart. If only tearing it out would be so easy - but no, she was a broken soul, with a fully functioning heart that beat as any heart should. Jordan tumbled forward, watching the stars so closely as they became a sort of home of their own, she had grown so fond of them.

The view from the orchards was so much better than from her old home. What used to be blocked off was now wide open and she admired it thoughtfully. There was so much out there that she could grab, yet she anchored herself to the square that she slept in, scribbling poems and stories to read to the others. These were now her responsibilities, and these were her life experiences under the guise of fairy tales. This one, though, she wasn't too sure if she would share. It was so personal, and so scary and different. It was all too much.

Maybe she would tell one person. A story didn't do any good unread. But a diary was meant to be kept secret. She fiddled with the possibilities before going off to find someone outside, she figured at least one other person would be watching the stars as she did. Someone had to be willing to listen to a story, no matter how personal. People were always willing to listen as long as you kept their interest. But had Jordan's life ever been that interesting?

No, not particularly.

She mentally added, "you're not interesting" to her list.

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peri-snot styler

cass
Retired Staff

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last seen Oct 24, 2021 18:11:43 GMT -5

[un]happy endings {sam} Oct 15, 2013 2:49:07 GMT -5

Post by cass on Oct 15, 2013 2:49:07 GMT -5

‘Once upon a time’ where four words that had long become a pain in her chest. The stayed there, coiling themselves around her beating heart, before tightening until she couldn’t breathe. And then she’d blink and the memory would be no more than a slight tingle under her skin, but it was always there, a hidden lie, roaming amongst the truth. The sweet, misleading beginning to every fairy tale she had ever read was glued to the forefront of her mind. When she slept the words slipped past silent lips, they were branded into her skull and into the back of her eyelids, burning into her very essence until her skin seemed to bleed those four words; it was crazy how much they had become embedded into her very being. Her entire childhood had revolved around them; her most treasured possession was filled with them. Every story lining her stained book begun with those words, it meant there was a happy ending, through all the pain and terror a damsel might suffer there was a happy ending. To the prince who may lose a limb or the queen that had lost a child there was a bright spot at the end of the darkening tunnel. It was crazy, though, how the words were never spoke about the witch that is beheaded, the wolf torn to bits or the dragon slayed. Esme found it odd how those creatures seemed to blend into one area in everyone’s minds. Ugly and different and therefore dangerous.

Dangerous, that is hardly a lie, after all, you killed that man.

Did that mean she was like them? Surely not. But the thought was often a discriminator between a polite smile or a tense one. It was odd how many people defined different as bad, and Esme seemed to be stained with the blackness of that simple word. One word with the power to destroy anyone.

‘Once upon a time’ was a fading memory that was once more light alight like a ravenous fire with every blink of her sad blue eyes, with every fall into the peace of a dreamless slumber. It might be dreamless, but it was never lonely, those few dark words hung over head like a fly that refused to leave you be. It sat there, almost teasingly, forcing her to think about what they mean, and what did they mean to her? The questions was a tantalising one, and one she had spent almost two years trying to formulate an answer to. Presently she had given up, and instead had resolved to simply believe what her childish mind had once believed. It felt safer that way, it felt warmer and less unpredictable. And in her life that was a good thing. Peace was something hard to come by, nevertheless when it came you grabbed it with both hands and you clung to it for as long as you could, and you didn’t let go, even if by letting go you could find the answer to the questions that begged to be spoken of. Because peace was worth it in the end and you just had to believe that you could find them once more.

But to her four year old self ‘once upon a time’ meant the beginning of a tale so bold, extravagant and heroic that there was always the ending where good won over bad. They told the beginning of everything she had ever heard, wishes, dreams and lies laced themselves into them, they were the breeding ground of something so perfect that it was astonishing when it all ended. And yet, beneath them all there was a hidden darkness that was sinister and powerful it was any wonder the words were still printed onto page and handed to smiling, giggling little children. But then maybe that was it. Esme had never thought about the darker meanings it all until she was older. It was better that way, leaving your childhood innocent for as long as you could. As a child the words had seemed meaningless, nothing more than a tale to calm a restless mind, or a story to twist her own fantasies into dreams, where she could be her princess, knight or solider and play with her parents.

But they’re dead now. No more games to play.

It was almost like her entire mind had been shaped around them. ‘Once upon a time’ was almost a story she lived by. There was a girl; she had a family, her family died. She went to an orphanage and awaited her prince in shining armour. And what? Was the story meant to end perfectly? Was she supposed to wait, her days filled with desire and pain as she stared, glassy eyed, out the window, hoping that each boy that passed by would be the one? At first she had believed that, at first she had been foolish enough to think one day it would happen. Then after what seemed forever she gave up, she stood back, stood tall and donned the armour herself. She grabbed it, took it and claimed herself her own night. She didn’t need a hero, not now and not ever, and if a boy should walk into her eyes she would not be a damsel, she would be a dragon. Esme was determined to not sink to the level of an innocent child; she was determined to not be swallowed by the idea that she couldn’t possibly be a hero. Instead she’d become the dragon, the monster everyone tried to destroy, because that monster was different, and for once they needed their story to be told.

Smiling to herself Esme pressed her back against the ground, eyes flickering up to the sky where she stared, glassy eyed. In her mind she spread her wings and took flight, she could breathe fire; she was powerful and strong, undefeatable. Others in her life, like the warden were the soldiers, always trying to defeat her and break her, but like the might, majestic beast she was, she defeated them, stood up and stood tall. The soft sound of approaching feet had her body tensing, shoulders drawing themselves upwards, however, after a few hesitant moments she forced her body to relax, once more allowing a tentative smile to grace her lips. She stayed where she was, lying back in the dirt, eyes staring up at the stars. Slowly she raised a hand, and began to trace the stars, drawing patters and shapes to fit her imagination. Each line connected to a star and within moments the figure of a dragon was visible. Turning her head ever so slightly she spotted another figure. Slender, thin and evidently female Esme’s eyes widened, first thought going straight to the warden – what if it’s her? She’ll kill me – But as the girl stepped closer her figure become less of a blur and more defined, it was clear she didn’t have the broad shoulders of the warden, nor the long, powerful legs.

Regardless, the girl was destroying her peace. Besides she was a dragon and dragons travelled alone.

So tell me, dear child, what is the dragon going to do?

She’s gonna stay. She’d going to tell her story.

‘Once upon a time’ there was a dragon, she was big, strong and beautiful, and she was misunderstood, lonely and lost. But this time, instead of barracking for the night, or wailing for the damsel you’ll hear her story.

”The stars are beautiful tonight, don’t you think?”

Wonder
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everything is zoe's tbh.

[un]happy endings {sam} Oct 30, 2013 0:11:39 GMT -5

Post by Wonder on Oct 30, 2013 0:11:39 GMT -5

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j o r d a n s n o w

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She'd grown claustrophobic. Everything seemed to enclose around her gentle frame, the four corners of the Orchards folded in, and every night just to make sure she didn't disappear among the rest of the world, she left the curtains open. A frame that showed how open and vast nature was, the intensity of living on the border of the world. Dark swirls, and white lights punching through. Night lights on those especially bad evenings - the feeling of enclosure. They lived on the border of the world, fenced in by the harsh intentions of higher ups. Policing their very nature to run free, to put pants on one leg at a time, to wrap their toes in shoes - a set amount of laws, that trapped her in.. further and further.. further and further.

There were some days that were better than others. Clutched gently in corners of rooms, admiring the beige wallpaper and it's scratches, the small crumbling of a room that is just FOR RENT. This was the place that she now belonged, but only for as long as she could pay her dues - and there was no telling just how long that would be. Shearing sheep, the taste of metal clipping along the backs of gods disciples on earth, following the gentle footsteps of a far off stable boy - "So long Darius, have a good weekend." She chirps at the far long boy, he never quite listened in the way expected too far up walls to clamber down to the earth, he treads so lightly on paths leaving small airy imprints. Waltzing along the aluminium shed, it's beautiful in it's own right.

"One day, you shall learn."

"Learn? What are you talking about?"

"Oh seasons change, seasons change."

"That they do, Darius, that they do." Her notebook sat tucked neatly under a storeroom cupboard, as to make sure that no one ever touched it - not that anyone ever journeyed in there but herself and Darius, but it was always better safe than sorry. Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry. There were white hairs that lived on every fabric she lived in, every day there was hairs all over everything that she wore - she listened to every small thing her shepherd boy said just in case, just in case. No one can be quite sure where he comes from and what he plans to do. Seasons change, he says - fall tumbles around her, the leaves of ten are falling, shifting changing girls. Once upon a time, she lived in a state of the constant need of change.

-

She once lived in an endless summer.

There were days that seemed to last for years on end. From sunrise, to sunset, feet trudging along grassy farm fields without a care in the world. This is where she once belonged. Bright colours pushing through the small cracks of the sky rises that were provided to the poor life, hidden among flowers. The high grass that surrounded the Snow family home was perfect for any sort of prancing; with long stalks of wheat that could be used to pluck their teeth, long brown falling to pieces - this is where once upon a time they used to play around without a care in the world. Once there were girls that giggled in these pits, these informal houses that sat on the ground, and loved every second. If their homes could be the wild, this was surely where they would stay,

The wheat field, was in and of itself an adventure, an escape from a never ending home life, that always drifted the fine line of just perfectly ok, and terribly terrible. There was no in between, the middle ground sat among these stalks. So that's where her and her sisters played. Searching for the never found rabbit hole, still the possibility seemed through the young girls pours. Perhaps somewhere among the stalks sat the perfect escape the fields, that one slip of the foot would send the girls to worlds beyond their understandings.

"I just don't understand, Jordan, where do you think we're supposed to find it?"

"Shush, Ileana, you'll scare the rabbits."

She crushed the fields in frustration, this was a general habit. "But there is no rabbit!" She screamed, the smaller of the two girls, so much gentler, her freckles beaming in the sunlight, casting off. Speckled and camouflaged against the beating sun. "If this is so much like that dumb book of yours, it'd be here somewhere!"

-

"The stars are beautiful tonight, don’t you think?”

Wow, the stars were just so wonderful that night, weren't they? Aren't they? She connected the dots with her pupils, a small pen across the surface. In her mind she could trace lines with no effort, highlight the sky - set it ablaze, fire after all ran through her veins. Had she not spent her whole life teasing her fiery red hair, letting it hang loose hoping that one day it would make her feel wonderful, detached, heat rose, how amazing would it to fly? I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry. Every day was an apology in her mind, every small tick and movement was an commitment to fixing mistakes that were already eternally in the past. It was over so soon, and yet her shoeless toes dug deep into the dirt, morsels sticking in the webs of her feet.

Planted to the ground. Here, where there was so much to make up, so much to do in order to improve the lives of those she left slaving over ovens, cleaning up the puddles of blood in the kitchen (tiny hands sweeping across molasses, deep syrups of red) there was no way to fly away. Birds had no anchors tying them down, they were effortless, and attached to her ankles were chains that would not release for a long time yet.

The stars made her think that maybe one day her ropes would be untethered, a shining beacon of hope - if the escape wasn't down the rabbit hole.

-

"It's not here, ok Jordan, it doesn't exist, there is not rabbit hole." Ileana moaned, the night had peaked through, the vague mumbled shouts of their parents could be heard over the nightly chirps of crickets. It was well past curfew now. The grass had lost it's magical quality, this is what it looked like at night, giant beanstalks, trapping in everything that any one could want. There was no love, there was no sun peaking through. Shadows cast harshly in the moon light, there was only fear.

"I swear to god I saw a white coat over here, I swear!"

"Jordan."

"Just give me a minute, it's here, I swear."

"Jordan!"

"Ileana, please, I'll find it, I'll find it" She collapsed in the dirt, hands painted black, limbs shaking, tears streaming down her imperfect face - there were no freckles to guard her against the beasts of the sky - "It's here."

"We have to go." Ileana took her sisters hand and dragged her barefoot through the night the stars guiding their way home.

-

If the rabbit hole didn't exist, if there was no escape on this dreaded earth, it was up there in the stars. Esme stood before her, the small waisted girl, tiny and beautiful was perfect in her own right. The type of girl that stories were written about, a princess that rode off with a knight in shining armour. The one whose face shone so discreetly in the fire light in a camp fire, that loved entirely, that talked to girls when they were clutching their notebooks looking at the stars.

"Absolutely gorgeous, the kind that stories could be written about." Jordan smiled in her direction. "Don't you think?"

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peri-snot styler

cass
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last seen Oct 24, 2021 18:11:43 GMT -5

[un]happy endings {sam} Nov 12, 2013 9:11:15 GMT -5

Post by cass on Nov 12, 2013 9:11:15 GMT -5

“Come on, Esmeralda, we are going to be late.” There was nothing annoyed about the way he spoke. Instead it was prickling with excitement and he reached down, wrapping his strong arms around the girls little body before lifting her up and onto his shoulders. She giggled the entire time, embracing the touch and squealing as she was placed on him. She loved being up there. From up there she could see the entire world around her, she could look at everyone, down upon them and pretend that she was a princess being carried by her amazing knights as she roamed the city. In her mind the world was a kingdom and it was all hers, the people were hers and she cared for them as best as she could, like any mother tending her children. She added them when they were sick and feed them when they were hungry. She was the law system and justice; she was the peacemaker and the spoken words that everyone obeyed. Her father was her shining knight in armour, the defender of her honour and her mother was the queen that stood by her side and guided her when she stumbled. She was the one that helped her back to her feet when she feel, and healed her when she was ill.

These were all people that cared for her, the ones she entrusted with her life and as queen of this undying world she would repay them with every breath she took.

“Papa go faster, please. Mama will be waiting and she said she’d read me a story tonight. She promised that you would help as well!” The young child exclaims, feet gently tapping her father’s chest. Oddly enough she was a girl that seemed consciously aware that any violent abrupt movements would injure her father. She did not hit him hard, her small feet doing more than stirring the material on his shirt. Where most children would have jumped and thrown themselves around she remained aware of other people around her. Mother always said that it was because she was far more mature then they were, but she just called it being careful. No one liked being hit in the chest, after all. Her father responded to the demand with a ‘whoop’ of joy and a flick of his feet and then he was off, jogging across the dirt path at a speed she knew he could keep up for hours. After all they walked this distance almost daily, as she was too young and not quite confident with the horses yet.

“Mama wasn’t lying, Em, we are going to read you your favourite story. I’m going to be the princess and you can be the prince that needs to rescue me, and mama is going to be the dragon you bravely slay!” His voice turns grave at the end, mimicking the tone that usually stayed with the villains in the stories they told her. And then he was laughing, reaching upwards to gently prod her in the stomach. Sending the child into a fit of laughter.

It was crazy how those fairy tales were just that. Fairy tales. The dragon was something she had become and instead of a beast she would slay it was something to be admired, something to be treasure and gazed at with affection and awe. The princess was no longer a damsel awaiting her knight to save her, but a warrior in her own right prepares to fight for her life with a sword, axe, knife or bow. She was no longer a cowering fool that only knew how to knit and cook. She wore armour and pants, no longer dresses that prevented her from breathing. Her skin was not clean, but marked with a million scars of her victories and losses. And this image was far more perfect then those stories. The knight in shining armour was just as much as a woman as the girl was. He was scared of spiders and dying. He was unwilling to die for a life he knew nothing about. He was selfish, cruel and rude, and yet he was beautiful in the way he was completely human.

He wasn’t perfect, he wasn’t the most handsome thing anyone could look upon, he had a dark past, he had killed, and he had blood on his hands. He was impulsive and scary. And yet he was everything she could possibly want, because there were flaws beneath that mask, there was something broken, and even though that girl knew not how to stitch things back together she could mend him. And in the end it was the fixing part that created love.

This image was real; it told the tale of reality and destroyed the lies woven into the fabric of the earth by the fairy tales. This world in all of its reality was far more beautiful than the lies of in a story. It had only taken Esmeralda sixteen years to finally see that.

“Yes, Pa! I’ll slay the dragon and save you!” She squeals in delight at the prospect of donning her clothes, the plastic sword she had been given two Christmas’ ago stayed by her bed where it remained every single night. Slowly the house came to view and her father ran onwards, feet kicking up dirt as he went. The sun began to bleed as it sunk below the horizon, the first signs of stars greeting the world.

"Absolutely gorgeous, the kind that stories could be written about." Esmeralda Ayres nods, eyes staying riveted to the dazzling stars before her. She doesn’t miss the smile that she is given, but instead her own smile is returned by the stars as she allows her slips to tilt upwards, throwing a genuine grin towards them that would rebound off so that Jordan could see. “Don't you think?"

This time her head turns in the direction of the other girl, the one standing before her. This was a girl just like herself, beautiful, charming and very much the hero of her own story. And maybe she was one of those damsels in distress; maybe she just needed to be reminded that she could be her own hero. After all, everyone had the courage to stand up for themselves. Sometimes they just needed a little push.

”I think that is very true. See there-“ She points upwards to a cluster of stars directly above her head. Her finger lazily begins to trace the pattern of a dragon, ”that’s a princess. But she isn’t like those foolish girls in all the stories. This girl is just like her knights in armour, she is strong, brave and courageous and she doesn’t need anyone to save her because she can help herself. But you see, she doesn’t know that just yet. All she sees is a girl that has nothing left to fight for, all she sees is someone that needs her prince in shining armour to save her and she is waiting. She’ll keep waiting until someone comes along and shows her just how strong she is.”

Last Edit: Nov 12, 2013 9:13:36 GMT -5 by cass

Wonder
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last seen Aug 11, 2023 10:06:03 GMT -5

everything is zoe's tbh.

[un]happy endings {sam} Dec 11, 2013 4:58:58 GMT -5

Post by Wonder on Dec 11, 2013 4:58:58 GMT -5

JORDAN s n o w
∞

[presto]

She considered herself a girl with a silver tongue, one that could spit out tales, conjugate, enwrap people with one properly punctuated sentence. Along the argent buds of her anatomy she could tick words like a metronome in a staccato beat, just one syllable at a time, quick and rapid. There were days when sounds only escaped through echoed caves painted with hieroglyphs, the ones that took an arduous amount of time to translate; but in the end it was all worth it, a simple eye, feather, tree became a story about a God who created flight. All of this, simply existed because she had the gift to utter stories, all of this came from neglect and abuse and this strong sense of self deprecation that she couldn't explain.

All of this so called talent came from locking oneself in their room at night and slamming on the closet door with painful force screaming and howling into pillow cases to stop the sounds from escaping. All from a single bruise on an arm from when her father just got a little to rowdy one night, a sliver in her finger, the needle that she actually somehow found in one of the haystacks one day in the family farm. Illeana's book of tales that constantly told stories of needy princesses that looked only for men, and not themselves.

All of this came because she needed to improve what was already inside her without even knowing.

Jordan had once heard a while ago from an older drunken man, wavering around, hobbling on what looked to be a wooden leg that women were liars. Clogging along the old dirt trails of the district, an ale in one hand and a rusted set of keys in the other. "All women are liars.." he mumbled on, and on, the simple words slithering down his tongue, sickly and green - he was drunk, that was something Jordan could spot a mile away. "She says she loves ya, but then she just goes on and sleeps with.. fuckin' Randy Davis." He chewed on his cheek bones, hollow and empty, self-preserved he was in his own right delirious and tripping over simple syllables. Fuckin' Randy Davis, 'ya heard it here first, kids! Women, they're the best damn liars you'll ever damn see. Because they don't give a fuck about you! And they don't give a fuck about me!"

It wasn't long before he mumbled himself to an early rest, hanging in the gutters, clutching his keys with his glassy ale broken and shattered in a somehow poetic way along the ground. Jordan never considered herself a liar, no way no how. Yet there was some sort of interesting way she could weave her way around fictitious tales, injecting them with bits of life and letting her characters come to life - this was the job of the storyteller. That's what she was, a writer, an author, a girl with a silver tongue. And yet it never occurred to her that maybe, just perhaps - she's lying. Weaving tales about her own life, spinning them elegantly on a golden thread and spitting on the results.

Looking upon the stars, listening to Esme's whispers in her ear of a princess, lacking in confidence yet having it all - what a cliché, the girl who didn't know she was good enough for the world. Yet Jordan could name six or seven of her own fairy tales her - once upon a time, there sat a girl with fiery hair, who everyone she touched turned to charcoal. Each night she would cry herself to sleep, that is, until one day she learned that, indeed she could light the charcoal ablaze - she could bring light.

In the stars that night, there was every bit of irony and misdeed that Jordan had sewn into her tales, and Esme pointed out each one. But when she looked up, there was no princess waiting in the stars, no prince coming to save her or no tower to live on. There was a flaming ball of light, perhaps red like her own hair, or maybe even the whitest of lights that it didn't even have a single shade to call it. There were simply stars, and she could write stories upon stories about them. Find princesses, and their own little problems, but the fact was no matter how many stories she wrote, she was stuck, still standing here, latched to the ground and rooted in a place that was freedom for a little while but how long? (How long?)

"You know," Jordan could feel herself dismissing everything Esme said, as if the girl probably didn't have her own problems. Let her believe in princesses in the stars, why not? "My little sister, Illeana, used to have this book of all these constellations or what not, you know, Orion's Belt, The Bear, Big Dipper." Jordan had always been the writer, Illeana the reader, it was how they got along so well. "But I could never find them myself. I would sit with her as she would identify them, but I just liked to sit there, with her, and watch the stars. I wish I could see the shapes, but I just can't make them out, at all. Is that silly?"

[/presto]