Saturday, January 15, 2011
Unfair Tales
If the world lies asleep with her, it would be as lonely as what she sees in her dreams, where withered trees and gray skies kiss to give birth to shadows. A kiss of death is perhaps what she needs right now to spare herself from the hurtful waiting and the piercing loneliness. Summer makes her skin cold, winter even colder. She counts the stars in her sky. She stops at three and away she’ll be. The air is her sole companion. What she breathes out is what it takes out. Lying, she cuddles her knees in a corner and closes her eyes. As she whispers her prayers, the stingy wind holds her and the darkness listens. In vain she waits for true love’s kiss; in vain she waits to see a ceiling of stars more than three.
If the world lives with these seven and one, it would be as chaotic as how the evil witch chases her, where beasts wander around in trace of her scent. A flying dagger is perhaps what she needs right now, to spare herself, her friends, and her lover. Every second of her life is spent on running, hiding, and pretending. She looks around and the coast is unclear. She surrenders to a friendly old woman and away she’ll be. The ground beneath her feet is her refuge. As long as there’s solid ground, she can escape. Coughing, she sees her whole life in a flash. As she chokes on her last breath, a bit of the poison orb escapes her tongue. Too little, too late her friends come running for her; too late, her prince kisses her and not a sign of life.
If the world ran away with her, it would be as rowdy as what happened to the ball, where whispers cloud the mind until there’s none of the self is left. A bubble of air is perhaps what she needs right now, to spare her from the controversies, the lies and the truth. She wishes the broomsticks can sweep away all the mess. She leaves the glass slipper and away she’ll be. The birds are her greatest comfort. Their songs clear her mind from worries and fears. Running, her dance partner runs after her. As she turns around, he is gone. On her knees she cries and wishes she hadn’t run; on her knees she wishes he’ll come back to save her from more misery.
If they all lived in our world, it would be more painful to them; more painful than waiting in vain for the prince’s kiss.
If they all lived in our world, it would be more suffocating to them; more suffocating than eating a venomous fruit.
If they all lived in our world, it would be more deafening to them; more deafening than hearing the crowd’s weeps.
ianne ended @ 1:23:00 AM
