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A Grim Fairy Tale

March 4, 2014

A facebook friend wrote a fabulous piece today.  I reminded me of a fairy tale or of some lady-“literature” word-porn, so I decided to match her by imitating her style by telling part of my own story:

“The successive waves of betrayal and monstrous indifference washing over her finally gave way to the endless comforting void where she was free from the inevitable punishment borne of her loyalty and desire for intimacy. The few left who presumed to think they knew her foolishly mourned for her, shaking their heads in pity, saddened by the loss of her potential to be all they imagined she could have been. The wasted talent and lack of passion were lost among the whispers and lies they told each other about how she had ‘given up’. She smiled to herself at the irony.

“Giving up” was far too cowardly an act and much too passive to match the passion of her still beating heart. It simply wasn’t in her nature even though she was broken to the point of being indistinguishable from her former self.  She never gave up.  She quite simply, and deliberately Quit. Her childish dreams, cast aside, were burned on the funeral pyre of her innocence.  Their ashes mingled with the hard stones of reality were fashioned into a fine throne upon which she took her seat as the Queen of the Damned.

Loneliness, once so inconstant and insignificant, that it seemed to be a vain imagination like a mythical monster from a child’s dream, grew stronger and rose to power to take his place as King, now sits at her right hand.  He wears cruelty as his crown and his robes are made ever more sumptuous by the indifference of others in attendance to the Queen.

At the left hand of the Queen stands Fear. His loathsome presence serving at once as a dire warning and yet, it is against his armor that the Queen repeatedly throws herself to sharpen her resolve to battle against her enemies. Thus imprisoned, with her castle falling into ruin around her, the Queen no longer awaits a white knight or charming prince, but only for her Executioner.

The day when the Executioner is loosed from his prison to murder her body – as he murdered her spirit – and slaughtered the innocence of her children, draw closer each passing day.  The Queen waits in silence.  She wears a painted smile in the presence of her subjects who are motivated by curiosity, rather than earnest devotion, and knows in her heart that the mettle of men can never match the metal of the sword, the pistol, the plow or the chariot that awaits to whisk her away to a land of safety.”

Thanks, Cheryl… and I hope the rest of you enjoy.

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One Comment
  1. David Sutton permalink

    Beautifully done, Sadie. Both the prose and the sentiment.

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