fairytale

there once was a boy with an incredible sense of self and imagination about the world around him. on days that began and ended with 28, occasionally his mood swings would get the most of him, however, because his heart was so fragile it could be shattered by the reflection of traffic lights into rain puddles. no matter the material goods nor the friendships nor the food nor the art nor the self-introspection, the boy was never satisfied. indeed, he himself thought and thought and never came to a very good conclusion as to why his satisfaction was never fully realised.

one day the boy sat staring at the highway in front of him and thought, “It must be that I am a fabrige egg, why am I so easily penetrated by pins of the world.” and what he meant was even as unclear to himself. for you see, after much introspection and analysis of the world around him, he still never seemed to figure out what exactly it was that left his guard down so low.

it seemed as if the earth he found himself on daily was not firm. it seemed as if the magic he once told himself he saw in the world was all of a sudden robbed from right beneath his eyes. it seemed as if the hope that others in the struggle for salvation had lost their inspiring characteristics and had resorted to taunting his aspirations for self-gratifying happiness.

all was not lost. for one day, when the boy sat down at his computer and contemplated telling the world his true story, the idea came to him to tell it in the form of a fairytale. this would not be no ordinary post-modern take on a traditional story that was meant to arouse morality or conviction in the reader; merely, he thought of his own brilliance in drafting something deeply moving in this form only because he hadn’t personally encountered it before.

and this, dear reader, is the first chapter.