Roses are red
Violets are blue
God made me pretty
What happened to you?!

Waking up

Another short thing that will ALSO probably never see the end of the tunnel. ( It won't be completed.) Feel free to expand, blahblahblah, don't change the original. I like it. Humph.

"I do this for your own good."

I groaned. It was 6 in the morning. The birds were sleeping, the angels were sleeping, and I just wanted to go back to bed. I glared weakly at the intimidating behemoth that so happened to take the form of my mother.

"Go 'way."

Slapping weakly at her strong hands that insisted on pulling my comforting, warm, soft... NO! The covers! Launching myself from the realms of all that was warm and cozy, I wrestled the covers from mother dearest who wasn't looking all that dear right now and slunk back into bed.

I heard the unmistakable sound of her shuffling away.

YES! Me 1, Mother 0!!

Then, the lights came on.
Craaaaaaaaap. Mother had cunningly done the ONLY thing I couldn't stop her from doing; she switched on the lights.

I moaned and tossed as I felt the destructive powers of the lights seep into my very being and suck out my life power.

"Stop being so dramatic, Carla, it's just SCHOOL."

Fairytales

“Hey”

It is a call. Something authoritative. Something not to be ignored.

“What?”

It is an answer. (No matter how rude it may be) Something that even he will grace her with, even if they are enemies.

“Do you believe in fairytales?”

There was once a girl.

Already, she can guess his answer. He will vehemently declare the negative and then scoff at her for asking something so irrelevant when such an epic battle is taking place. And he will live.

There was once a story.

“Yeah. I do.”

Maybe not.

His reply shocks her. What ever happened to insensitive, action-loving, egoistical, chauvinistic men?

She was once a believer.

“What? You got a problem with that?”

He mistakes her shock for disbelief, defensiveness instantly replacing slight embarrassment. She smiles at that. It is not everyday one gets to see such a quick change of emotions.

The girl was young.

She has always hated fairytales. A damsel in distress. A Prince Charming. The evil defeated, gone. A happy ending. Rubbish.

The story was old.

Faster than the human eye can register, she moves, appearing in front of him, sword drawn, ready to cut. His face mirrors her own when she heard his answer. Probably wondering how she could move that quickly. Fool. Did he think women incapable of such speed? Did he think women to be dainty little creatures, tottering about in their heels and skirts ready to fall the moment wind blew? But then again, he believed in fairytales. Who knew what else he believed in?

But she never once wavered in faith.

Fairytales were created and believed by those who needed solace from the harsh world.

Fairytales were fed to foolish children by the buckets, making them weak and gullible. Easy to fool.

There was once a tragedy.

She has never liked humans.

She has always been strong.

And she has never, never, ever believed in fairytales.

The illusion was broken

The sword came down.

There are no such things as fairytales.

End

Relation

Type: One-shot

Theme: Angst. Violence.

Rating: PG. (Violence? Sicko-ness?)

Although it wasn’t raining, the woman walked along the pavement, poncho donned, umbrella high up, not noticing she wasn’t getting wet, not noticing that she was right in the middle of a road, and most importantly, not noticing that people were staring at her.

Life was meaningless really. He had died, and with him, her heart. What was there left to fear? Cars whizzed right past her, drivers shouted profanities that would have made a hardened criminal blush. She tuned it out.

In her mind, everybody was laughing. Everybody was happy, and nothing, absolutely nothing was suffering. It was unfair. Why should she be the only one suffering? Why were there – she shuddered - happy people? They were just painful reminders of how she used to be, and how she could be, if only he was alive...

Faster and faster she walked until something caught her eye. A child. Dressed in a simple cotton dress, the child’s skin was a pale translucent white. Her dark hair was combed elaborately with a colourful butterfly pin fastening a stray lock in place. Simple white Mary Jane’s adorned her feet and in her tiny hands, a single, blood red rose rested.

The woman stared. Never had she seen such a picture of serenity. Hatred coursed through her veins. Without a care for her own safety, she launched herself across the road, towards the child. Again, she failed to notice the cars, the profanities, the staring and the fact that the child was opening her mouth the greet her.

Without warning, she snatched the rose away from the child’s hand and hurled it at the road where it was immediately smashed. Ignoring the child's cries, she ripped the pin from her hair crushing it with her foot, and at the same time, hitting the child with her umbrella.

By the time someone dragged her off, the child no longer resembled anything that she previously was five minutes ago. The woman watched with satisfaction as paramedics converged on the child shouting medical terms no one would understand. Euphoria overwhelmed her. Laughing hysterically as she was dragged away, it didn’t occur to her that it was her husband’s funeral. Neither did it occur to her that she had previously asked her child to meet her after school at that particular spot after buying a red rose- her husband’s favorite- from the flower shop nearby.

All that mattered now was that that damning picture of serenity was gone, replaced by something she could finally relate to.



End

*Written by -, editted by * (: