Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time...

"Bailey poses exquisitely, a single damp tear trailing down her porcelain face, yet an elegant smile painted upon thin rosy lips."

"The raucous caw of the ashy bird resounded carelessly through the vacant beige sky, the calloused sound reverberating above the scarred flesh of numerous fallen soldiers."

"Smile," the voice coos, "they won't know the difference."


Author's note

Dear Readers,

When I was younger I used to play pretend like any other child would. I would play Warriors or I would play make believe; just about anything that could release the ideas the flowed through me. But I’ve changed because of them.

Kids at school had once questioned me why I acted like an animal. And I was confused. I’d never told anybody about that since elementary school, so where did it come from? I don’t quite know myself. All I knew was that something had spread, and that whatever it was, it needed to stop.

And there have been many things that have influenced me to keep writing. Some of my teachers, my parents, and even a couple of my friends. But this event has by far impacted me the most. Ever since that day I stopped playing make believe. And instead, I started writing. Things could come alive on my paper however I wanted them to, and nobody would have to know. It’s all mine.

So call me selfish. But the reason I share that story with you is because I hope you’ll feel something. Not for me, no. But for yourself. We were all children once, and we all played inside our heads to some extent. Some just daydream now, and some of us read, and some like me; write.

Don’t stop dreaming. Cause we all lived in a fairytale. And some of us, we yearn to stay there. So this is dedicated to those of you who are broken. Who are bruised. Who wish they could still play make believe. I just want to let you know, I wish you all a happily ever after. So don’t stop believing.

Note: Please understand that my opinions will be seen in and throughout this story, though somewhat ‘secretly’. It’s your choice how to interpret my writing and what it means to you.



2. Ballerina on the Pedestal

Gentle thrums of the music waft through the air, small streams of song lacing through her body and repeating itself in graceful and fluid motions. She is worried, she is stressed, and even without the salmon pink dress, she is a ballerina, dancing away her troubles through clear and elegant moves. Cavorting through the air in splendid leaps and twirling on graceful toes, she stands on the pedestal for all to admire, and for those to view in plain amusement; mere, twisted pleasure.

At times like this, the swift and miraculous dancer wishes that she were free from the faux silver substance that halted her from ever twirling away from her small glass sphere, shattering the clear creation and never venturing back. Yet, she is plastered to the pedestal, her seemingly everlasting dance being the only tune she could ever hear and observe. Even when children tossed around the delicate orb, she still moved gracefully, a single golden screw holding her down as she continued to pirouette in the air.

Light and placid aria swims through the world around her, the small pricks of the strings in the globe resounding carefully and faintly through the bedroom of the youngest child, Lyric Spielman; a tiny girl, petite in frame and weak in stature that yet, had confidence that boosted her higher than all of her flaws.

Lyric had been gifted with the delicate musical piece by her grandmother, Lucille before she passed away, and ever since, Bailey the Ballerina had gone with the toddler everywhere she went. The school that was crowded like a honey bee’s hive, the grating and obnoxious sun painted bus, her friend’s gentle and welcoming house. Bailey felt alive, like a real, living and breathing ballerina that got to travel the world, she got to travel with the one she loved.

But as we all know, all songs have to come to an end, the final chorus of light croons ringing through the vacant air. And as she gives one last fictitious leap, Bailey poses exquisitely, a single damp tear trailing down her porcelain face, yet an elegant smile painted upon thin rosy lips.

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