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.



4. Last Piece to the Puzzle

“Smile,” the voice coos, “they won’t know the difference.”

And so she does. Her plump lips stretch themselves into something painful. She feels it’s more of a grimace than a grin, more of a lie than a truth.

“Laugh,” the voice mocks, “it’s not like they’ll notice.”

And so she does. A gentle giggle escapes her mouth, a sweet sound to those around her; but instead, it’s a cry for help.

“Don’t forget to compliment them,” the voice praises, “it boosts their ego only to lower yours.”

And so she does. She looks at her friends and esteems them. Glorifies them in hopes to do better for them than for herself. Show them that they’re worth much more than she ever will be.

“Oh, and never open up,” the voice cackles cruelly, “they don’t care anyway.”

And so she doesn’t. She answers their queries with single worded replies and laughs awkwardly when someone says that they care. Because what difference would it make to her? She’s been looking for pieces like them for a long time. The last cut out that would finally solve all her complications and worries. But none of them seem to fit, so what’s the point? She’s just given up. She’s called it quits for years now.

But little did she realize that the last constituent to her conundrum stood just in front of her, begging for her to lock them into place. That the one who yearned for her was the last piece to her perplexing and confounding puzzle.

“You’re safe now,” the voice whispers as it departs. The only reminder of its occupancy being that of a tarnished soul that was left in its wake.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...