This is not a Fairy Tale: Interlude I

Day 1,950, 15:19 Published in USA USA by Agent ballerina

They say to write what you know.

As I sit down and write this story I wonder if it isn't an autobiography. I question whether or not it’s my fairy tale, my story gone horribly wrong. Because it isn't a fairy tale, it’s quite the opposite really. The world doesn't resolve right and the good guys fall and the ones you want to hate end up on top. Because what person deserves all of this pain, all of my pain. But it’s isn't an autobiography, in case you’re wondering. It’s an anti-fairy tale. It’s my anti-fairy tale. They say to write what you know and I know pain. I know hurt and hatred. I know what it is to hate your very existence and yet carry on with a smile on your face and a vibrancy you only expect from only the most well adjusted people.

I know what it is to become invisible, just another bit of scenery.

And maybe this story isn't pretty or happy. But it’s as real as any other fairy tale. Maybe even a little more, it doesn't presume a happy ending of a graceful heroine. She comes out alone, wondering how you can still sing, how you can still see beauty. She comes out tattered and torn, untrusting.

Frightened.

Frightened of herself. Of what she has done, but even more of what she didn't.

Frightened of others. Of the pain they can cause.

Frightened of being alone, because in loneliness there is only darkness. And in the darkness there is nothing but the nightmares and monsters for company.

Frightened of happiness. Because no matter how hard she tried it was always ripped cruelly away.

So maybe it is a true story, in its own way.

Because maybe it is a glimpse into the heart, the mind of an author.

Because they always said to write what you know.