Fairy Stories & Other Tales

You forgot to put the milk out. The small dish for the fairies. Just once, in the stress of the night.     But that was enough to send them out for revenge. Some creatures have no pity.     And so they took their vengeance.     They blew the poppies into your eyes. Brutal. Crushing. Fatigue like out of a myth.     Only this is real. And the doctors never diagnose it properly. Because they don't believe in fairies.     Few do. Which makes you more alone than you have ever been. Because you cannot tell your story. You cannot confess to your superstition which turned into truth one bad night. Because most people, most people want to know all the things. All the facts. Before they sit with you. Before they care. Before they're moved with compassion. And very few are moved by a tale of fairies.     But there's a person. A kindred. With eyes that speak of moonlit revels and wandering nights and fairy rings. That person has eyes that know that you are not the only one the fairies

  The air smelled sweet on the breeze, as it slipped between branches and under leaves. Two butterflies danced around each other in delighted loops. And the clouds, what there were of them, were small and white, puffy and without a trace of rain.      Such perfection was not to remain, for it wasn't long before a gust of wind came from the South and blew the butterflies apart.        A sound crumbled in the air and echoed in the distance. Thunder. And then came the wind in great big bellows blowing through the golden fields that were soon covered in a thick gray sky.   Thunder again, and this time the lightening cut, bright white and vibrant against the backdrop of dark, dismal clouds.      The first drops were heavy, laden with the weight of a hundred tears.   They splashed against dust.         This was the third sign of what was to come, and it was then that the butterflies headed it, fleeing desperately for some dry hollow. And in their flight, each lost the

Once upon a time the world grew cold. Hearts hurt. No one heard. And even the leaves cried out for justice. But there was a sweet breath of air. The kind no one notices if they're afraid. The kind that slips through the cracks as everything cries loudly because it is nothing more than soft. Some hearts heard. Some hearts healed. Some hearts will always heal as they listen to the soft wisps of wind that move in the quiet.  Only because they are less afraid. Once upon a time, this was called courage.

  Once upon a time there lived a princess and a prince. The princess had an enormous brain—not in size, exactly, but rather in intellect —and she lived in a castle.  The prince, however, lived in a far distant land in an ensorcelled castle and had a brain the size of a pea —not in size, thank heavens, but in the amount of information it was capable of containing.   While the princess spent her days thinking, the prince gave no time to thinking at all.   If the princess was prone to feats of reason and grave intellectual debate, the prince was unaware that such things were possible.      The princess spent her days among the finest scholars in all her land, writing treatises and grave moral thoughts, and ruling with careful well-reasoned judgement according to the ancient principles of justice.   The prince, on the other hand, spent his days wandering the garden within the ensorcelled castle, talking to mice, and putting bits of sticks and grass in his mouth to see if they were ch