All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
I wrote a dream. Want to have it?
Chicken Little tipped his head up toward the sky. “The sky is blue,” he said softly, and then he screamed. “THE SKY IS BLUE!”
There was panic, and a mad rush to get indoors. People stood shivering in warped, huddled masses. The cries of infants stood out against the hum of whimpering children. No one said a word.
Suddenly the sound of glass against tile cut through the room. It was the footsteps of a young woman, covered in soot, with glass slippers on her feet. Everyone parted for her, and each fixed her with a stare; some pitying, some angry, and some worshipful. She was headed for the door. One of her slippers fell off, and she left it behind. Gently, she pushed open the door, and walked right out. There was a collective flinch.
Dread gave way to curiosity as peals of laughter drifted into the building. Giggling, Cinderella opened the door and called inside, “The sky isn’t blue, it’s falling!” The crowd sighed in relief and flooded outside to watch blue apples fall from the clouds. Children ran from building to building, laughing with joy. “The sky is falling, the sky is falling!”
Cinderella knelt down and picked up an apple. She could see herself in it. “So pretty,” she murmured, and took a bite. There was a thud as she hit the ground.
Aurora looked so lovely in her coffin, covered in a layer of snow. Chicken Little was the last to see her before she was buried. He came with a slipper in his hand, kissed her once, and left without it.
She woke up in the ground. She felt warm, though, and safe. Whoever had built the coffin, she could tell that they had loved it. That made her feel guilty for wasting it. She clicked her heels together, once, twice, three times.
She’s no place like home. She falls through the darkness until she lands on a table too big for her, next to a cake that’s too small. She climbs like a child, off of the table and onto the chair, and slowly lowers herself to the floor. She hears a disapproving “tsk”, and turns around to see a man in a waistcoat, his ears and teeth too big.
Glancing down at his pocket watch, he says, “You’re late, dear.” They kiss.
“I’m sorry. I thought… I thought the sky was blue.”
He gently took her hand in his. “I thought that too, once.”