Fragment of a Story

October 4, 2009
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I feel as if I am in the midst of a fairytale. But not the good, find a shoe, meet a prince, touch of magic, and a story-book kind. This is the messed up kind. The seriously screwy, oh-my-god-what-the-hell-were-you-thinking-when-you- wrote-this kind of fairytale. Like the Brothers Grimm, only real.

It is just about midnight and the masquerade has been attacked by a strange cat-like boy. He’s got them all on strings, like puppets, leading them through the forest like zombies under a spell, towards the gate. But not me. Hell, I’m running. Running as fast as I can, jump through the gate and stop dead. Angels. Lovely. Hundreds upon thousands of angels. Soaring towards me with knives.

Oh, god.

And I’m running again.

Suddenly there is a loud noise and a blast of white heat from behind me. I am thrown up into the air, land, roll, get up, keep running. Away from the charred remains of the school, the cat boy, the puppets, the sick angels, my dead friends, and the wreckage of all that I have ever known.

They’re chasing me. They’re all chasing me, laughing, howling with laughter and cackling menacingly, and at first, I can’t figure out why.

And then it hits me.

I know why they are laughing.

Because out here.. there is nowhere left to run.

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