The Many Intricacies of Fairy Tales and Fire

Kaylin (a lover, loved)

The clock strikes twelve, and the fairy tale turns to ashes.

Its burning ablaze, perhaps a nasty metaphor for something you could likely imagine on your own — that they’re just that. Tales, fiction, fake. A fallacy for someone else’s mind, rather than your own.

But is it really just as simple as that? Or is that how we make it to be, our own frankenstein?

A good question. One we fail to always answer — and when we do, to answer truthfully.

Funny how that works, isn’t it? A conundrum, entirely dull in prosaic prose suited for pretty ears and even prettier mouths. As if we paint them an ugly shade every time we lie.

As if it’s something vile, or downright dreadful, a violent wish to know.

But fairy tales do not tell the truth, yet they’re unfailingly beautiful every time, aren’t they?

Even the ones that speak of murder, of failure, of loss and regret.

Even the ones that speak of an unhappy ending, long forgotten as long as there are ones with ‘better’ stories, ‘better’ endings.

And fire is cleansing, powerful with the ability to rewrite. We say ‘rewrite’ as if it does anything more than turn the words to ashes, the same as the fairy tale itself. But this isn’t the truth, is it?

Fairy tales are more than that.

Spoken tales exist too, without the power of being written down. Are they not fairy tales nonetheless?

Let’s try it again — grab a lighter, set it aflame, and see what happens. Did it burst into flames, then dissolve into nothing more than dust and long-lived love? If not, then what happened?

I guarantee that you already know the answer.

Mushroom