The day she the lead her kids to die alone in the woods, they found beauty and joy. Beauty other kids could only dream of Their tiny eyes shined and their mouths watered They ran to the sweet smelling cottage to devour its sugray structure, Not realising that it was meant to lure in little ones like them Lure little ones like them directly to the mouth of the monster who’s bulging eyes shone over with insanity and greed, while the wide mouth with jagged teeth covered in black and red all over had been anticipaing a tasty human morsel
The day she prayed for the girls death, she orderd her hunstman to drive the girl into the woods and kill her Her mind and stone heart still dripping in envy and evil, went on to ask him to bring the girl’s heart with him Through a more fortunate turn of tales, the hunstman refused to cut out the girl’s kind heart The forest’s friends welcomed her as did the seven minutaure men who grew to be her family In those same woods, the cruel women tried once again to kill the girl with a poison dipped apple
The day she joyfully skipped through the woods to meet her ill grandmother she was unaware of the deathly growl in the shadows, spying on her stroll Innocent as she was, spilling about where to she was going to any mysterious stranger that interrogated her
Grass. Green blades of grass.
Weeds. Weeds in the sidewalk cracks.
White— no blue. White clouds. Blue sky.
Shoelaces. Untied shoelaces. I bend down. No. The sidewalk blurrs and sways. Hands push against the cold concrete.
In. Out. In. Out Take another shakey breath in and out.
Tears. In my eyes. Fog. A blizzard of emotions running through my head. Help. I need help.
I look around for any other hand to help. Nothing. No one. No where. Crowds. Cries. Murmers. Yells. Running past, staring at their hands.
One falls, screams. A rip at the elbow. Something gushes out of the rip. Images. Thoughts. Memories. Emotions.
No one hears the scream. They keep on walking until eventually they fall. They all fall one, two, twenty, maybe more.
More screams. They’re not screaming at the wounds. They scream at themselves. At others.
Help. They all need help. Everyting. Everyone. Eveywhere. Delicate woven rag dolls. Stuffed and encased to the brim. Their skin snaggs and finally rips.
Around me everyone lays in a jumbled mess. Gone. Eaten inside out by their pent up feelings and tears.
I wipe my tears, tie my shoes, dust myself off, and walk home. There, my family of rags waits for me. For the first time I see their seems pulled tight, their zippers struggling to hold. Through the faint smiles they give, I see their tired, dull eyes. I talk. They talk.
Grass. Weeds. Clouds. Sky.
I wont let them fall apart.
