Title: You may possibly hear it.
Author: Minä. WULM.
Genre: story, drama, fairytale weirdness
Rating: K-11 (minun mielipiteeni.)
Warnings: Tämä on satu. Kummallinen satu. Sellainen, jota lukiessa voisi syödä raa'an perunan, eikä kukaan ihmettelisi. Ja tässä on sanoma ja tämä on... englanniksi. (Laitan suomennoksen, jos sellaista edes yksi ihminen kysyy.)
EDIT: 24.2.2013 Tänään korjasin parhaani mukaan huolimattomuusvirheeni, anteeksi niistä.
A/N: Tiedättekö sen tunteen, kun uppoaa taikamaailmaan ja tahtoisi leikkiä?
Ihmiset, jotka kirjoittavat usein tietävät sen tunteen. Sadut ovat mielen leikkiä ja kinaa kaikkea järkevää ja tylsää vastaan. Ja niissä on aina se. Opetus.
(Tämä oli outo tajunnanvirtakohtaus, joka saattaa jatkua tai sitten ei.)
Esitin tämän itselleni katselemalla posliininukkejani.
Kuunnelkaa
tämä .
Jos ette, niin voi sen toki lukea, mutta tunnelma!
Kind of an old story.
Once there was a girl with blonde hair. Her hair was more beautiful than the hair on the Sun herself.
This girl always a black dress with one red and one white stripe. Also she had a white pullover to keep away the cold of the world. All she ever wanted was a long, long red dress with black stripes and blonde hair, not comparible to wheat but to the Sun.
Mary Lynne.
One evening she went to bed with her long, long red bonnet to keep away the cold of the world. But that evening a pullover and a hat couldn't fight that cold.
The girl rose in the middle of the night, putting on her black dress, one red and one white stripe. She walked out of the front door, where the freezing air hit her.
There, in the ”claire de lune” she felt sudden fear and she fell in the cold, white snow.
She didn't want to walk in a clisché, so she didn't ask: ”Who are you?” even though she didn't know what or who was holding her eyes in eternal captivity.
There she was, ten feet tall, scary as the sea, but beautiful as a dead butterfly, frozen during her last flight, a girl with a mane of hair like no one has ever seen. It mightn't have been the Sun, but it definitely, definitely was the Moon.
Oh the Moon! Ten times more than the Sun. Even men far away, across the seas would bet on that at their shallow poker and pool tables. They are only the creatures of the night, yet they do know the Moon. Their leader with no connection to any gamble of the mortal soul.
That girl was breathing in silent royalty, holding her eyes against the cold cheek of the moon. Mary Lynne's eyes were burning with silent, silent flame, cold as the night, cold as the world, but deadly as a giant spider's bite.
Mary Lynne flew to the girl's side. That hair, drenched in vanity. That dress, longer than the Nile, redder than God could ever make it. It had black stripes, darker than a werewolves soul. And those eyes. Blue, as the sky of noon. That is why they didn't exist at this time of the night.
Mary Lynne threw herself at the girls feet wanting to touch the perfection. The girls hair flew as if it never has flown before. Mary Lynne only had time to gasp a daddy long legs's bucketful of air before the girl she was holding on to
fell down.
Mary Lynne might have cried for she knew she couldn't help, but she didn't, because the night was so cold and here the tears are far too lonely. As Mary Lynne got up she realised that under that dress the girl was nothing. She was litterally and illiterally nothing.
And Mary Lynne, that young and very, very old girl crawled into that hollow girl. When she was finally in there, where she could smell roses and orchids and ravioli tuft -you know, the kind that always stays on the plate when you've allready finished. White, warm, soggy. Ravioli tuft. That was the moment she realized she'd never get out.
Never, never ever, not even in Never Never Land.
The girl rose and Mary Lynne was no more. At least no more than a crease on the red, red dress. But at least she could finally see the world from behind blue eyes.
She was as good as blind.
She held her stare against the Moon, but saw nothing but her reflection as it gazed at her from behind a cloud.
A flock of thoughts never to be thought. The blonde hair was indeed sharing the color of the moon, but... The Moon didn't want to marry her.
Not even now, when she had a long red dress with black stripes.
Especially not now.
For she was no one, really.
And the Moon wasn't a snob, not really.
The thing that really counted was, that his lover had to have
a soul.
And sadly that flock of thoughts had raped her from her soul.
Mary Lynnes stare couldn't hold the stare of the Moon. The snow was black when you looked at it behind blue eyes. The sky, the stars, the horizon... they were all so black.
Everything was black, except her long, long red dress.
Except her blonde, blonde mane of hair.
Except for a mirror at the end of a gangway.
But Mary Lynne (yes, the girl) never got to it.
Never, never ever. Not even in Never Never Land.
Not ever.
But ”never” isn't a very long time. Infact, it's no time at all.
Wasn't she lucky, that Mary Lynne, that I didn't say, that she stayed in darkness FOREVER?
Now there's a long time for you. Forever.
Forever as in wedding vows?
Sorry, you're right: it might not always be such a long forever.
You want to know how did Mary Lynnes story end.
The same way as all the stories!
She closed herself in a closet.
A closet meaning a lie.
A lie meaning
Happily Ever After.
(And those men at the poker and pool tables: you already forgot all about them.)
Good night governer.
Good night captain.
Good night king.
Good night all the Women.
Good night You.
The End, as they say, is never the end.
Is it?
// Tykkäsittekö? Saitteko mitään irti? Vai oliko tämä taas sitä kuuluisaa ajanhukkaa? Puhukaa vapaasti ihmiset!
