القصة للمستويات العليا
الجزء الاول اضغط هنا
no more happy endings
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” he chanted to himself, almost screaming the words out.
Book, after book, was torn apart, helping him vent his rage in that dark room. He finally collapsed on the floor, exhausted to his bones. The blank pages of his notebook waited for him. He put his head back and closed his eyes.
~.~
The world was bright. Sunlight dabbled down through the leaves of the trees in the forest as he road out on his white horse. It had been a long and treacherous journey. He had faced dragons and monsters. He had climbed mountains and ventured deep underground. His adventures had taken him far and wide; he had seen places he couldn’t have dreamed of, but it was worth it. All to get to this point.
He had finally found her.
The princess had been stolen away from them suddenly by a wicked fairy who cast a terrible curse on her. The cure to this curse was almost impossible to find and many times the brave king had come close to giving up hope.
The path led him deep into the forest, past whispering trees and sweet song birds that heralded his coming.
A gilded, glass coffin lay in the centre of a clearing. As he approached, he could see her sweet face through the opaque glass, gently dreaming. He got off his horse and approached, the cure, a magical flower in hand. He stepped forward, his boots sinking into soft moss as the perfumed scent of the forest hit him.
Lifting the lid, he laid the flower, its golden petals gleaming, onto her little chest and waited.
And waited.
“Darling,” he whispered, “it’s time to wake up.”
Her angelic face, framed in the golden halo of her hair, remained impassive. He bent down, pressing his lips to her cool forehead and feeling his eyes sting.
“Please princess,” he begged, “Please wake up.”
The gilded coffin faded to crisp white sheets, the forest to the stark walls of the hospital room. The sweet smell was the acrid scent of chemicals used to clean the floors and the gentle bird song became the slow beep of the heart monitor.
He sat crouched over her bedside, holding her cold hand in a death grip, eyes red from crying all night. His little girl lay still on the bed, her usually plump cheek sallow and the glow lost from her skin. Her beautiful, golden hair was all gone now and she wore a cap to keep her head warm. She was connected to more wires and tubes than he thought possible for such a tiny human being.
Her eyes remained closed, trapped in her dream world forever.
“Please,” he cried, “Please wake up!”
‘Why can’t you write a happy story, Daddy?’
To be continued
