(Continued from Part IV http://kolika.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-cinderella-story-part-4.html)
Choose your own ending….
A for alive, B for boring & C for Children (or indecisive heart), D for dead.
Part V—Option A (for Alive)
So run, Achilles, run. Faster than you can. Before I change my mind again, run, until the cold air blades through your lungs and rips your heart. Run Achilles before time runs out. Because if she wakes up to decide that she wants you again, you might never be able to leave this golden perch. Run for the life of you, to where the streams of freedom flow. Run for the life of you and me.
And when you’re far enough don’t you look back, because I might not be riding with the tigers no more. I’ll be outed in black ink somewhere on the cardboard backing of my sister’s diary, somewhere lost in her chicken scratch.
Don’t be looking for Eeyore either. He’ll probably be around here, carrying the weight of the earth on his Atlas powered heaving back, carrying the load until the day, that the earth stops spinning.
And who knows, maybe if you can run fast enough to where the sun blooms, the earth might decide to stop to steal a smile at you. So shine on Achilles, before Eve’s patulin potion kicks back, before Adam ebbs at the hormones, before the wickedness rises up, before the magic hisses back, again. Run.
Don’t you understand Achilles I am finishing your story and letting you go? I am slaying your ties and freeing myself so I can finally, finally retire. I long a restful slumber. My soul wants to creep back into the body of Sleeping Beauty. I will chop off this hair, Achilles, so you have no means of getting to me in my tower. Looking back at us Achilles will only crack the mirrors of the future. So run; and you will live.
Every step you take away will inch me into the thick nectar of tranquility, until I drop as a melted snow flake migrating from the North Pole to attend Christmas in July; until I bloom on the Burmese grass blades as dew; until I rise as the steam on the asphalt roads that lead to Worcestershire.
Run and tell everyone in happily ever after land that unlike the other daughters of Eve I have chosen to set you free. I was not your regular Cinderella. Tell the world that your sleeping beauty is finally asleep.
PART V—Option B (for Boring) and C (for children and indecisive adults)
Stop Achilles, enough for today. I did tell you not to call me Cinderella and ask me to wear pink. I did remind you your name is not Achilles, you old toothless dinosaur, get over it! You are tooth fairy’s husband why don’t you ask her to bring you a new set of dentures? You’re a crumpled, old, toothless dinosaur and don’t pay me enough to make you these stories every night. You should ask your dentist wife to take you out sometime, maybe get a life, instead of hiring me to lull you go to sleep every night! I am tired of being your sheep-counting-machine.
Anyway I got to go. I have to go to my day job early tomorrow and its pretty late already. Why don’t you try to sleep, maybe think of what you want to listen to, tomorrow? Try to rest you dinosaur, I’ll be back tomorrow with another way of taking you through the day just for fantasy purposes. Just have my paycheck ready. Its Thursday already.
PART V—Option D (for Dead)
But I care not Achilles whether killing you would pin me down to the dungeons forever. You make me so irritable at times, that all I can think of is that omlette maker. But let’s gear up here, for today is the Christmas celebration in July… so many demonstrations, demolitions and devastations later they’re still up for it? Surprises the holly out of me. But it’s our war Achilles and we gotta fight it and fight it good. Then when we come back and I’ll fix your faucet, so you can cry your repentance out. Until then the only thing in your body that should flow is the pancreatic juice. There’s going to be fried food at the fair. But you’re not to touch it for I will have it contaminated with ugly big calories and we’ll have another generation of fat stupid kids watching reality television and snoring off their wheel chairs.
Hobbes called earlier today. That Dopey. Says he wants in. I said “sure. Just make sure Eeyore gets you trained (or restrained!)”. His dwarf brothers Grumpy Happy, Sleepy, Sneezy and their cousin Dobbie are going to be there too. They sneaked into the tap dancing team as tots and just by doing the steps wrong they can throw the rest of the team off-stage and off-rage. I am so eagerly waiting to see that performance.
And Achilles if by the end of the weekend they don’t stop this audacious scope of happiness seeking festivity, I will hit you hard enough so the sandcastles that you pet behind your ears blow out to spit sand in their eyes. And they take their festivity indoors. No more smelling the rain-blanched soil. No more swinging on low-branched trees and watching movies in the park. Happiness is prohibited. And you Achilles will be to blame. This is the Earth Achilles, your pal Atlas’ world. it is always somebody’s fault and for this happy and gay pink, you are to be thrown in a dungeon full of obtuse people with putrid outlooks on life. You are to stay there until the Dementors of my acrid thoughts leach out all your positivity, until your ideas about over-rated happiness are clarified like thin oil.
Happiness is prohibitted and untimely happiness an oxymoronic premonition of graveness.
So take your pick from burning in the passion of war, basking in the traction pull of prehistoric humane rules or changing your ideas of hope. Either way Achilles you’re as good as dead.