Let's talk about a fairy tale. This was the first story the storyteller every told us. I'd like to keep the tradition alive. I'm sure you'll see why. Maybe not now but certainly as time passes.
A princess, her knight in shining armor and the ferocious dragon. Typical. Let's mix it up a bit. Veer from the normal.
This princess adored this dragon. It kept her secure. Bought her game it hunted. Showed her the beauty of the world which was concealed from her because of the imposing walls of the tower. The princess was kind of an Avant garde. She was fierce, independent and at peace with her existence. She wasn't waiting for the gallant knight on the fair steed.
It was an intemerate symbiosis. Unsullied by the norms. Yet the typical had become clichéd for a reason. And here came riding over the moors the knights lauded by the land. Their warped knowledge of the situation urging them to rescue the damsel in distress from her austere reality. To bring her to the realm of revelry where she could "rejoice" in the complex interminable sea of human emotions. So baffling and bewildering it would make her head spin. She who knew not of the delicate threads that bind humans together.
And so it was done. The dragon slaughtered. The princess "rescued". The knight triumphant. The kingdom rejoiced and inside the princess lost a piece of her soul. She withered into a husk of the beauty that she was when she had the luxury of freedom.
Though she was in a seemingly inescapable ivory tower she was free from the expectations of society. A freedom she reveled in. a freedom which she no longer possessed. And when death came knocking she went willingly eager to be reunited with an old friend.
The story was whispered. As if it were too foreign to be acceptable. The young girl, our protagonist saw the might in the princess' will. Her fortitude.
Yet for the boy, our boy, this was the first time he saw brute force as redundant. The story teller was satisfied by the twinkle in their eye. He saw the little gears in their head spinning. The children were not befuddled by the spin in the tale. They had accepted it for they were yet to be acquainted with the distorted stereotypes of society.
That night was the first night our girl couldn't sleep. It was the first time her reality presented more vivid pictures than her dreams. She dreamt but with eyes wide open.
This was not a tale of feminism. Far from it. For their guileless minds this was the first thread to unravel from the tapestry.
It was a tale of symbiosis. Of seeing how two separate beings existed in harmony. The story shaped their minds and their perceptions. And although it wasn't quite visible then it was just the first in a long process.
This was the beginning of their insomnia. This was why she dreamt in the light. This was why he saw more than just the extraneous details. And this was how they came to see the simple complexities that weren't quite visible on the surface yet rested in a world not far away. This was the beginning of the introverted insomniac.
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Let's continue with my parable shall we. This author is the medium through which I deliver my "story" to you. I am as you must have inferred by now, the protagonist, "our girl" as she refers to me. and the boy, well the boy needs a name doesn't he? I've mused quite a bit over this. I'm revealing the tale my life to you yet I am hesitant about using names. Strange aren't I? Can't be helped I'm afraid. So, names. Let's choose, hmm, Roy. It has a significance as do all my stories. Revealed in due time. Sweet things to those who wait, right.
YOU ARE READING
Introverted Insomniac
General FictionThere was a girl and there was a boy. Typical. And there was a storyteller. Now, not so typical. There was shyness there was flirting. Typical. And there were long moments of silence. Now, not so typical. There was a secret crush. Typical. And he wa...
