Damn! That last post on drone warfare was heavy! Sorry, but I just had to get all of that off my chest. Anyway, I want to lighten the mood here for a bit, so I’m going to attach a piece I wrote, hell, almost eight years ago. It’s called “A Fairy Tale.” It’s pretty short and I hope you enjoy it…
“She was once a tall, beautiful woman, as much at home in the fashion halls of Paris or Milan, as she was in her native subdivision of Sunnyvale Heights; the trailer park on the outskirts of Marlow, Oklahoma from which she hailed. She was desired by men and women alike, and chose her lovers as freely as a bird chooses the tree in which to make her nest for a short time. The world was hers to take as she wished, and like the bird she seemed to emulate, she would flutter from tree to tree; from lover to lover, gracing each in turn with her beautiful song of life and love.
She was elegant at her very essence, and when she walked, it was not as if she was walking at all, but rather floating on a cushion of sweet, spring air. When she spoke, her voice was indescribable. It was sexy yet not promiscuous, soft yet full of confidence, and in the final calculation, operatic. Although I never had the honor, her kiss was said to always have the hint of the taste of fine champagne; as a crystal glass was never far from her delicate hand. In the impregnable circles of the European haute couture she was “known,” and to know her was to be “known” as well.
After years of this fantasy-laden Bohemian existence, the combination of 30 or so filter-less Lucky Strikes each day and hours upon hours of daily exposure to the Mediterranean sun shriveled her once lovely, svelte frame into a wrinkled, raisin-like shell barely five feet in height. This was compounded by the inescapable desire for the rush of meth-amphetamines coursing through her veins. No matter how high into society she would climb, the hillbilly heroin of Sunnyvale would always be her nemesis in hiding: her secret no one could ever know.
Eventually, as society moved ever higher, she reached her peak and began her descent. As these vices took their toll upon her body her spirit began to rebel, and in an attempt to regain the life she had once known and lost, she turned to vodka for the confidence and courage which were once her calling card. A glass “on the rocks” a couple of days each week became a couple of glasses “straight up” each day.
Now, between the bottles of vodka, the occasional glass of Martini & Rossi takes her back to those gay nights in evening gowns that are now lifetimes, if not light years, away. She works as a B2B inside sales representative for an office supply company and speaks to her reluctant customers with a crone-like cackle which brings to mind an amateur thespian’s portrayal of some ancient and evil witch from a Greek tragedy.
Drunk and covered in “imposter” body-sprays, she seeks her prince in the local pool halls, and honky-tonks. She is as anonymous as the men who write of her on public restroom walls, giving her phone number to any who happen to stop there. Many call, and these desperate, lonely, and angry lovers are now all that is left to her: none of them are still there when she awakens late in the morning, rolls over, and lights her first cigarette.
Without a passport or prospects, she is both forgotten by the bon-vivant of Europe and shunned by the trailer queens of Sunnyvale.”
Okay, so that sad little story didn’t lighten the mood that much. Oh well. Still, I hope you enjoyed it.
Peace and Love to all,
Niemand