a Storyteller

He comes every evening.

He sits near my bed and reads tales. The terrible tales.

How the Wolf devours Little Red Riding Hood, Snow White eats the poisoned apple and the Cruel Giant swallows Tom Thumb… Every evening, he ruins my naive childish dreams about the Perfect World. He calls this ‘adaptation’ and preparing for your adulthood’. And he leaves my room with a sense of accomplishment.

I cry… but not too long. I have a low level of adaptation… it’s written in my anamnesis, and I do believe in the power of written words. I just take a pen and start to correct every mistake… to repair the non-perfect, spoiled world.

Tom Thumb swallows cruel giants… Snow White hates apples… and Little Red Riding Hood devours wolves. That looks much better. I fall asleep with a smile… and with thoughts about this strange word… hyperlexia. It’s also written in my anamnesis. I don’t know what it means but I guess that it’s just a perfect name for one Beautiful Princess who steals the eggs of dragons

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
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