There once was a girl, who lived far far way. She wore a red hood, or was it red hair? Either way she spent her time eating oatmeal all day. While on her tuffet, She met the man from peru, who ate his own shoe, and called the doctor right away. While they waited for the wizard of men, it started to rain, so then three little pigs, built him a hut, but an untimely rabbit’s sneeze blew it all away. Soon enough the little girl’s fairy godmother came, and with a whiff of magic made the man’s leathery indigestion go away. But in payment he had to take this young woman to the ball.
She wore a pretty dress, with laces and blue and met a prince, who almost gave her a shoe . . . expect that he detested blue. So he found a pretty pink girl with bright blonde hair, and three fairy godmothers, and married her instead. Years later, our redded headed, heard the wife was lazy and slept all day.
Now our heroine, left the Peru shoe eater, and thanked him for his time, with a kiss on the cheek, which to the sadness of all . . .did nothing, magical of the kind. So our child went back to home, to a latch and a key, and thankfully no evil stepmother. She sat her desk and pulled out a pen, and began to write a tale, of men without horses, women without beauty, and life without magic. She wrote one page, then two then three then 100, and titled her book, Today.
After reading her book, aloud to the cats, who smiled and nodded, as the gobbled up rats, our red caped villain, took her print, and sent it far far away, to a place called New York City.
While in far far everywhere, many read tales of chivalrous knights and beauty queens, soon our girl would learn that no one believes happy things they read.
Months later, our heroine girl, became famous with heartbreak, and boredom, and soon the fairy tales were replaced with books, all called Today. Then came Tomorrow, and Just Another Day, and soon pens worldwide wrote of the magic deficient ways of living, of breathing, of going through life, without a dream or a chance, to believe in life.
Years past, books wrote themselves, as our girl was a woman, then a wife and mother of child. As her child began, to open her eyes, our mother went to buy stories of knights, and kings and good warm things, only to find, that it had stopped existing.
So realizing her child needed a book that would keep her thinking it was a beautiful world, she sat down at her desk, and wrote a book, of men with horses, women with beauty, and life with magic.
She published the book, and soon people found, a new type of reading, that inspired their child. After today, and tomorrow, and then another day, her books of love, for children, became famous and read. Soon parents read, and children sang, then teenagers snuck looks, and felt a little less angry at everyone.
As the mother became famous, she went on book tours, leaving her growing child, with a key to the door. The child didn’t mind, ‘til her father left too, then she began to wear lots of blue. She came home to pet rats, who fought off cats, and searched the internet, for people with magic, left in their life.
Then up on the screen, came a man who told tales, of the wonder of living, and beauty of gals. He poured magic in the mind, of our mother’s girl, and she fell in love, with a faceless pal. She agreed to meet, our nameless joe, and he told her to wear pink, and to come alone. She hurried her makeup, and brushed on a smile, and walked into a café to meet this man that boasted much happiness about life.
As she walked in, awkwardly dressed in pastels, she soon met the toad, that called himself Hal. He bloated when talking, and furiously scanned bodies with his eyes. Then soon made attempts to defile. While our girl was still young, she had many brains, and knew when to flee. So a toss of her coffee, in his face, and a dash out the door, and out of the cursed place.
She ran all way home, and only stopped at the door, to see her mother looking down, frowning at her. The girl sweaty and crying, bawled to her mom, the tales of dashed princes, and the fairy tale that never was. Her mother paused for a moment, wanting to chide, but instead picked her up in her arms, and let her cry.
As they walked in the house, and sat a desk, they both took a pen to paper, and wrote what they knew best, it started with tales, of heros and smiles, had a middle with sadness, and tears and byes, but before they closed their book for good, they made an ending, that all must know. It had a bit of magic, that we all possess, and made the ordinary, wonderful, without all the b.s.
CrazieCate Community Member 
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