The lonesome fairy who built homes
There existed somewhere, somewhere not too far away, definitely here on Earth, in this milky way galaxy, in our solar system, orbiting a humungous flaming star, which will certainly explode one day, though not in the near future, but of course, time is relative, so it may very well be happening right now, in your later, much later life.
Anyways, there existed a girl, a relatively young girl, at the ripe age of 19, she was, a gorgeous girl, though, not simply because of her pleasant features, but because of the attitude which she held up, interminably, as she went through her days. She worked as a mason, which, as progressive as our society may be, was rather rare for a young girl of her age, and especially of her build, so to say. Rather fragile, you would get the impression that she was a fairy or something, which, in fact was tattooed on her back, fairy wings that is. She was a young Québecois heart breaker; however, she never took herself very seriously. She maintained a nonchalant attitude, and tried to make the most of her days, working hard as a mason during the week days, as she had to take care of her sickly mother, and her father had passed away a couple years back due to cancer.
She was like a lone wolf; besides her best friend Julie, she didn’t really have friends, speaking mostly to her mother, her best friend, and rarely her co-workers. There was an incident once, at her work, involving some of her coworkers. Rather robust men, whom, we’re evidently quite secretly insecure and some may have been closeted gays, but nevertheless approached her, remarking at her fragile and delicate physique, telling her to stick to other things, to put it simply. She, not being one to take something like this, having to fend for herself throughout most of her life, put this big-headed man right in his place, by intellectually and brilliantly taking him apart, reducing him to a heap of mass, with a little and basically worthless brain. Fair to say, he felt defeated and never bothered her again.
On her spare time, which she scarcely had, she enjoyed reading, taking herself to castles in the sky, using her expansive imagination. If there’s one thing she learned in her years of manual labor, it was the importance of her mind. ‘On vit d’espoir’ was something she often heard in her little Québecois village. It means, will live out of hope. Everyday, we get up and we hope this day will be better than the last. We live out of hope, for the things we’ve lost, and what we may gain. Hope, for a person such as herself, with not much to look forward too, was all the luxury she could afford.
Her imagination, however, was vast and expansive. She felt most of her life, as though she we’re carrying a secret that others could not perceive. She would not let them enter. They we’re sealed within her heart. This secret was that of her imagination. As she read her favorite books, or wrote to herself in her little journal, she would imagine that most unlikely of scenarios, conjuring images of far-off worlds and galaxies. As though her fairy wings transported her far away, reaching areas of her own mind she could not fathom existed.
She was very connected, connected to her emotions, having her heart on her sleeve. Connected to nature, every morning, as she woke up at 4 am to prepare for her days work, she would open the windows if it wasn’t too cold out, and listen to the singing birds. They sung beautiful melodies. If only she could really fly, use her fairy wings, to soar high, high up, and forget about everything she had been through here. Leave it all. It was a selfish wish, but she felt as though, she we’re trapped. Trapped to circumstances which she hadn’t chosen herself. She loved her mom, and appreciated everything she had done to raise her, taking most of her admirable qualities from her mom. Mom was able to put up a brave front, acting as though her illness was not affecting her, but ultimately, her body could not hide that she was deteriorating.
She could not hold back her tears on some nights, a kind of palpable loneliness overwhelming her, but nevertheless, put on a brave face the next day as she had to look tough at work, or else she may be eaten alive. The wolf, was perhaps just a sheep in wolfs clothing, holding a tough demeanor as her mom had been doing all this time, but ultimately, she was more like a gentle fairy.
Every night, she would wish, extensively so, she would recite these long lines, elaborating her desire to be freed of the shackles of her current life. Almost like a mantra, they put her to sleep, and more than the wishing coming true, she relied on the comfort they gave her. As though, this reality, just between her dreams and her waking state, was one which was indefinably real. As though a portal would open, the slightest of openings, wherein the line which separated dreams from reality blurred, or merged into one, and she was granted lucidity into another dimension of sorts.
Her mom had always told her, if she wished hard enough, ‘si tu crois fort fort’, in French, that anything could happen for her. She held these words close to heart, as though they we’re a precious diamond needing to be protected. She did not cling so much to the possibility that her life would drastically change, but she clung to the support which this provided her.
As she thought really, really hard about one of these invented realities one night while falling asleep, the fantasy was held in a kind of firm wish, a prayer, that if she could just escape, on this very night, she could go back to her normal life. If she could only have one night, one night whereby she could escape, and become anything she every wanted.
