Fairytale I

Looking out the attic window, one can see imaginary snow flakes flying around like merry children on a Christmas eve. The castle stands at the backdrop like a misguided stranger, wholly and completely aware of his own restlessness. Looking at the grey walls, one can read the unsung hymns. People say, if you visit the adjoining graveyard, even today you can hear sighs of forgotten heroes on their road demon bikes, waiting for their songs to be sung at the market place. For the one who sits in the attic, this is a fairy tale kingdom belonging to him. But observing snow flakes, through a chipped pink glass can be an interestng experience. One sees sad, demonic faces, faces which make you want to defacate your guts. He shifts his vision, and he sees the tribal girls with red, alien flowers tucked into their headgears, all going to the red forest to gather more flowers. They've got more heads than one can imagine. The trees seem to be on a mating spree, all reaching out their hands to the adjoining lovers, and couples go to the forests to collect tree babies. The meadows roll down on one side, to embrace the little dancing creek, like a father sweeping up his ten-year old, flushed-cheeked daughter. One knows he's the king of this land, and his rules are the gods of this land. And so the colour of the meadow changes, and the creek changes her pathway, and gospels are sung in the graveyard.
              Suddenly one hears his own mother screaming about leftover breakfasts, and one rushes down from the attic. His imaginations are closed down for now.

To be continued, if ever in the mood again...