Fairytales.

[Bastille Amtrum]

Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children that dragons can be killed.
-----G.K. Chestersen

Late at night, only the crickets seemed to chirp, and even their numbers were so small that the sound was barely noticeable. It was hard to believe anything was noticeable in this bleak landscape. Sure, it had been cleaned up some....but one needed more time to forget the crunching of glass and debris beneath their feet than the time it took the brain to be poisoned by it.

Bastille remembered the first bomb clearly, at least the first one she had to run away from. She was in New Orleans- contrary to popular belief. She'd gone on a last minute decision to do some business with the traders there...

A light, a bright light, and she knew not to look at it. Her history books and the reading of "Hiroshima" had whispered in the back of her brain as the world had gone silent. There was nothing in that instant, just a great silence and a great light-...people around her on the street. A great rumble shook the ground and to Bastille it was as if the even the ghosts of the city were fleeing the historical streets.

Darkness, flashes of images, nothing was clear. Only the rumbling and the ringing in her ears as she slipped into a tomb....into the masses. It wasn't until she got on one of the last ships from Boston to Europe that she realized she was still alive and her hearing restored itself. She hadn't showered or even brushed her teeth- her hair was covered in dirt and ash. But no one looked at her, and she looked at no one. The dark shadow was too ominous, and everyone fought it in their own minds.

She was in Toledo helping people the next, life continued on as usual....her eyes scanned the survivors, formed a solid exclusive city. Death was comfortable. Her leg ached, the illness and rejection was going badly...in five months time she would loose the use of her leg, in eight months time she would be dead. She was almost excited about it. Almost....

Thing was, you really couldn't cherish death without cherishing life.

Bastille didn't cherish hers. Hadn't since she was 13....but something wanted her to keep living.

A cry...


Bastille opened her eyes and realized she'd been gripping too tightly to Evelyn who was now squirming uncomfortably on her lap. Aryanna was still asleep next to her on the other knee. Both girls were still so small and fragile.

Red hues widened innocently, and guilt was evident in them. Bastille quickly raised Evelyn to her shoulder and rocked her back and forth in the rocking chair, her brow furrowing. It was amazing, how this tiny life form inspired so much emotion from a girl who understood little of what it meant to feel.

"I'm sorry, love, so sorry...there there, mummy's sorry" She cooed, as if begging the child to forgive her for getting lost in a immature fit of P.T.S.

"Shh there, there....mummy loves you....daddy loves you, I'm so very sorry"

Bastille didn't understand what was happening to her. When she left these girls, she could push them from her mind and forget they existed- mostly. But here in their presence she was diminished to a carrier... her life revolved around these parasites, these beautiful, loving, tiny, fragile, and innocent parasites. Bastille was their willing host and she would feed them until they were strong enough to become goddesses of their own. The thought of loosing them was beyond anything she could understand- the idea of them being dead...made her heart stop beating. She knew to see them dead would break her...shed become something else in an instant.

Something she didn't understand. Something....that needed to live. Something that understood that life was precious- that her life was precious and necessary. At least, until they got older....


"Let's read a story shall we.....Uncle Buck picked this up from the ruins of the library...it was Mummy's favorite as a girl. Let's take a look...."

Bastille smiled setting the now calm Evelyn back onto her lap and rocking once more as she took the book in hand.

"St. George the Dragon slayer....." Bastille began. "Amoung the windy sea of great tall grass, and the giant hills of England....beneath the shadows of the forests and in the damp cool depths of caves....there lived dragons."


Bastille would continue on with the story until the girls were asleep again, listening to their mothers voice. Bastille would gently pick them both up and pause....longing to instead sit there a minute and take in the moment. How sweet they looked on her lap....and in her arms....how very sweet indeed.

"Fairytales teach children that Dragons can be killed..." She silently wondered where she had heard that before, before she closed her own eyes.