Sarah Loses Her Fairytales

Reads: 132  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic


Little Sarah in a her confused world of people that welcomes her to a harrowing future. Many teeming million kids that would never speak faces it. Who will stop this?

Submitted: October 02, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 02, 2017

A A A

A A A


The day she arrived in Smith household covered in an infant wrap in the lap of her mother, Mr. Smith could not resist his fatherly enthusiasm in coining her a name – ‘ I will call her Sarah’ he proclaimed - little caring about another opinion which his better half might possess about names. And that’s how Sarah was born. Mrs. Elbe who was in Sarah’s care in the hospital could feel tad moistness in her eyes as she dressed up Sarah to the lap of Mrs. Smith on her way back home from the hospital. Sarah was born underweight and so she had to be under special care in the hospital. Mrs. Elbe was a seasoned nurse in childcare and was thus entrusted with taking care of little Sarah which she initially addressed with the efficiency of her long nursing experience but soon found that she has build a bond with the blooming innocence. Her tears finally broke the bond the day Sarah left the hospital, although it paved the way for the smile in the Smith household with little Sarah adoring it.

 When Sarah entered her home which Mr. and Mrs. Smith bought some weeks back, the home décor was still midway and the couple was all very careful in setting the minutest attention to Sarah’s room so that it is complete way ahead of others. They could feel that with the advent of Sarah, the lights in their lives have just lit up and the shine of happiness is announcing its presence. As Sarah went ahead in life, she became extremely expressive and started befriending even the most grim-jawed of individuals with the spontaneity of her lively innocence. Her parents wanted to make the occasion of her fifth birthday a very special one and was flooded with a multitude of little steps in their home – so encompassing was the friend list of little Sarah. As the queen of the day took center stage behind the birthday cake with the beaming parents on either side of her, the little voices joined in chorus to wish a happy birthday to Sarah. That night Sarah wanted a special gift from her mom when she moved out to say goodnight to her. Mom, I wish you tell me a fairy tale tonight as my birthday gift. Mrs. Smith could only join her husband in the bedroom after an hour or so when a mesmerized Sarah could allow no other fairy except the dream fairies overtake her in senses. And from that night, the fairies started entering little Sarah’s life. So much so, that as a precondition to an imminent sleep, Mrs. Smith had to tell Sarah a new fairytale every night. And as she slowly moved in her fairy dreams, Mrs. Smith would put the blanket on her before she softly closed the doors of Sarah’s bedroom. Although, circumstantially, it was quite natural of Mrs. Smith to exhaust her stock of fairies at this frequency of story-telling. Consequently, to catch up to Sarah’s demands she started her little innovations but soon found she is horrible at that. Therefore her only alternative was to look out for latest fairy tale books on the Oxford street bookstore which she started visiting on alternate weekends. And there one day she bumped on Alan. He was just a casual onlooker at the bookstore but played a Good Samaritan in paying for the book Mrs. Smith bought that day as she stood in the counter in desperation of locating her purse without any success. An overcrowded London tube due to the Rugby Derby may have created the mess for her, she thought as she thanked Alan with a smile. She could, therefore, not say ‘no’ when Alan invited her to join him for a coffee in the shop right across the street emanating a strong aroma of cappuccino which easily invades the bookstore they stood ground. All through her stay with Alan in the coffee shop she was thinking the next train to home although she could not ignore the eyes of the person sitting opposite in that table on occasional exchange of glance with Alan. Finishing up the coffee in haste, she asked the favor of Alan’s presence the next day so that she could repay him for the book and left for the train. That night Sarah had a fragmented and shabbily knit fairy tale which was reason enough for a delay in sleep to arrive, although Mrs. Smith was not too eager to move out from Sarah’s bedroom quickly as that would mean sleeping beside a drawn off, recluse person while she would restlessly sway in the bed as a lump of flesh. She could feel that a split, a divide is palpable and storm is already in the horizon. The next morning she went to repay Alan and was paid back in the strong coffee aroma. As the aroma became stronger the frequency of her meeting Alan increased and she could feel that she is attracted to the bewildering madness and desperation of the brazen way he carries with himself – which is so unlike of the suave, corporate demeanour of Mr. Smith.

 That night when Mrs. Smith returned home late from Alan’s apartment, little Sarah lost her first fairytale as her mom fell asleep barely a first few lines in the story. She was utterly confused by the turn of events, but could see the smile in the face of her sleeping mom which is so much alike to the smile she gets in her dreams from the happiest fairy. And then she started missing her fairytales with each night when her mom came home late. Mr. Smith with his cultured ways of always being decent and courteous did not ask her anything but could decipher a clear writing on the wall. And it was reinforced when on occasions he answered an unknown but identical voice on the telephone enquiring about her wife. ‘There was a call for you, if possible answer it from the caller id list ‘– were the only few lines he could say to her wife. But as the pains in him mounded up day after day, he went into a shell and finally beyond reach of all mortal pains one day when the remembrance of him only meant a cenotaph and a well versed obituary for the man he was. She was just past her ninth birthday this time, little Sarah lost a fairytale she shared with her father – the one who would almost meet her little demands of life when she asked for. A ‘sad’ Mrs. Smith went numb for a few days and the nearest man in her life to fall back on was the shoulders of Alan, her love in life, albeit the missing link in a complete life.

Alan started staying with her and the fairytales of Sarah became again deserving and colorful as her preconditions of a quick sleep returned again and were met again. And her welcome eyes wanted to befriend the new man in her scheme of things but scare was the dominant feeling in her with Alan as he would take her in his lap, toss her up and just on the verge of hitting the ground would hold her again. On other occasions he would hold her hands and make swirls of her in the air and when she is scared would hold her close to him with the reassurance of his mature protection. In the meantime Mrs. Smith got herself a job in the morning so that she can return in the afternoon just in time for Alan to go out for a part-time job in a store. So when Sarah returned from school with Alan, he would often ask her to crawl on his back as he held her and walked the streets. Sometimes it was pain for Sarah with her feeble legs in the strong grip of Alan, but it was fun not to walk the streets. She crawled her way back on Alan that day and was able to just pick up the ringing phone before it faded out in the shrilly call. It was Mom the other side telling her that she had to continue with the afternoon shift to back up her ailing colleague and when talking to Alan requested him to drop work for the day to be with Sarah. Sarah had dinner the same time she had for most days and couldn’t wait for a change in the voice that tells her fairytales every day. Alan’s style of storytelling was far different as Sarah could soon found out. It was so pushy, so forcible and heavy that little Sarah was utterly confused. Alan’s whisper of fairies in her ears soon instilled pain and fear in her little heart as she never imagined that her fairies would be ever so heavy and lurking at every aspect of her being. As she wreathed in intense pain, she could only remember an uncanny sound hitting her ears as she slowly passed in the obscurity of senses.

 By the time Mrs. Smith’s hurried press of the doorbell could express her eagerness to be back where her heart is, Sarah has already lost her fairytale again. The night sky above her was the only other witness to the fairies lost, as it could do precious little except cast the look of agony at the world below. The world where many Sarah s lose their fairytales everyday and still fresh fairytales are written, the world which sees mornings every overnight a fairytale is lost, the flowers still bloom, people get into their daily groove ever so nonchalant of a lost tale that has little or no consequence in their lives. The raconteurs of these losing tales throng the streets scot free in millions - sometimes as close family friends of Sarah s around the world, sometimes as family members who enjoy the cover of an amicable hush up with family prestige being the top priority. And some other times they are people who enjoy the slackness of the system throttled by legal hawks, for a few pounds more. If and when Sarah wake up the next morning, she will ever resist a new fairytale the night to follow and the stigma of a biting fairy would reframe her life in the days to come.


© Copyright 2019 MurmurofShaan. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: