‘Tickling Butterflies’ – The Mystery of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves

I’m serializing my fairy tale novel, Tickling Butterflies. A new fairy tale ‘episode’ is published every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday.

Here’s the story so far.

And now the fairy tales begin to change:

The Mystery of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves

(Containing the strange tale of a fairy tale come to life.)

 

“My name is Benjamin Miller,” began Benjamin Miller, “and I was not born in the Land of All Legends. I was born… somewhere else. I do not remember where. I was too young at the time. There were tall buildings and every room had a bright light on every ceiling and I had a Mickey Mouse pillow.”

“What is a Mickey Mouse pillow?” asked John the Cute.

“I do not know, but here it is.” Benjamin Miller turned and showed a small pillow, fit for a child’s head, near the carved space where he usually sits. “This pillow had been white when I was young, but I have lived for so long, and have seen so much, that by now it is almost black. It used to have a picture on it. Of something cute with had big ears and I loved it. I love it still. But I do not know what the picture represented. I remember very little from those days, you see. But my parents were there… My mother… My father… While here, in the Land of All Legends, they do not exist.

“I was a young child, a mere baby, and my mother would come in every night and read me a story. I remember the book plainly. It had a picture of a beautiful woman with black hair and small dwarves around her. She was holding a poison apple.

“My mother read the story to me, and I remember the name of the story: It was called Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.”

“I know Snow White,” said King John the Cute. “She came to my coronation ceremony!”

“Stop! This is my story. You must listen carefully.”

King John the Cute nodded, and Benjamin Miller continued. “Snow White was not real. She was in a book. She was in my mother’s book. And my mother would read to me every day and tell me Snow White’s story, about the king and the stepmother and the seven dwarves.

“Then, one day, I had a dream. Do you know what a dream is? People in my world dreamed all the time, while no one here ever does.”

“I dream,” said King John the Cute.

“You do?” Benjamin Miller was highly surprised. “Were you born here, in the Land of All Legends?”

“Yes. There is no doubt.”

Benjamin Miller considered this, then shook his head. “Well, then, in the Land of All Legends, most creatures do not dream. You are certainly the first I have ever met who does. But in my world, everyone did. One day, I dreamed about Snow White. But, you see, the dream was real, and it was not a dream. Because I began this dream seven hundred years ago, and I have not woken up since. Whatever this Land of All Legends is, it is not a dream.

“I found myself that night in a forest, you see, near Snow White, and I could see, plain as day, how she took a bite out of the apple. Once I learned that it was not a dream, once I learned that everything here was real, once I learned that I could not return home, I realized that what I had seen was not possible. I was only three or four years old, but even then I knew that Snow White could not exist: she was a story. Everything around me was a story. Told by someone else, written in a book by someone else.”

King John the Cute crinkled his forehead. Benjamin Miller continued, “You, King John the Cute, are a story told by someone else, somewhere outside the Land of All Legends. Everyone you know is a story told by someone somewhere. Everyone… Except me. I never belonged. I should not be here. You should not be here. No one should be here. And yet, here I am, unable to escape, a lost boy who does not belong.

“My whole life has been a quest to return home, to my father and mother. And yet I have found myself here in this cave, struck for hundreds of years without hope. Sit back, King John the Cute, for I have only just begun my story.”

This has been Benjamin Miller’s bizarre tale of the little lost boy who came from another world.

 

(To be continued on Sunday…)

The Emoticon Generation by Guy Hasson

The Emoticon Generation

 

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