I don’t like fairy tales, mostly for their fantastic nature. I don’t believe in them. I can’t believe in them. Things don’t happen that way.
So if a fairy dies because I don’t believe in it, it doesn’t matter. Because it’s not even real and it’s merely a tale!
Demons, on the other hand, are real enough.
We don’t even recognize them but we are their best friends. They burrow deep into our hearts and make permanent homes there. It doesn’t matter whether we believe in them or not. They don’t need us to believe to exist.
They simply do, quietly doing their jobs. A whisper here. A nudge there. And voila!
Eyes narrowed. Brows furrowed.
We only see what they want us to see. We only hear what they want us to hear. We only do what they want us to do.
And we do. And we do. And we do.
Nothing else matters then. No blood, no relation, no faith, no sense. No fairy tale can save us from their clutches.
Nor any magic, neither logic.
And all because these demons are deeply rooted in our hearts – thanks to all our insecurities and what we term as “realism” but is in fact pessimism wearing the cleverest disguise.
And we do. And we do. And we do. All their bidding.
Till everything turns to ash.
No rest till then.