The Little Boy in Blue

The little boy in blue pajamas hated stories. He would rather swallow a starless night or kiss thorns that have lost their roses then listen to another sickly pale once upon a time.
It was peculiar, really.
The swans sung in wonder and the mountains roared abuzz, how must the little boy in blue pajamas hate stories, when he was in one?
See, when the little black cat drove the long needle of the town clock exactly three purrs down, the town in all its mighty rumble stopped. The frolicking fairies busy buying scrolls froze still, the spirits rolling around on gusts of air hardened, and pillow soft clouds became sheets of nonsense.

In the time-depraved town, only the little boy in blue pajamas stood alive.
Once upon a time, there lived a brave little boy among mountains of flowers and oceans of showers, fields of green meadows and gardens of bowers.

A voice sang from the clouds, and bled through every nook and cranny of the town. In an instant a light fell from above, igniting the boy that wanted nothing more than to disappear from its blinding commands.
The boy was loved far and wide. From his castle of speaking toys, he soared the brilliant skies and sowed enchanted trees on otherworldly spires. Tiny sprouts of diamonds and massive curves of black oak, there was no tree the boy had yet not filled up his lands with. But one fateful night…
The little boy felt the wooden tiles melt beneath his feet into a river of golden sand. His blue pyjamas turned into the red soldiers uniform. On his head sat a wooden crown and his right hand gripped around a wooden sword. Infront of him stood a massive tree that gleamed like a burning flame. Tiny berries hung down like purple jewels from its dark branches.

…his bravery took him too far.
The wizards had warned him, the ministers all squawking their beaks in displeasure, but the little boy was arrogant in his strength.
“Those shivering buffoons don’t know but an eagle’s cry.
All they do is squawk and sigh,
and stuff their beak with lemon pies'', the little boy heard himself say.
And so the boy finally found himself in front of the flame tree against his peer’s cry.
“And who must you be?”, came a snarly scream.
A little young lady, oh so pleasant she seemed.
With goldilocks’s eyes, and snow white’s hair, she was a maiden even in her dainty affair.
I am the king of these lands, revered far and wide.
I have searched for this tree for miles and miles.
I want but its seed, plump and fresh.
A seed just enough, to sprout a shoot, to bloom and grow,
a second sun in all its glow.
“A seed, you say”, bellowed the little girl,
her red lips broke in a wicked smirk.
“Why go ahead then, little brave knight,
go and offer this tree your might.
But beware, though its thorns might shine,
every glittering leaf hides a murderous crime.”.
“I fear no tree, no branch, no leaf,
One little pluck and I’ll be in glee”.
The boy walked ahead, brave and strong,
He lift his sword, straight and long,
Poke. Poke. Poke.
He shook the oak
And came out from below a large fiery folk
"Dare you touch me, you little twerp!"
"I am the king of this tree, a phantom of hearth!"

Suddenly, the light broke off. It shattered and hid into the corners of the world. The little boy was free, finally in his skin. His world was back. He looked down at the ridiculous sword and the crown too big for his head. The boy shivered and sobbed, and fell to golden sand under his feet.
Before him, the tree melted into the ground and the phantom fell like a wooden marionette. The story had stopped and so they no longer existed. The boy stood between rolls and rolls of mountainous sand, unaware of where he was, and how to get back. He whispered between his sobs
“Please, take me home”, but all that replied was a lazy gust of burning wind.
The boy lay on the burning mass for what felt like hours before he heard the familiar chatter of pixies from afar.
“Help me! Please!”, he shrieked.
He left the stupid crown and the dainty sword away, and ran, stumbling through the scorching sea. He saw a caravan of blue and purple, and his eyes watered in relief.
“Over here!”, he waved his hands.
Until he saw the little flag, tied to their trolls. Blue and white with tiny black flowers. The boy froze. And before he could move, an arrow struck through his tiny beating heart. He stared in horror as his uniform darkened. He fell to his knees. His lungs filled with blood, his body coiling in pain, as he blinked through the tears, and heard his final breaths…

“I will curse you three times for your insolence and dare!”
“Ha! Curse me all you want, left and or right, but I will take the seed, and the tree will be mine!”
The little boy thrust his sword and pierced right through the gnarly form.
“Cursed you will be, and so will be your town,
your heart will be mine, and so will be your crown”.
With this the spirit fell in pain, but the little boy only smiled at his gain
With one full swoop he took the yellow seed, and on quick feet he turned away in glee.