Chasing Death

Chasing Death

As a kid, I remember staring at the pictures within the book I held in vivid admiration. Just like any other six-year-old girl, my naive heart was captivated by the exciting fairy tales I used to read. Back then I thought that my life would end like the stories I had fallen in love with. A happily ever after was what I had feverishly sought. I would wear my mother’s long dresses and race to the front door as though I was a princess waiting for her long, lost prince.

Indeed, I was a kid who had believed that her nice, old neighbor was a witch in hiding, that one of the little frogs inside the pond near the house was a prince fallen under a curse. My heart lay within the books I had read, but soon I grew up and realized what the word fairy tale truly meant. Happily ever after did not exist and neither were princes that would save the day. I grew up and realized the lies my childhood was built on but more than anything, I was no longer blind. I had finally discovered the one truth, which was never a lie, a truth that was named as death.

The one thing common between reality and the stories I had read was death. It was the catalyst in every fairy tale out there. Sometimes death would be the reason behind the start of a story, while other times it would bring it to an end.

Three stories, three characters, three deaths