Fairytales
By poojaps1337 - bronze member
Submitted on February 28, 2026
Idk help on this one pls
When I just began the seventh grade, I wanted to buy a wheelie backpack. Not just a little bit, but I yearned for the feeling of my books to roll in the school hallways. I begged and begged. My mother eventually complied; I was euphoric that I nearly shed a tear. But the minute I stepped into the hallways, I heard the snickers, the convulsions, and the jokes from a few people. They were enough to get me to throw away the backpack. It was just a joke. Casual. Nothing more. A joke? Casual? I didn’t realize casual jokes could hurt that much.
Beneath the vast dark gray bridge, lay crumbled notes, and apple cores, scattered between growing moss and flowing river. It was the only place the students at Wheelbarrow High could travel from school to home, and over the years the tradition had been accumulating.
The students only started a week before, but the swamp looked cluttered. It smelled worse than alleyway dumpsters and looked worse than the cafeteria after a food fight. However, uglier than the trash was a big and flagrant troll.
The troll’s family left more than a decade ago and since then, he only ever had himself—the worst presence he could experience. That feeling of loneliness was bitter like the most distasteful grape lollipop.
As the bells were ringing, so were the students. They were ringing and buzzing with chatter as the first week back to school ended. Every one of the freshmen were excited to not only go home but to pass by the swamp. They always thought the Troll didn’t mind the pebbles and crumbled up papers. ‘He was used to it’—the tradition never stopped.
When the freshman passed by the swamp they casually mocked, jeered, and threw trash at the troll. Their voices were louder than emergency sirens.
Walking with all the rude children was Lucy. She laughed at other kid’s jokes, and walked with them in unison. However, seconds later, as the rest of the students continued to walk, Lucy fell back as a high-pitched noise left her with crossed eyebrows—The troll’s heavy tears beneath the bridge—“Hello?” Lucy asked, faintly. She never heard crying until now.
“Hello.” The troll said, as the crying died out. The troll always did his best to wait until the kids left to cry, but there were times when waiting was too hard.
Lucy hung her body partway off the bridge and hesitated before speaking. “Is someone down there?” she asked, vaguely.
“Go away,” the troll replied.
Lucy noticed a small staircase laying beside a family of trees, it was along the edge of a rocky mountain that led into the bank. She creeped towards the staircase. Dried-up moss furred the old steps, matching the color of the troll.
As she came down, the troll caught sight of Lucy. She was a small girl who had a wide grin plastered across her face. Her dress was ironed and straight. However, there was something off about Lucy. He wanted to smile because of her calming presence, but it felt too serene.
Lucy’s smile continued to ring out, but unapologetically, she took a bucket behind her hands, filled with trash, and threw it onto the troll. He won’t mind, Lucy thought. This is the tradition, he’s used it. It’s just a joke after all.
Laughter erupted from overhead as students continued to throw trash, with the expectation the Troll would laugh back.
The troll blinked twice at Lucy’s smile as laughter continued to explode from above. He couldn’t comprehend it. But was he as surprised as he should’ve been? The children always threw trash at him. The only difference? It wasn’t a tradition anymore. It was apathy. Casual. “Just a joke.”
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Idk again
When I was in the seventh grade and it was April fools, I woke up with dread. Pranks, tricks, and silly scares are my biggest fear. Some could say that I have self diagnosed Pharsaphobia. As I woke up that day, I begged my mom not to go to school. She assumed I was terribly ill because Alexander Elliot wouldn’t skip school even if the world was ending. Regardless, I went to school. Thankfully, I was clear of the pranks, tricks, and silly scares. However, when I got home that same day, I went to sit in my desk chair only to notice it was covered in bugs and insects. I shrieked at the top of my lungs. And followed by the shriek, my entire family ran out crying from the laughter. I couldn’t tell who started it—just laughter’s spilling out without an obvious source. I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t from the fear of the bugs, but it was the thought of the prank that left me desolate. Maybe I overreacted, but everytime I see a bug from that moment onwards, I shriek the same. Maybe I was being a baby. But until I stop shrieking at the sight of a bug, I guess I’ll never grow up.
In a small village in Denmark, there sat a castle. The castle was covered with lonely bricks and deep green vines. Each vine had white roses with crisp brown petals curling from the edges.
Inside the castle, thirty rooms were draped in brown and white curtains. Each color was as dull as the hollow hallways. Between the brown walls, lived two princesses: Serenity and Isabel.
Isabel had long golden hair and ocean-like eyes, while Serenity had hair dark as night and eyes darker than chocolate. Both were outwardly beautiful but sometimes Serenity never felt that way. She’d make jokes occasionally and put Isabel down in hopes that her beauty could outshine Isabel's.
One evening, as Isabel spun in circles in fancy dresses, her sister glumly watched from beside. Servants were at her waiting hand and foot. Dress after dress—they served her. Twirl after twirl—they complimented her.
Serenity felt herself fade into a dull gray as her sister sparkled under the sunlight.
As Serenity continued to fade away—an idea crossed her mind. Why not create her own spotlight? And dull her sisters? It wasn’t meant as an evil thing, but as a…joke. It’s just a joke, Serenity told herself. Isabel will laugh about it later.
After a few hours passed Isabel was busy trying different makeup combinations—Serinity came to her with a small potion in her hand. “For you, dearest sister,” Serenity said, her voice warm and steady. A constant snicker was replying in Serenity's mind. This joke will be nothing but hilarious, Serenity thought.
“Me?” Isabel asked, with crossed eyebrows. Serenity nodded. “What do I owe this pleasure?”
“You will soon be queen and are most deserving.”
“Oh,” Isabel said, placing a hand on her heart. “I never imagined such a kind act from you.”
“Indeed,” Serenity said under her breath as Isabel grabbed the potion from her hand. Serenity covered her mouth—holding back a laugh.
“Serenity, you are the most wondrous sister I could ask for! I love you so much!” Isabel said, as she gently chugged it and placed the bottle onto her table. “Oh heavens,” Isabel said, placing a hand on her chest. “It’s splendid!”
However, seconds later Isabel began coughing maniacly and was unable to walk in a straight line. One leg went weak, then the other. Her knees locked, and she fell to the floor with a crash. Fog rose around her like a huge grey puff. The entire room was unrecognizable in the fog.
Suddenly, the blur of fog disappeared and out came an Isabel with beast-like features and matted hair.
Isabel frowned at her sister. “What happened?"
Serenity burst in laughter as she stared at her sister. “You…you…got tricked!” Two of Serenity's friends hopped out from behind, laughing as loud as they could muster. “She never saw it coming,” One commented. “Look at her hair! It’s a mess! What a hilarious joke!” The other commented.
Isabel forced a smile. To her, it wasn’t a joke.
As the hours passed, Isabel never changed back to her beautiful and glowing self. Something meant as a joke, turned into something that would stick with her forever.
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Still don't know
The first saturday of October, every year, I watch a 24/7 live feed of airline videos. I don’t come downstairs for lunch or dinner. I eat food in my room while feasting my eyes upon the live feed. But every year as I watch my favorite live feed, someone comes in with the same harmful words. Still a baby this year? This is why you have no friends. You understand how lame this is? I’m the only one who’ll put up with you. No one else would. Regardless, I finish the feed and try my best to ignore her words, but every year it stings more than the last. Words hurt I guess.
Large trees just beginning to blossom towered over small people in their houses. The trees left traces of flowers: yellow, pink, orange, and blue which powdered roofs like sprinkles. Next to some tall houses lay bright green grass, freshly trimmed beside white picket fences. Not a single grass was out of place, and not a single fence had colors other than white. Almost every home was perfect, except one.
This house has trees that are still haunted by winter, dead flowers traumatized by fall, and grass that isn't perfectly trimmed. And she's never had the luxury of tasting sunshine or hearing the chirping birds. Her life wasn’t as beautiful as a yellow flower blooming or as luscious as bright green grass. And she went by the 'enchantress' because she’d never tasted sunshine and others judged her for that.
She had messy hair, religiously wore black every day, and every other sentence she talked in gibberish. Don’t go near her. She’s weird. She has no family, I wouldn’t go near her.
But before the enchantress received her name, she wasn't like this. She had a normal life. She walked through parks while eating popcorn, rode roller coasters with her family, and went to the movies every weekend. Until the tragic incident happened and the enchantress lost her daughter and husband.
After that, the enchantress cursed towns, roamed the streets, and caused harm to anyone who crossed her paths. And for that she received the worst curse anyone could ever receive: an immortal life. But as the years passed, she realized the mistake behind her actions and she slowly stopped. Afterwards, the enchantress tried to make friends. Of course, nothing worked. Fear was behind everyone’s eyes that they would be next. And for that, she faced rejection for centuries.
One beautiful spring morning, as flowers were falling onto rooftops and grass was growing bright green, the enchantress woke up. She was celebrating her 436th birthday. Usually, she felt sad on her birthday, when she glanced at photos, dreamt of walks to the park, and ate popcorn alone, and this year was no different. After all, the incident happened exactly 400 years ago. Not only was this another year celebrated but also a reminder of the day she lost her daughter and husband.
So, to ease that pain, she wanted to walk in the park in hopes people could be different. Today was her birthday of all days, they had to be nice. Maybe they could all forget who she used to be and finally welcome her? Finally accept her? Finally treat her like she always longed to be treated?
As she strolled the streets, she noticed a family. She grinned with her yellow teeth. In disgust the family sneered at the enchantress and ran away. What if they were next? The enchantress ensures them all that she is next. But they couldn't take any risks. Their laugh inversely cast a spell on the enchantress causing her teeth to become brown.
Next, she noticed a pair of siblings. She did a silly dance in hopes they could laugh and make her happy. But the siblings reacted poorly and ran away laughing as well. They not only thought the dance was funny but that the enchantress would harm her next. Their snickers caused the enchantress to grow two left feet.
The rest of the day, the enchantress continued to smile, dance, make jokes, and try to interact with other people. But every laugh, dance, and attempt at communication failed. After the long day, the enchantress developed pink hair, red skin, bumpy nose, and more.
The last thing she found was a little girl and her father. She ran up to the two and gave them a big hug. But the daughter and father laughed the loudest out of everyone from the day. They simply reminded the enchantress of her own family.
The enchantress imagined her daughter's voice echoing in the wind: "Ducks are the happiest animals," her daughter said as she tossed popcorn into the ponds—a memory the enchantress thought she'd forgotten.
And right after, the enchantress, herself, transformed into a duck.
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Again idk
The reason I’m so keen on planes has always bewildered most people. They’re just planes, they say. Why do they matter so much? Just planes? Planes can go anywhere. They survive turbulence, pressure, storms—things that are meant to break them. I remember sitting on the couch once while someone talked. I don’t remember what they were saying—something about life, or school, or the future. I remember nodding at the right moments. I remember the sound of their voice fading until it turned into noise. And then I was gone. In my head, a plane lifted off the runway. If I could fly anywhere and survive any words people threw at me, maybe I could deal with life better than most. Maybe I wouldn’t feel everything so sharply. Maybe I wouldn’t need to disappear mid-conversation. When people talk about life, I distract myself. Not because I don’t care—but because I care too much. So I will talk about planes. I think about altitude and engines and wings strong enough to hold everything together. I try to fly myself somewhere else. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere survivable. Because life, living—that’s my least favorite part of the day.
The small Irish country stirred under the pale morning sun. The moon was done playing, and it was the sun’s turn to awake the animals and light the town.
Beneath the smiling smile was a large marketplace. It was nestled between town homes, lined with tiny shops brimmed with candies wrapped like jewels, warm breads that breathed out sweet steam, and trinkets that chimed softly as if whispering old stories.
Snuggled between each crooked town home, the marketplace was painted with bright colors—seafoam green, bold reds, sunny yellows.
In every corner a hint of life was stirring—running dogs, rustling leaves, and shopkeepers lifting their shutters with the same care one might give to opening a treasure chest. The whole town seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the day’s magic to begin.
Amongst the shops was a new couple: Seamus and Aoife. The two walked across the cobblestone grounds on their first date.
Seamus had a plan to do anything in order to get Aoife to love him and eventually inherit her father’s fortune. For his only yearning was the fortune that followed the girl.
Aoife lived in the largest house, guarded the most colossal safe, and enjoyed a life of quiet luxury. Her father sent her on many different dates hoping she’d get back a worthy partner to watch over their castle, safe, and be a worthy king to take over. But every date and every time, they were all the same: boring men who were only in search of the fortune behind the small girl.
As they walked, Seamus led Aiofe into a bakery. He sat down across from her and began to speak: “My father used to tell me that I was always a brave warrior and how—” But his voice drowned out. Aoife focused on a nearby coffee cup that was swinging in the wind. His words didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.
Next, Seamus led Aoife to a jousting tournament. “My mother used to tell me how I could joust. I’m strong, amazing—” But again, his voice drowned out. It didn’t seem important. Instead, she focused on the color of the dirt. It was a light brown and was very grainy. Her feet rubbed against the dirt making a rough noise.
As the day went, Aoife was the same. Distraction after distraction. But could she be blamed for it? After all, this was nearly her hundredth date and she was sick of it.
As Aoife came home that day she noticed her father happily waiting for her? “So was that the one?”
Aoife shook her head. “No father.”
“Well that’s desolate. But I have good news, there’s someone new and he’s a catch. His name is—” Aoife zoned out of her father’s words. And instead she forced on a nearby chair. The chair was covered in a velvety red. It had golden accents on it and appeared grand and beautiful.
To her the distraction was a way out of the fake husbands. A way out of her father’s version of life. Living. Because of her, that was the worst part of the day.
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idk
Whenever I get the chance to walk home from school, I take it. The car might have air conditioning, seat warmers, and a radio for music, but it doesn’t have the unpredictability of the weather. It doesn’t have the cracks in the sidewalk that I count with every step, and it certainly doesn’t have the chirping birds. I was always judged me for choosing to walk instead of drive, but I notice the little things most people overlook. It makes you see a world smaller than the one you live in: the insects scurrying in their own little worlds, the animals darting between hiding spots, and the sidewalk itself, which holds the faint memory of every footstep taken on it. You don’t get that in a car. I suppose that’s hard for most people to comprehend.
The shivering waves of Northern Canada swayed under the cold wind. In the distance, lavender fog blurred the sun and the mountains. The mountains, heavy with snow, towered over the restless sea. Above the waves, the currents twisted and howled, blowing brittle twigs and small leaves in every direction.
Yet beneath all that chaos—the crashing waves and winter storms—fish traveled in schools and whales moved in steady pods. Occasionally, hungry sharks and famished belugas snapped up passing fish. In the heart of the ocean, one creature with grey blubber and dark flippers swam alone.
Nelly the Narwhal was usually by herself, and unbeknownst to her, most of the other sea animals were not fond of her. She was different: chose to be alone, saved odd trinkets most animals would find odd, and acted in an abnormal way.
One day as Nelly the Narwhal was swimming in her usual path, she came across a large seashell. It was pink with small ridges covering the entire thing. She swam around it, picked it up, and studied it like she would a kelpfish final. “You can't possibly be fascinated in a seashell as lame as that!” A nearby whale bellowed. He and the other sea animals never understood Nelly's oddness. Nelly shrugged her shoulders. “You might never know if I need it!”
Nelly swam to a nearby seaweed patch and caught a glimpse of a large clump of seaweed. Many pieces of seaweed were intertwined with one another. Light green, dark green, and some teal. Nelly beings to psychoanalyze the colors and the way they intertwined with one another. “If you stare at it longer you might turn into seaweed!” A clownfish jokes. Nelly smirks in response. “Ya never know, maybe this could be useful!”
The rest of the day Nelly continued to search for trinkets that could be useful. She overanalyzed the small things and picked up things that could be little value to other sea animals. And after every object, every psychoanalysis, and every trinket she collected—the other sea animals judged her.
Later that day, the waters began to stir and the tide started to pick up. Currents started to shift in unpredictable spirals. The faint light from above started to dim, filtered out by the churning waves. Tiny bubbles raced to the top as the ocean began to grumble like a hungry beast. Even the normal steady swarms of fish frantically swam as the ocean bursted into chaos.
Beneath the chaos of the storm, Nelly was snuggled between the seaweed she collected earlier—she felt calm amidst the chaos. A seashell leaned against a large boulder, and other trinkets keeps her safe from the chaos. The other animals from before who judged her, began to regret their rudeness. The very trinkets and objects she got judged for, is exactly what helped her survive that night.
Being different is hard and makes others judge you, but little did the other sea animals know, it had its own value.
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