A.N: This is something which should have been done ages ago, for "The Unhappily Ever After" Challenge at The Longue. My internet fell out, and I was actually working on gathering stories for a book I'm planning to write. Then I got hit with inspiration to write this, and decided that it was time to finish it. The segment is from "Where is She" by The Killers.
They wait until I tell them a story
and after it is finished
they laugh because they don't consider my stories as stories
But they aren't looking for stories
They want to see what kind of lies I can tell them
"Lies are my profession
I always begin with that
and then I casually ask what they want to hear
"Truth" they call and then a soft "lol"
This ugly word which dies on every lips because I'm are a liar by profession
and lol is an honest word, thus forbidden until it has a use
"Tell me a story based on a song"
A mere child asks and I smile
rephrase a line from my favorite song
What have you done with my whole wide world?
"What is your problem"
"She is a child.
She doesn't understand"
Nor does the moral guards which time cannot decay
"A child or not, based on a song my story is"
I laugh and paint a nose on them for interrupting
"There was a king which lost his daughter
To the ancient trolls"
("What is a troll?)
("Creatures afraid of the sun says I
Keeps humans as slaves.
Be silent now.")
"So he naturally told the men in his kingdom that if she returned
No one would get hurt
If she did not
Then he shall murder everyone."
They grown uneasy
My stories are often of murder
making soldiers of little ones
preparing them for battles soon to come
Because one day I shall be the king and murder them all.
"There was a small thing which offered aid
Troll and human was he
He told that there was a price for everything
And a reward for pain
Because humans like pain
cutting themselves to bleed forever"
they tell me
"She is a child
Leave her dreams be."
"You believe I am a liar
And I am, but God help you
this story is mine
and it's around a song.
Cannot listen, child?
Then begone, and ask me to tell you the rest when you are old and crisp from the sun."
They let her stay
"The paths were this.
Walk on a field full of waist length plant
Kill a bird and sell it's soul
Many years later the relatives will claw your grand children's eye out
Eat your babes
and enslave your children.
Or use a pink pen
Write down stories
And be a slave yourself to the art of stories and drawings of silly things.
The king could also build a car
Break it's windshield wipers and himself."
I fall silent again
let them suffer there on their beds
not knowing their end
nor the beginning of my tale
"He chose...I whisper breathlessly
Gleaming blue eyes among dark
"To be a slave to the words
But no daughter back he got
And one day he killed his people
Left the world
To find his daughter in other places"
What is not said to them as they left the liar once more
Hence, the king of Norway is now in the terrible Siam.