As always, please feel free to email or snail-mail your comments to Paradise Daily News. Attention John Jenkins. I'll be more than happy to respond until the next full moon article on July 22, 2013. What are your thoughts?
***
What? What nerve! I huffed the air from my lungs and jumped to my feet. How rude could this man be? “Fairy tales are for children? Donate it to charity?” I mumbled, repeating the words through my grinding teeth. Before I knew it, I had gripped the newspaper in my fisted hands, crumpled it into a ball, and thrown it across the room.
That would show him! I paced the room, chewing on my lip.
No, it wouldn't. It wouldn't show him at all.
How would this Mr. John Jenkins know how angry I was, and especially that I had thrown the newspaper across the room?
I gave one sharp nod. That was it. I'd show him myself.
Back to my side-table drawer I pulled out my notebook. One can't tell an ancient story on modern technology. It must be handwritten.
***
Dear Mr. Jenkins,
I'm contacting you in regards to your most recent article, “Fairy Tales are for Children.” In my opinion, your article was coldhearted and only written to bring amusement to yourself. I hope I don’t burst your bubble. I'm simply trying to keep things real, as you say.
You said fairy tales aren't true. Am I to understand that you don't believe in magic, and that there are no happy endings either? What tripe! How dare you command people to give up their hope for happiness and love? How could you disregard what others believe with just a flick of your pen?
Fairy tales do exist. You, dear sir, have a lot to learn. As for the girl with the long hair, she is real. I am real. The golden hair was the beginning of my story and, yes, it was also my downfall. The statement you so blithely wrote—to have it chopped off for charity—is not so simple a request.
My story has been told in many different ways. Except for my hair, I barely recognize it to be my story at all. I know, because I've read them. Muddled versions were made up and told to laughing children over and over again. Those children wouldn't have laughed if they had known the real story. It wasn't their fault. They didn't know the truth. Nobody knew.
Had you known the truth, you wouldn't have written such an article so carelessly, without feeling, or understanding. How dare you say that I don't exist without as much as a by-your-leave?
My true story isn't a funny tale and should not be told to children. Not one story ever told had any truth in it. Not one storyteller knew. You don't know the truth!
My name is Rapunzel and I will tell you my story. I will tell you the truth.
Sincerely,
Miss Rapunzel
100 Dragon Lane, Paradise Valley
***
There. That should do it.
I dropped my pen and leaned back against my headboard. I folded my arms across my chest and closed my eyes. What would happen if I sent this letter? Would John Jenkins believe me? No matter. It was time the truth was finally known. But, even I knew that a simple letter alone wouldn't do the trick. No, I had to write more…much more.
I had to write it all.
I wouldn’t be working in the garden that day. I had something more important to do. I had to tell my story. The full story. But where would I start? If anyone, let alone this Mr. John Jenkins, was going to believe me, I had to start at the beginning. This was going to take a while, but I had all the time in the world.
I couldn't wait to give this letter to Pepper in the morning. I was tired of waiting on this curse to be reversed and waiting on a miracle that hadn't come—that obviously wouldn't come. I was tired of being a prisoner in my own home. I wanted friends. I wanted to go to town without the worry of consequences. I was tired of being lonely. I wanted to be happy.
But how could I be sure that telling my story would make things any better? There was no way to know. It might be worse, much worse, after the word was out. What if I spent the remainder of my days running from a legend? After watching human nature over generations, it was clear that people railed against the unknown and the unusual. Maybe they would try to kill me. Then again, maybe they would be successful. No matter. I had to do it.
I wanted a life. It was time.
It was time to tell the truth.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We are born, and then we grow up. We get married, and then we have a family. We grow old, and then we die. These were the facts. It was how nature worked. One thing followed on the heels of another. Father told me this before he sent me away…before he died. And I've seen those truths lived out, generation upon generation. But, after my eighteenth year, these truths no longer applied to me.
I was the exception. I was a special case. I would never grow old, nor would I die. Some might find that to be a treasured gift, but trust me when I say it was a horrible curse.