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You run and run and run. The structure you used to call home becomes a distance memory, a place you'll only see in your nightmares. You aren't ever going back, you swear it.
You aren't sure where you're going. The stars seem to lead you in multiple directions. They're meant to guide you, aren't they? Why won't they show you a path– give you a purpose?
You decide to fuck the stars. If they won't direct you to the safest option then maybe you'll go to the bridge. A decent option, really. The safest In your opinion. No one can force you home if you're dead. No one can hurt you if you've hurt yourself irreparably.
Your legs feel like they're going to give out before you get there. They burn and ache but you're used to the pain by now, if the scars scattering your thighs say anything about that.
Plus the exhaustion feels nice. It feels productive, like you'll actually achieve greatness– like maybe you'll make something of yourself.
It's nice in the way that a fantasy book is. It makes you believe that maybe all the critics along the way were actually wrong. Like the evil villains will soon be slain if you work hard enough, if you push yourself far enough.
As if maybe the princess will actually be freed from the dungeon if she wishes on that star hard enough. Or, in other cases, breaks away from the dragon and slips through the iron bars to free herself.
Maybe that princess approached a bridge just like the one you're standing at, staring over the edge– to the flowering fields and trickling river below her. To the midnight sky and those stars she wished on. Maybe that princess finally felt herself, maybe that's where the story ends.
Maybe the story has always ended there, maybe you see that same scene but you aren't quite sure where to go. Maybe the beauty is breathtaking, maybe you don't ever want your breath back.
You walk closer to the edge, gripping onto the iron railing that separates you from a closed book. You've escaped from the dragon but your bars remain in place, the bars still need to be slipped from.
Your body continues from muscle memory. This isn't the first time you've been up here, not even close. This isn't even the first time you've stepped onto the other side of the ledge, either. Not the first time your dress dragged against the concrete and became torn at the edges.
But it will be the last.
Your eyes flutter close, envisioning the ending page of a book. What would the princess say as she ran out of words? What would Zam say?
You open your mouth, filled with a story and resolution only to be promptly cut off.
“You're not gonna kill yourself, are you?”
Your head snaps to the voice, eyes wide and body frozen. You feel like a deer in headlights, caught with nowhere to go.
Mapicc stands in front of you. He's your best friend, your everything. He's been with you through most of your hardships and you couldn't imagine a life without him.
He looks carefree right now, staring at you with those eyes that could mean any number of emotions. He isn't trying to guess, he's already figured it out. He's good at that, you've learned. Good at figuring you out before even you can.
“.. I was.”
You respond because lying is pointless. You've tried and every time he looks at you with that pointed stare, raising one eyebrow and you fold instantly. Are you proud of it? No, but it's the truth.
He sighs like you're an annoyance and you're really beginning to feel like one. You open your mouth to give him excuses, to tell him to leave, to beg him not to stop you.
“Shut up, I'm not here to stop you. If I wanted to stop you I'd pull your ass off the edge and drag you home.”
Your mouth snaps shut. Your eyes glance back towards the ground, then back to Mapicc. You aren't fully sure what he wants if not to save you but you're much more willing to hear him out. He continues,
“You can stay with me, y'know?”
His offer hangs in between you two like a weight. You could stay with him, theoretically. Your story doesn't have to end here, at the bridge. Maybe the nice knight you've confided in the entire time could bring you to a sanctuary.
“Look, it's your choice. All I'm saying is maybe take a night to think about it in a place that won't push you one way or the other. You know where to find me, the door will be unlocked.”
With that, he walks away. There's a certainty in his steps that confuses you. A certainty that means he knows you'll follow. Like he already knows how your story will end, like he's read it before. You watch him until he disappears into his house, the door clicking shut after him.
Your eyes glance back to the ground and it seems farther than it did a few minutes ago. Suddenly you aren't so sure your story should end here.
The ground is littered with trash, the bridge's side covered in graffiti penises– it isn't like the whimsical lands your fairytales described. And maybe, just maybe, you could write your own ending. Maybe you could add a second part, another chapter to a book you've read a million times before.
You lift your leg back over the railing, lifting your dress so it won't catch on the rocks. With each step your muscles ache but at least this time you have a destination.
You look at the little wooden door and reach out, twisting its handle to find Mapicc lying on his couch. He smiles at you, patting the space next to him.
“Come on, Princess. Let's watch Tangled.”