one day. once upon a time. all alone. i tried to paint a picture. i painted a cracked vase on my mother’s mantle piece. i was still alone.

one day i came across a crying child. i told him that his dead dad would say hello to him soon. i told him, his dead dad would whisper through the blowing leaves and the crashing waves
and i felt like never before.

one day i came across a happy child in the toilets. i told him a story about how he will never see his mother again. she was off to prison and he was to be left all alone and i felt like never before as he cried and cried, with his underpants around his ankles.

one day. all alone i accepted that there was no such thing as magic.
until I caught a taxi home late one night. the taxi driver began to tell me a story.

he became

a gigantic storm
gale force winds
one hundred foot high waves
wild animals
giant sea creatures
angels in trees
demons under the bed
unconquerable mountains
bottomless oceans
past tragedies
future hopes

he became
repetitions
circles
cycles
birth
death
re-birth

i asked him how he became these wondrous things before my very eyes
he asked if i believed my eyes
yes
then i too had such power

one day
all alone
once upon a time
i began to tell stories
i developed a habit
i became addicted
i could do nothing else

but
tell stories about the old man and his stories
demons from the old man’s stories chasing me
and angles from his stories saving me

one day
all alone
i told a story
as old as storytelling itself

the young boy whose mother went to jail
he began to throw stones at me
others joined in

stones at my head
in my face
piercing my chest
blood and exposed bone
i fell to the ground

then i saw a sharp knife
somebody grabbed my tongue
and cut it out

i tried to keep telling my story
but i bled and bled
i spoke an unintelligible garble
with mouthfuls of blood
theirs

and mine