The wrong tale.
There is a dark city behind a glass wall. There are lanterns behind a glass wall. They are whispering. They are talking about people. They are telling tales. Tales about villains and witches, hellhounds and domestic cats, princes and healers, wanderers and knights. Strange tales, that people will never hear. Wrong tales from people’s point of view.
The city is captured by the fall. The city is full of dampness. Wet umbrellas have invaded the city. It’s still summer in a glass cave. Dampness can’t invade the glass cave. Because in the glass cave there is a sleeping… no, not a princess. It’s the wrong tale. In the glass cave there is a sleeping knight. He’s covered with network of small wires and tubes. Vital signs monitors would catch the slightest glimpses of consciousness, but there aren’t any. The knight is asleep. Ash blond hair is almost merging with a pillow. Grey eyes are closed. Hands are lying helplessly on a blanket. The knight is asleep.
- Second degree of toxic coma. I’m sorry.
- What is it caused by?
- An overdose of Phenobarbital. It’s a miracle that he survived.
- Is there hope?
- There is always hope.
- Doctor, I have no desire to joke.
- Who told you that I’m joking? There is always hope, but he has small chances. 7% that he wakes up, all the rest that coma goes into a deeper phase. If only we realized sooner…
If only. Subjunctive, the past tense. The most terrifying term for a human. Things not done, words not spoken, opportunities missed. If only.
The knight is asleep. A prince will not come for the knight. And the princess will not come, either. But every evening, when the city is preparing for sleep and the lights are dim in the echoing corridors of the concrete mountain, the wanderer comes to the glass cave. The wanderer doesn’t have posh or poor clothes. Instead of staff she has an umbrella. The wanderer leaves the umbrella at the door and pauses for a moment, gathering the courage to make these five steps to a lodge of the knight and take another look at his face. Strange wanderer, who thought she was never wrong.
- What happened to you?
- I do not know… A bit dizzy… Maybe it’s the new medicine they are giving me.
- Come on.
- Where?
- Not far from here. You need to sleep.
It’s hard to walk. The boy is trying to go smoothly, but the world is spinning. The only reliable thing is a strong supporting hand of the best friend. And the boy is almost hanging on his companion.
- We have arrived. That’s it. Lie down.
16 year old guy closes his eyes. He’s no longer seeing anything, he’s no longer thinking. He can only obey safe hands and gentle voice.
The knight is asleep. The wanderer is standing beside the sleeping knight. The wanderer blames herself. After all, it was all so simple, so obvious that it was difficult not to notice. But she allowed herself to believe a stupid theory and the knight did not wake up. The knight of justice. The knight with a slightly tired smile and golden sparks of laughter in his eyes. The wanderer hesitantly takes the knight’s hand in her palms. It requires more courage than the five steps to the bed. Her cold fingers are warmed by his warm skin. The wanderer feels like a thief, stealing some warmth from the unconscious body.
- Your hands are always so warm. Forgive me. I made a mistake and realized it too late. Sorry.
The knight is asleep. The wanderer keeps his hand in her palms. Phenobarbital. So simple. Streaming way too fast to his veins. It was hard to accept that nothing more could be done. The wanderer sighs wearily, and carefully lowers a weak hand on a blanket. She caresses his cheek with her warmed fingers.
- Wake up, please. So many mornings come and go but you’re still sleeping.
But the knight is asleep. And the wanderer goes to the door bowing her head. Lamps, sisters of streetlights, are flashing angrily behind her. They are not satisfied with the wanderer. But she does not notice it. She picks up her umbrella and exits the glass cave. The sad wanderer. The silly wanderer. The one, who has forgotten all the right wise tales that mother read to her as a child.
In the car at the foot of the concrete mountain there is a fairy. She looks up, when the wanderer enters the car.
- No improvement.
The fairy is sad, the knight is her friend.
- He will wake up. – The wanderer says stubbornly.
- He will. - Agrees the fairy. - In the tales a princess always wakes up.
- He is not a princess.
- No. But maybe, he is also waiting for her prince or maybe the princess.
- I do not believe in tales. – The wanderer wearily rubs her nose.
- Sometimes it does not matter what we believe in.
The car rushes through the darkness. Lights are shining angrily on her. The sad wanderer peers into the night outside. Lights go out in front of the machine. The car stops.
- I’m going back to my knight.
The fairy hid a smile behind her hair.
A decision is made. The road back seems much shorter. And happy lights are shining at full power. Five steps from door to bed are not scary. The wanderer sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for the hand of the knight.
- Wake up, please. I need you.
Mad hope for a miracle in her eyes. And the gentle touch of lips. But the knight is asleep. Miracle hasn’t happened. Wrong story, as always.
The wanderer exits, forgetting the umbrella by the door. She does not believe in miracles.
- Call from the hospital. Yesterday you forgot your umbrella.
- Is that all?
- No. The doctor said that the state of your friend changed. A good chance that he could wake up in a few days.
There is a dark city behind a glass wall. There are lanterns behind a glass wall. They are whispering. They are talking about people. They are telling tales. Tales about villains and witches, hellhounds and domestic cats, princes and healers, wanderers and knights. Strange tales, that people will never hear. Wrong tales from people’s point of view.
The city is captured by the fall. The city is full of dampness. Wet umbrellas have invaded the city. It’s still summer in a glass cave. Dampness can’t invade the glass cave. In the glass cave the knight and the wanderer are playing chess.
Because even the wrong tales should have happy endings.
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This story is written 2 years ago for my knight. Based on true events.
