Once upon a time, in a far away land there lived an evil king who would sit on his throne, in his castle on the highest peak of the tallest mountain and look down upon his land, his eyes filled with darkness. And once every year, the King, so induced by his sorrow and anger, would unleash his fearsome dragon unto the town. During which he would imprison the two young princes in the deepest dungeon of the palace. The boys surrounded by nothing but darkness, held each other and cried. They cried for themselves, for they were alone and scared. They cried for the villagers, for the boys could hear all the tragedies transpiring down below. But most of all, they cried for their father, the king, for he had not always been an evil man, who preyed upon the innocent souls of the towns people. You see he was once a good and loving father, king, and husband. But on one fateful night, his beloved wife was taken from him by an awful fire that raged through out the palace. Ever since then however, he has retracted into his grieve and anger, and discharges it on to his sons and the village. But after awhile, the boys no longer cried, for they had no tears left to shed. No, instead they sat in the darkness, listening to the horrors emerging in the village, and contemplating an escape. They had been locked in the never ending darkness of an abyss that made up their cellar; long enough to know every nook and cranny there was to know. It did not take them long to find a way out and escape. Once out, they raided the palace’s armory, and headed out into the village. The young princes had both been very skilled in combat and the magic arts. Saving the people from the ferocious dragon had been no easy task, even for the mightiest of knights, however the boys had managed in defeating it. They cut off the head of the dragon and brought it back to the palace, which they then dropped it at the King’s feet. The Evil King, still seated in his throne look down onto his boys, his face free of emotions. After several more minutes of such, the King finally rose, towering over the two young princes, and looked at them, his eyes filled with sadness. “What have you done.” The King’s deep voice scratched and echoed through the throne room, not asking a question as much as demanding an answer. The older of the boys stepped forward and replied with a firm and calm voice “Fixing your mess.” And with that the King fell to his knees and wept for the first time in years since his wife had passed. He wept and wept and wept, for what seem like hours. His two sons beside him, holding and weeping with him. The Evil King, was no longer evil. No, now he was merely a man, stricken with grieve and regret, for not only the passing of his late wife, The Queen, but also for the travesties he had put his sons and village through. The young princes had broken the King’s spell bounded anger and despair, and replace it with hope. And with this new founded hope, The King was able to repair himself, his land, and his relationship with his sons. And with this, they all lived happily ever after. But this isn't a fairy tale. This story, my story, doesn't start with a “once upon a time”, and end with a “happily ever after” . My life isn't a fairy tale. It doesn't have a King or Princes. It doesn't have a palace or some fearsome dragon. No, no, it has none of that. You see, what my story does have is an old drunken man, and his two good for nothing sons. My story, well my story isn't a fairy tale. You see there’s no “once upon a time” because there’s no real start to the story. And there’s no “happily ever after” because there is no real ending, at least not a happy one. My days are not spent slaying dragons or rescuing princesses. My days are spent in a high school, teeming with judgmental, angst filled teenagers. Working a 4 hour shift, only to come home and be stipend of my daily earnings, in order to supply my father with another round of his so called medicine... After which he come home and thrashes the place. When I was younger, too young to understand what had happened to our mother or why father had gotten so mad and slurred in his movements and speech, my brother would enclose us in our room. He would choke out comforting words, through his own sobs, in order to prevent me from crying as well. And once the loud thrashing noises that came from the old man’s drunken state were at easy my brother would always say “It’s ok. Daddy still loves us. He’s trying the best he can.” He would repeat these words to me every time, and every time his voice seemed to quiver more and more. My life’s not a fairy tale. I don’t have an evil king that locks my brother and I away in a dungeon, while his dragon roams the village. No, just an old drunken man, and his anger. And his sons, who are too scared to do anything other than hideaway in their rooms and wait for the nightmare to pass. You see, my life is no fairy tale, I’m not some brave young prince who can escape his dungeon and kill the dragon, or free my father from his curse. No, I just hideaway in the dark, thinking maybe, just maybe if I stay in the darkness long enough that I’ll be able to fade away. That, is my only happily ever after. ~Denisse Alvarez