And They All Lived Happily Ever After
“And they all lived happily ever after.” That’s the classic ending for every fairytale story. Poor Cinderella sheds a few tears because she can’t go to the ball, but has she tried going for five days without food? Then she’d really have something to cry about. Dear Sleeping Beauty has a spell put on her that causes her to slumber away in bed for years to come; but at least she has a bed. At least she has a Prince Charming that will wake her up from her world of sleep. If I ever decided to go to sleep for a while, would anyone wake me up?
My name is Sofia, and I am 14 years old. I was 11 when my dad left, breaking my mother’s heart. I was 12 when she was diagnosed with depression and 13 when she decided that she could not look after my five-year-old brother James and me. She packed our clothes into a bag, with a little bit of money and a note that pleaded for us to be cared for. She then drove us to the nearest bus stop and left us there. She did not take us to an adoption agency, in fear of being locked up in a mental hospital for her severe depression. She told us that she did it out of love.
For days we waited and waited, getting hungrier and thirstier, and the time went on. Finally someone stopped and read the note. It was an elderly woman with greying hair and kind eyes. Her voice and face were as soft as velvet and she had an air about her that was trustworthy and honest. She would have been perfect to look after us; we would have gladly gone with her. There was one problem though, she was a widow and when her husband died she went broke and barely had enough money to get by.
Two young children who needed schooling was not something she could afford. She was kind-hearted though and offered to drive us to the nearest orphanage.
We eagerly agreed as we were beginning to feel our empty stomachs and dry throats. She left us there, wishing us a happy life. We wished her the same and then turned to face what would soon become our hell.
The orphanage was awful. The mistresses treated us as slaves, cooking, washing, and cleaning for them while they went about their business drinking tea and buying expensive items. Every day we prayed for our mother to come back and get us, believing that she still loved us and that this institution was only temporary.
We believed she would recover and reclaim us as her children. I even managed to leave a note on her doorstep during one of the few outings that the orphanage took us on. I snuck away and shoved the letter through the mail box after a quick peep confirming that she still lived there. Why did I not ring the bell, you may ask? Much later I was still asking myself this question. I believe I was simply unprepared for this type of confrontation and wished her to make the move to collect us.
We started to wonder whether or not she had received the letter. Had it gotten lost, or stepped on? Maybe it was under a doormat, hidden from her eyes. On our next outing I planned to go again, but that’s when I saw her. She was wandering through the stalls of the daily market. I was about to call out and then stopped. From behind her appeared a man I knew too well. The counselor who she had seen daily when we were with her. It was that moment that I realized we had been blind. She had never loved us, never wanted us.
The next day we left the orphanage and ran away. There was no longer a reason to stay, no reason to suffer. Our “mother” was never coming to get us, to rescue us and protect us once more.
For the first time in our lives, excluding our two days at the bus stop, we were well and truly alone. We knew the orphanage would not even set up a search party. We could not seek help, for we would most certainly be turned over to the orphanage once more. What would we do for food and water? While pondering these questions, the now-six-year-old James piped up with the idea that we cross the busy main street to reach the park on the other side. It solved many problems for us. It provided shelter from the harsh elements and a soft place to sleep. There was a little alcove under a bridge, it would be a perfect sleeping spot for us.
This park had a bubbler to provide water. We would have to find another way to locate our food, but this would do for now. The leafy green of the park was so inviting. We were free-spirited and happy as we made our way towards it. After looking carefully both ways we stepped onto the street, preparing to cross. James cracked a joke that was so funny it made me laugh out loud. I was laughing so hard and James was so engrossed in the sound of my laughter, a sound he didn’t hear very often, that we did not see the truck come spinning around the corner on its massive eight wheels. We did not hear it until it was too late and the brakes were screeching and protesting, sending a smell of burnt rubber into the air. I knew we had no chance, it was coming too fast and we were too close. My last thought was to shove James as hard as I could in the direction of the footpath, not caring if this hurt him. He would be hurting a lot more from the impact of what was coming. In the next second I was hit by said impact, turning everything to an inky black as I faded out of consciousness.
I watched as the truck slammed intomy sister, the impact sending her flying. If she hadn’t thrown me aside, maybe she could have saved herself. I looked toward the park at the happy picture painted there, where we were going to live, breathe, and laugh. Our happily ever after. I remember our Dad used to read us fairytales before we went to sleep. Cinderella and Snow White were always my sister’s favorites. Was there a happy ending for everyone? Would we have a happy ending eventually? I realize now though, in the real world, there is no happily ever after. That does not happen in real life. Everybody dies in the end. Whether it is as suddenly as my sister Sofia, or gradually with old age, everybody dies. How is that a happy ending? As I gazed at my sister’s still form lying on the road, in that fraction of time before people started to panic, I embraced the fact that that magical world of happily ever after was just too far away.
“从此,他们过上了幸福的生活。”这是所有童话故事的经典结尾。可怜的灰姑娘因为无法参加晚会掉了几颗眼泪,但是她试过五天没吃东西吗?那样她就该知道什么才应该真正大哭一场。亲爱的睡美人遭到诅咒,年年月月都要在床上睡着度过。但至少她有一张床,至少还有一位白马王子会将她叫醒。如果我决定睡上一会儿,会有人把我叫醒吗?
我的名字叫索菲娅,今年14岁。我11岁的时候,父亲的离开伤透了母亲的心;12岁那年,她被诊断患上抑郁症;到我13岁的时候,她认为自己没有能力再照顾我和我五岁大的弟弟詹姆斯。于是她把我们的衣服装进一个包里,塞进一点钱和一张恳求好心人照顾我们的纸条,开车把我们送到最近的公共汽车站,丢下我们走了。她并没有送我们到领养机构,因为害怕人们因为她严重的抑郁症而将她关进精神病院。她说自己这么做是因为爱我们。
几天过去了,我们等啊等,越来越饿,越来越渴,时间也一点一点地流逝。最后,有人停下来看了看那张纸条。那是一位年老的妇人,头发灰白,有一双慈祥的眼睛。她的声音和脸庞像天鹅绒一般柔软,有一种让人信任的真诚气息。她是照顾我们的完美人选,我们也会很乐意跟她回家。只有一个问题——她是一位寡妇,自从丈夫去世之后,她便一贫如洗,身上的钱仅够糊口。
她养不起两个需要教育的孩子。不过她好心地开车送我们到最近的孤儿院。我们马上同意了,因为我们已经饥饿难耐,口干舌燥。她把我们留在那儿,祝我们过上幸福的生活。我们希望她也一样,随之开始面对地狱般的一切。
孤儿院糟透了。那些女护工把我们当奴隶使唤,要我们为她们煮饭、洗刷和清洁,她们则自顾自地喝茶,购买奢侈品。每一天,我们都祈祷母亲会来接我们,相信她还深爱着我们,孤儿院只是权宜之计。
我们相信她最终一定会康复,接回我们这两个孩子。在孤儿院组织的少数几次外出,又一次我甚至成功将一封信留在她家的门阶上。在迅速一瞥确认她还住在那里之后,我悄悄地溜出去,把信件塞进信箱。也许你会问——为什么我不直接按门铃?很久之后,我也一直在问自己同样的问题。我想自己只是还没准备好这样和她碰面,希望她能主动接我们回去。
我们开始猜她是否收到了那封信。是丢失了,还是被踩坏了呢?也许信件被压在擦鞋垫下面,她没发现吧。我决定下次外出的时候再去一次,但就在那时,我看见她了。她在日用品市场的货摊前徘徊。我正准备叫她,却停住了。她身后出现了一个我再熟悉不过的男人——那位我们还在她身边时每天都和她见面的心理顾问。那一刻,我意识到我们真是瞎了眼。她由始至终都不爱我们,也不想要我们。
第二天,我们离开了孤儿院,逃跑了。再也没有留在那儿的理由了,也不需要再受苦了。我们的“母亲”永远都不会来接我们,拯救我们, 保护我们。
除了在公共汽车站的那两天,这是我们人生第一次真正只能靠自己过日子。我们知道孤儿院不会组织搜寻队去找我们。我们也不能寻求帮助,否则很有可能被再次送回孤儿院。我们要怎样获得水和食物?正当我们为这些问题发愁的时候,如今已经六岁的詹姆斯突发奇想,提出我们穿过繁忙的大街到马路对面的公园去。它能为我们解决很多问题。公园既让我们避开恶劣环境,也是一个能舒舒服服地睡觉的地方。小桥底下还有一片凹下去的地方,是我们睡觉的绝佳地点。
公园里有一个提供饮用水的喷水口。接下来就是如何获得食物了,不过现在事情好办了。公园里的绿叶看起来很不错。我们振作起来,高高兴兴地朝公园走去。仔细看了看马路两边之后,我们踏上大街,准备过马路。詹姆斯说了一个很有趣的笑话,我不禁大笑起来。我尽情地大笑,詹姆斯完全沉浸在这不常听见的欢笑声中,我们俩都没有看见一辆八轮的巨型卡车正飞快地拐弯朝我们开来。等我们听见的时候已经太晚了,卡车的刹车用刺耳的声音抗议着,发出一股橡胶烧焦的气味。我知道没有机会了,车速太快,离我们也太近了。我最后能想到的就是使尽全身的力气把詹姆斯朝人行道的方向推出去,一点都不在乎这是否会弄疼他。如果被撞上了,他所受的伤会更严重。下一秒,我被撞上了,渐渐失去意识,一切落入墨汁般的黑暗中。
我看着卡车重重地撞上姐姐,把她撞飞出去。如果她没有把我抛开,也许她就能保住自己的性命。我看着公园里那张贴画的幸福景象。那本该是我们生活的地方,是我们呼吸和欢笑的地方。我们以后的幸福生活。我记得父亲过去总会在睡前给我们念童话故事。姐姐向来最喜欢听灰姑娘和白雪公主的故事。是不是每一个人都会有一个美好的结局?我们最终也会有一个美好结局吗?然而现在我明白了,在现实世界里,没有什么永远幸福的生活。这根本不会出现在现实生活当中。人终有一死。无论是像姐姐索菲娅那么突然,还是像年老慢慢消亡,每个人都会死去。这算什么美好结局?我凝视着姐姐那躺在马路上一动不动的身躯,在人们惊叫起来之前的那么一点时间里,我明白了一个事实——魔法世界里的美好结局,离我们很远
My name is Sofia, and I am 14 years old. I was 11 when my dad left, breaking my mother’s heart. I was 12 when she was diagnosed with depression and 13 when she decided that she could not look after my five-year-old brother James and me. She packed our clothes into a bag, with a little bit of money and a note that pleaded for us to be cared for. She then drove us to the nearest bus stop and left us there. She did not take us to an adoption agency, in fear of being locked up in a mental hospital for her severe depression. She told us that she did it out of love.
For days we waited and waited, getting hungrier and thirstier, and the time went on. Finally someone stopped and read the note. It was an elderly woman with greying hair and kind eyes. Her voice and face were as soft as velvet and she had an air about her that was trustworthy and honest. She would have been perfect to look after us; we would have gladly gone with her. There was one problem though, she was a widow and when her husband died she went broke and barely had enough money to get by.
Two young children who needed schooling was not something she could afford. She was kind-hearted though and offered to drive us to the nearest orphanage.
We eagerly agreed as we were beginning to feel our empty stomachs and dry throats. She left us there, wishing us a happy life. We wished her the same and then turned to face what would soon become our hell.
The orphanage was awful. The mistresses treated us as slaves, cooking, washing, and cleaning for them while they went about their business drinking tea and buying expensive items. Every day we prayed for our mother to come back and get us, believing that she still loved us and that this institution was only temporary.
We believed she would recover and reclaim us as her children. I even managed to leave a note on her doorstep during one of the few outings that the orphanage took us on. I snuck away and shoved the letter through the mail box after a quick peep confirming that she still lived there. Why did I not ring the bell, you may ask? Much later I was still asking myself this question. I believe I was simply unprepared for this type of confrontation and wished her to make the move to collect us.
We started to wonder whether or not she had received the letter. Had it gotten lost, or stepped on? Maybe it was under a doormat, hidden from her eyes. On our next outing I planned to go again, but that’s when I saw her. She was wandering through the stalls of the daily market. I was about to call out and then stopped. From behind her appeared a man I knew too well. The counselor who she had seen daily when we were with her. It was that moment that I realized we had been blind. She had never loved us, never wanted us.
The next day we left the orphanage and ran away. There was no longer a reason to stay, no reason to suffer. Our “mother” was never coming to get us, to rescue us and protect us once more.
For the first time in our lives, excluding our two days at the bus stop, we were well and truly alone. We knew the orphanage would not even set up a search party. We could not seek help, for we would most certainly be turned over to the orphanage once more. What would we do for food and water? While pondering these questions, the now-six-year-old James piped up with the idea that we cross the busy main street to reach the park on the other side. It solved many problems for us. It provided shelter from the harsh elements and a soft place to sleep. There was a little alcove under a bridge, it would be a perfect sleeping spot for us.
This park had a bubbler to provide water. We would have to find another way to locate our food, but this would do for now. The leafy green of the park was so inviting. We were free-spirited and happy as we made our way towards it. After looking carefully both ways we stepped onto the street, preparing to cross. James cracked a joke that was so funny it made me laugh out loud. I was laughing so hard and James was so engrossed in the sound of my laughter, a sound he didn’t hear very often, that we did not see the truck come spinning around the corner on its massive eight wheels. We did not hear it until it was too late and the brakes were screeching and protesting, sending a smell of burnt rubber into the air. I knew we had no chance, it was coming too fast and we were too close. My last thought was to shove James as hard as I could in the direction of the footpath, not caring if this hurt him. He would be hurting a lot more from the impact of what was coming. In the next second I was hit by said impact, turning everything to an inky black as I faded out of consciousness.
I watched as the truck slammed intomy sister, the impact sending her flying. If she hadn’t thrown me aside, maybe she could have saved herself. I looked toward the park at the happy picture painted there, where we were going to live, breathe, and laugh. Our happily ever after. I remember our Dad used to read us fairytales before we went to sleep. Cinderella and Snow White were always my sister’s favorites. Was there a happy ending for everyone? Would we have a happy ending eventually? I realize now though, in the real world, there is no happily ever after. That does not happen in real life. Everybody dies in the end. Whether it is as suddenly as my sister Sofia, or gradually with old age, everybody dies. How is that a happy ending? As I gazed at my sister’s still form lying on the road, in that fraction of time before people started to panic, I embraced the fact that that magical world of happily ever after was just too far away.
 |
“从此,他们过上了幸福的生活。”这是所有童话故事的经典结尾。可怜的灰姑娘因为无法参加晚会掉了几颗眼泪,但是她试过五天没吃东西吗?那样她就该知道什么才应该真正大哭一场。亲爱的睡美人遭到诅咒,年年月月都要在床上睡着度过。但至少她有一张床,至少还有一位白马王子会将她叫醒。如果我决定睡上一会儿,会有人把我叫醒吗?
我的名字叫索菲娅,今年14岁。我11岁的时候,父亲的离开伤透了母亲的心;12岁那年,她被诊断患上抑郁症;到我13岁的时候,她认为自己没有能力再照顾我和我五岁大的弟弟詹姆斯。于是她把我们的衣服装进一个包里,塞进一点钱和一张恳求好心人照顾我们的纸条,开车把我们送到最近的公共汽车站,丢下我们走了。她并没有送我们到领养机构,因为害怕人们因为她严重的抑郁症而将她关进精神病院。她说自己这么做是因为爱我们。
几天过去了,我们等啊等,越来越饿,越来越渴,时间也一点一点地流逝。最后,有人停下来看了看那张纸条。那是一位年老的妇人,头发灰白,有一双慈祥的眼睛。她的声音和脸庞像天鹅绒一般柔软,有一种让人信任的真诚气息。她是照顾我们的完美人选,我们也会很乐意跟她回家。只有一个问题——她是一位寡妇,自从丈夫去世之后,她便一贫如洗,身上的钱仅够糊口。
她养不起两个需要教育的孩子。不过她好心地开车送我们到最近的孤儿院。我们马上同意了,因为我们已经饥饿难耐,口干舌燥。她把我们留在那儿,祝我们过上幸福的生活。我们希望她也一样,随之开始面对地狱般的一切。
孤儿院糟透了。那些女护工把我们当奴隶使唤,要我们为她们煮饭、洗刷和清洁,她们则自顾自地喝茶,购买奢侈品。每一天,我们都祈祷母亲会来接我们,相信她还深爱着我们,孤儿院只是权宜之计。
我们相信她最终一定会康复,接回我们这两个孩子。在孤儿院组织的少数几次外出,又一次我甚至成功将一封信留在她家的门阶上。在迅速一瞥确认她还住在那里之后,我悄悄地溜出去,把信件塞进信箱。也许你会问——为什么我不直接按门铃?很久之后,我也一直在问自己同样的问题。我想自己只是还没准备好这样和她碰面,希望她能主动接我们回去。
我们开始猜她是否收到了那封信。是丢失了,还是被踩坏了呢?也许信件被压在擦鞋垫下面,她没发现吧。我决定下次外出的时候再去一次,但就在那时,我看见她了。她在日用品市场的货摊前徘徊。我正准备叫她,却停住了。她身后出现了一个我再熟悉不过的男人——那位我们还在她身边时每天都和她见面的心理顾问。那一刻,我意识到我们真是瞎了眼。她由始至终都不爱我们,也不想要我们。
第二天,我们离开了孤儿院,逃跑了。再也没有留在那儿的理由了,也不需要再受苦了。我们的“母亲”永远都不会来接我们,拯救我们, 保护我们。
 |
除了在公共汽车站的那两天,这是我们人生第一次真正只能靠自己过日子。我们知道孤儿院不会组织搜寻队去找我们。我们也不能寻求帮助,否则很有可能被再次送回孤儿院。我们要怎样获得水和食物?正当我们为这些问题发愁的时候,如今已经六岁的詹姆斯突发奇想,提出我们穿过繁忙的大街到马路对面的公园去。它能为我们解决很多问题。公园既让我们避开恶劣环境,也是一个能舒舒服服地睡觉的地方。小桥底下还有一片凹下去的地方,是我们睡觉的绝佳地点。
公园里有一个提供饮用水的喷水口。接下来就是如何获得食物了,不过现在事情好办了。公园里的绿叶看起来很不错。我们振作起来,高高兴兴地朝公园走去。仔细看了看马路两边之后,我们踏上大街,准备过马路。詹姆斯说了一个很有趣的笑话,我不禁大笑起来。我尽情地大笑,詹姆斯完全沉浸在这不常听见的欢笑声中,我们俩都没有看见一辆八轮的巨型卡车正飞快地拐弯朝我们开来。等我们听见的时候已经太晚了,卡车的刹车用刺耳的声音抗议着,发出一股橡胶烧焦的气味。我知道没有机会了,车速太快,离我们也太近了。我最后能想到的就是使尽全身的力气把詹姆斯朝人行道的方向推出去,一点都不在乎这是否会弄疼他。如果被撞上了,他所受的伤会更严重。下一秒,我被撞上了,渐渐失去意识,一切落入墨汁般的黑暗中。
我看着卡车重重地撞上姐姐,把她撞飞出去。如果她没有把我抛开,也许她就能保住自己的性命。我看着公园里那张贴画的幸福景象。那本该是我们生活的地方,是我们呼吸和欢笑的地方。我们以后的幸福生活。我记得父亲过去总会在睡前给我们念童话故事。姐姐向来最喜欢听灰姑娘和白雪公主的故事。是不是每一个人都会有一个美好的结局?我们最终也会有一个美好结局吗?然而现在我明白了,在现实世界里,没有什么永远幸福的生活。这根本不会出现在现实生活当中。人终有一死。无论是像姐姐索菲娅那么突然,还是像年老慢慢消亡,每个人都会死去。这算什么美好结局?我凝视着姐姐那躺在马路上一动不动的身躯,在人们惊叫起来之前的那么一点时间里,我明白了一个事实——魔法世界里的美好结局,离我们很远
 |
