Closing my eyes, I end up in the same dream all over again.
Vast, black sea - with red cranes floating atop the still water; and above is the faint red nebula. I perch on a lone dead tree and reminisce about the past.
In my environment, I had to grow up to survive. Our family was constantly on the brink of poverty due to my mother's habits and father's "clique" - and beyond my grandma: the only company I had were books and crayons.
I wasn't even gifted any of the fairytales, stating that encyclopedias would be better. And for my grandma to read me a comfort story, I would just choose an article that interested me that day. I thought fairytales are stupid.
Before, I didn't know what was happening at the time, but every time my grandma tried to take me to her home for the night, I would rebel. At the time, I loved my mom - I couldn't understand why would my grandma would just take me away from her.
Now I know better.
Still, it's odd that someone like her would be so fixated on fairytales. Just like crickets, we outgrow our carcasses and adjust our behaviour accordingly. It would be stupid to play toys when you're far away from being a child.
Sigh... Guess some people are bound to be different.