*this has been in my head for weeks and i finally wrote it down. 2004-04-26 9:08 a.m.*

the first had smoky sultry bruised-looking eyes. she was covered from head to toe in night-colors. her hair, her corset, her crinoline, her fishnets her high high boots were all blacker than blue, but her skin was princess porcelain.

she approached aurora and said, �i give you beauty.�

it was a comb. it was a comb that did not poke or poison, but that teased and crimped hair to impressive heights, with a magic that added a luster to the skin and lust to the eyes.

the second tells me she is a token in this story, that there always has to be a second one, that her skin is dark because no one else�s skin is dark, that making her one of the faeries is exoticizing her and those like her. and i tell her i sincerely hope not, and pour some bleach on her close-cropped hair and pierce her labret and wipe away the blood and remind her how much she loves our heroine and that her job is to give her her wisdom.

she shoots me a look and turns to aurora, cheeks flushed with awe, and says, �i give you wisdom.�

it is an apple, but it isn�t an apple of poison or innocence loss, but instead a pink lady, juicy and sweet, without a trace of pesticide bitterness. aurora�s eyes widen and she looks to the third, knowing what will happen.

the third is a pink dancing angel-winged princess with sloppy cotton-candy hair and wild berry lips and disney-princess eyes.

she kisses the rockstar on the cheek, and presses the button into her palm.

aurora accepts the poisoned pinback deep into her hand and looks out at the crowd as she falls. the last thing she hears is, �i give you rest.�

on the third day, because none of us, even the fluttery angel of death, want her to fall into the obtuseness of 100 years of neglect, aurora receives the magic kiss of a golden record and although i can�t tell you that she lived happily ever after, i can tell you that the words of her music made it to the ears and hearts of enough eager fans that she caused a revolution. the revolution soon settled into a creepy tripartite hierarchy, but the smaller people still believed that her music contained a lot of beautiful messages and that if you really listened to it, you could be lifted to some higher plane. the first, second, and third all laughed and drank their wine.

*listening to: "dead" - the pixies*
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