“It is Story that heals us,
that shape shifts us,
that saves us.”
…an old horse stood on the street. he was going to be taken to the slaughter-house for he had served out his purpose. the butcher sat in a bar and drank.
he won’t know either, the girl thought, but I’ll ask anyway since he’s an old horse and must certainly know a great deal. so she asked the horse {about fairy tales}…
the horse looked at the girl and snorted with his nostrils and stamped with his hoofs “you are looking for the fairytale?”
“yes.”
“Then I don’t understand,” the horse said, “why are you still looking since this is the fairytale already!”
and the horse blinked at the girl “hmmmm, it seems to me that you yourself are the fairytale. you are looking for yourself. yes, yes the closer I look at you, the more I can see it. you are the fairytale. come, tell me a story!”
the little girl was at first greatly embarrassed. but then she began to tell a story. she told about a young horse was very handsome and won all the prizes at the race-track. and about a horse at the grave of his master. and about wild horses who lived out in the open.
and the old horse wept and said: “thank you! yes, yes, you are the fairytale! I knew it all along!”
the butcher came, and the horse was slaughtered.
on Sunday the little girl was at home with her parents, and they had horsemeat for dinner since they were very poor.
but the little girl would not touch anything. she thought about the horse and how he had wept.
“she doesn’t eat horsemeat,” her mother said “then you”ll eat nothing”
“she’s a spoiled princess,” her brothers and sisters said.
and the little girl ate nothing.
but she knew no hunger.
she thought about the old horse and how he had wept, and she was full.
yes, she was a fairytale.
