The Last Unicorn

She runs to the mouth of the castle, her little pink dress caught in
the wind, hair on her face, barefoot. She runs to the big gray castle,
as the waves come crashing against the rocks.

Inside, she trails her bony fingers against the cold stone walls, and
climbs the stairs to her little room. The castle has big windows facing
the eastern sea, waiting for a ship that never comes, but she doesn't
care. She doesn't want to be saved; she likes it here in her little
place.
Below, the waves come crashing against the rocks.

In her room, the bed is soft as a feather, where she sinks into simple,
beautiful dreams that cannot compare to the simple, beautiful world she
lives in.The wallpaper is made of little bears that talk to her every
morning, as the dolls help her into another pink dress. Sometimes it's
lace, and sometimes it's satin as long as it's pink, and as long as she
keeps still when they do up the buttons.

They feed her candyfloss for breakfast, and let her suck her thumb,
play with her sun-bleached hair. They engage her in a conversation of
codes and laughter that only fairies can decipher. They press their
cherry lips against her freckled peach skin, and her eyes are gray, as
gray as the castle.
Her laughter makes the sun rise every morning.
The wind echoing in the night never frightens her, as long as she can
run into the mouth of safety, behind the stone. She never cries when
she scrapes her knee.

As long as she escapes the waves that try to lure her in with their
silver smiles and turquoise eyes, promising her the world as long as
she steps in.
So she keeps on running away with her golden hair and pink little
dress, clumsy little footsteps, fear burning her heart out, till she is
safe in her room.

She looks into the mirror, and sees the last unicorn. The last enigma
to escape the eastern sea.
She may be only a child, but she is aware of her mortality. She is
certain that one day, gravity will defy her resistance, and she will be
sucked into the ebb and flow of the waves, till she becomes one with
the rhythm of giving and taking, pushing and pulling, greed and lust
for earth, for sky, for breath.
Till slowly they will crawl inch by inch, toe by toe, to the castle,
into the halls, the walls come tumbling down, her little room facing
the eastern sea pulled into the forces of nature, nothing left but her
memory.

The fairies gone. Laughter dead. Language misunderstood. And only then
will she learn to cry when she scrapes her knee.