I remember the days of altar boys.
It breathed its last words on the last day of last year, never hearing another word from him again.
While yesteryear was mono-chromic, melodramatic and drab. We all know how the story turned out.
It ended good, it ended well. It ended like how all good stories should end, or not.
Good stories have a beginning but never an end. The end is for fairy-tales and mother goose fables.
Good stories lay perpetual, with ‘happily ever after’ running along, flowing everlasting, never finding an ‘end’.
The Prince finds the Princess, the Beauty meets the Beast. Romeo and Juliet reunited.
Good stories may begin in tragedy. Terror may strike midway. But it always, always ends well.
…So then, when is my happy ending? Or rather when does my story take a brighter turn. When will the protagonist awake from his pitiful slumber and arise to seize his inheritance?
How long will the prince lay in his melancholic slumber.
Little do we know, but only hope. Hope for the best.
For heroes are often forged when the flames of tragedy are torrid.