Briar Blackwood's Grimmest of Fairytales by Timothy Roderick Page B

Briar. Exhaling quietly, deliberately, he shut his eyes tight with unmasked pain. “There is but one thing more for you to see.”
    He took Briar by the hand. Looking up at him with pleading eyes, she stood. Together they walked to the chamber door and Ash opened it. There, on the other side, was Briar’s basement bedroom.
    She gaped at the unexpected scene. “But how?”
    Ash shook his head. “It matters no more. If I cannot spare the lives of all, I can at least save one.” He gestured for Briar to enter.
    Briar stepped to the doorframe, but something gnawed at her and made her turn back to Ash. “Please forgive me,” she said. “I just—I can’t. Whatever is happening for you—that life, your world isn’t for me. I’m sorry. I can’t be who you want me to be.”
    Ash nodded formally. “Better for you to have lived your life freely, than to have been bound, as others, to a life not of their own design,” he said.
    Briar didn’t understand, but she managed a flicker of a smile.
    â€œDo me one last favor,” Ash said. Briar’s smile faded. “Always wear that trinket. It must touch the skin. And none but you should see it.”
    Briar nodded and clasped the key to her chest.
    â€œGoodbye, Briar of the Black Woods,” Ash said. He made a motion with one hand and the closet door swung shut.
    Briar wanted to say goodbye, but once she was on the bedroom side of the door, it swiftly shut. She reached for the knob, thinking to perhaps open it again. But she just stood therewith her hand extended. She felt a wave of sadness for something unnamable lost. Instead of re-opening the door, she backed away into the safe, familiar darkness.

Chapter 10
    Who am I?
    It might be a little late to be asking the question now. Right? Still, I go over it again and again, especially since that crazy night. I know the answer. Deep inside I know it. But I’m afraid to admit it to myself. I’m afraid because it means my whole life is a lie. So I go around and around, whittling it in different ways. But I always come up with the same answer. I’ve been playing at being Briar the foster child—the abandoned—the unloved. I’m an impersonation of some in-your-face outsider. I’m not made up of my past, or my thoughts or my feelings— no
.
    Who am I?
    It’s so clear to me now. I don’t exist at all—and I never did. I am not
.
And at the same time, I am. I am Briar of the fricken’ Black Woods
.
    Dressed in flowing Renaissance-era robes of crushed red velvet, Briar stood in the shadowed wings of her school auditorium.
    â€œBig night, huh?” Dax asked. He was standing behind her.
    â€œOh,” said Briar. She looked out on the empty stage, but her mind seemed much further away. “Yeah.” She flipped through the pages of the script, giving them one last glance.
    â€œI don’t get it,” Dax said. “You’ve been moping around for six weeks now. If you need something to cry about, let’s talk about my love life.”
    â€œI know, I know,” Briar said. She rocked her head as though shaking off a bad dream. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I guess I’m confused.” She shifted uncomfortably, rustling the pleated folds of her heavy gown.
    â€œReally,” Dax snorted. “Well, that’s because your script is upside down.” He turned around the small booklet in her hands. “Hey look, it’s opening night! You’ve never done anything like this. And remember, before any of this you and I were nobodies.Worse than nobodies—we were laughed-at nobodies. But look at you now: You’re playing opposite Leon Squire in the school play. Leon Squire! You even kiss him in one scene. We’re the next best thing to being one of those Lucky Kids. Have you practiced the kiss? Tell me you’ve practiced the kiss.” Dax smiled