A Fool's Lament

John smiled at his nieces, two cute blonde girls aged four and six. They were his half brother's world, and looking into their innocent faces, he could understand why his brother had children. While it had only been a day ago that he had met both of them, they trusted John with the ease and totality only children could. It warmed his heart, but giving the younger girl, Rachel, her birthday present a week early had helped.

“What story do you want to hear tonight?”
“I wan' beauty an' the beast!”
“I wan' Sinnyrella!”

John laughed kindly at the two girls sitting on either side of him. He hugged them both, suggested an alternative.

“I read both to you last night.”
“I wanna hea' it again!”
“Me too, me too!”
“How about I tell you about a story I practiced for you?” The little girls jumped up and down and hugged him.

“I will take that as a yes.” John cleared his throat lightly, and began in his narrator's voice, a mix between David Attenborough and Morgan Freeman. John was convinced that Morgan Freeman could make lots of money simply by reading folk tales and children's stories on tape and selling them. John had practiced voice acting for the last two months specifically to read to his brother's children; he wanted them to have happy memories their uncle before he left the country.

“Ok, you little devils, quiet down so you can hear Uncle John's story.” The obediently quieted down, but kept tugging at his sleeves eagerly. Rachel had hazel eyes and perfect puppy dog begging look, while her green eyed sister Ellie had the so excited puppy face you just couldn't not feel for it. They were going to give his half brother hell later in life. Especially in the November, like now with Thanksgiving so close. A father simply can't thank God for the fact that his children were knockouts and pursued by half the men in the city.

“Once upon a time--”
“There was a beautiful princess!”
“I want a handsome prince!”
“An', an', an' a monster!”

He ruffled both of their hair.

“You will never know unless you let me talk.”
“Sowwy.”
“Sorry.”

“Once upon a time there was a beautiful kingdom, full of wonderful forests with flowery meadows, and beautiful streams...” John smiled as they stared at him with rapt attention. He continued on painting the picturesque dream kingdom they wanted full of castles and magical creatures.

“Now, along on these streams was an excellent miller. He wanted more than he had, and had a beautiful daughter. He told tales around the village that his daughter could spin straw into gold. The people were amazed and retold his story far and wide, until the king heard about this. He too was amazed by her awesome ability, and demanded that she spin a storehouse full of flax, which is a kind of straw or be executed...”

Thirty minutes later, John finished tucking both of them into their beds, and turned off the light. He walked into the small living room, and nodded at his half brother.

“I never knew Rumplestiltskin was so epic... or gory.”
“Is that disapproval I hear Paul?”
“I don't remember the part where he gets so angry that he gets a foot stuck in the ground and tears himself in half.”
“It adds a little zest. You coddle your kids too much because of your childhood.”
“Don't try and change the subject, John; I never asked for your help or presence in the first place. And, by the way little brother, fairy tales are supposed to be happy.”
“Since when? Fairy tales are supposed to teach lessons. Lots of good ones in Rumplestiltskin. Dreams have a price, and you can't expect to others to uphold a bargain at the cost their soul. I actually sympathize with him. Sure, rumplestiltskin is a snake oil salesman, and took advantage of the situation, but he was his desire for a child so unreasonable? He fulfilled his side to the fullest, and put so much faith in a contract that was so important to him that he tore himself apart after losing it. And, it isn't like the gnome was without his sense of fair play.”
“So? He was still an evil monster.”
“Don't take it a face value so much. By the way, I have something for you. It's some important documents, and you're the only one I trust to do this. Family, but not too close.”

He handed his half brother a thick manila envelope. The man accepted it with trepidation. Paul felt his blood run cold for a bit. John also gave his brother an old fashioned pocket watch; a battered shield with the crest of a lion was engraved on the front of it. Paul looked into his taller, younger brother's blue eyes, a wordless question in his hazel ones.

“I had an epiphany my last year of college. I can't rely on memories of people, or their half-forgotten promises. What I can rely on is the gifts they give me. I don't mean physical, but mental. For instance, my first love gave me singing. Whenever I think about how I screwed up, or how she hurt me in ways she probably never knew, I simply think that she gave me a chance to do something I love with out any regards or relation to others. I simply don't expect anyone to really understand me, and am thus at a loss for a serious relationship, nor do I wish to have kids without that person.”

A touch of concern entered Paul's voice. “You have the most talent, the most brains, and you never want kids?” He simply couldn't understand that; even raising his two girls alone, even with the poverty that threatened, that was unfathomable.”

A slight smile turned into a smirk on John's face. “I did for about three months after we broke, she and I. Not ever before, and so far never again. The world does not need two of me. Oh, by the way, the watch has some historical significance, but I won't tell you. I spent five grand finding you Paul, and another thousand unearthing that watch. So I trust you will take care of the documents. Don't read them for another week, and use them when or if they are necessary.”

John paused by the door, and cut off the impending predictable question. “Nothing in there is sealed, and I trust your judgment.” John pushed up his hair with a hand and slid on a pair of sunglasses. “I wonder if you know this quote, Dad loves it. Gonna paraphrase a bit. 'It's 106 miles to Chicago, I got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, its dark and I am wearing sunglasses. Hit it.” John opened the door. He walked out calling, “Sayonara, bro,” and kicked it closed with his foot.

I welcome harsh criticism. However, this is still a work in progress, the short story is not quite finished, so bare with me.