Is this consider a bad story or not ?

Our post got deleted for some reason just as some kind soul told us that it was possible to paste our first pages 🙃 So here it is !

By the way, yall can't get rid of us, this is our what 27th, 28th account, get rid of one we creat another 2, just give up already .

Text below!

The author is a none english writer, so there is some strange quirks, still we love them all just the way it is. Strange broken and misunderstood, just like us...

It's an allegorical Autobiography.

So there is a lot of double meaning hidden in our phrases throughout the whole tale.

⛧

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Hansel & Grethel

Should Thorns Remain !?

The distant clatter of cart wheels on cobblestone grew louder joined by the labored breath of a man burdened beyond measure.

John, now only a humble woodcutter, approached the market where souls now sold everything that could, even their own, just to buy some old bread... Amidst the chaos was his daughter carrying logs, while walking worried beside him.

Daughter - Father? Are you well?

John replied with a low grunt , the sound of a man worn down by years of exhaustion.

His eyes, once lit by a lingering hope, now sunken and bloodshot, darted nervously through the crowd like caged birds seeking a way to desperately escape what's to come.

John - Merely weary, my little pest. The sun beats down like a smith's hammer, does it not?

The nickname fell from his lips with practiced ease, but it rang hollow beneath the unyielding weight of reality.

The girl reached toward the frayed rope binding a sack of firewood. With a naive sincerity, a flickering innocence that the world sought to crush.

Daughter - I can help, Father. As I always have.

Her offer hit him like a blow to conscience. Always they had helped... hauling sacks, splitting logs, sacrificing their childhood at the altar of survival.

John - Indeed, my dear. You always do...

His gaze drifted to a misshapen plush toy on a vendor's stall. Its blue button eyes stared into nothingness, threadbare fur and split seams whispering of a long-lost affection.

A dull ache seized his chest. When had laughter last filled their home? When had firelight carried tales rather than coin counts? He fumbled in his pouch and pulled forth a single coin.

Vendor - Is this all you have left?

The old masked woman barely looked at the copper. Beneath an odd mask, her face remained obscured, but such presence carried some uncanny knowledge.

Masked Vendor - A fair price for a thing that holds no purpose. Would you not say so? Grethel will treasure it when such is most needed...

There was a strange finality in her tone, as if she spoke not only of the toy, but of some deeper, hidden truth.

John - How do you know her name...?

Masked Vendor - Oh, do not startle yet. I have seen you both talking to each other, walking around. Nothing more.

The strangeness lingered, but John said nothing...

Masked Vendor - I saw that you were looking at the plush. Do you wish it?

Far at the back of the shop, in a distant room, John worried about his own sanity, saw three spectral figures, one almost a child, spinning a wheel with threads, the other about the age of his wife, measuring said thread, and the last, an old crone holding shears, ready to cut it...

John - Uh... I... I don't have enough...

It was the memory of his daughter's gaze - longing, silent, watching other children clutching toys she never dared to ask for.

Perhaps, in this last gesture, he could whisper in those final moments..."You were loved, just know that, despite everything." Even if said love had long since twisted into despair.

Masked Vendor - All things matter, you know. Even the faintest trace of memory...

Her words mirrored the unspoken grief engraved in his heart, as though read the ledger of his soul.

With a shrug, somewhere between indifference and surrender, she decided to give him the toy.

Masked Vendor - Then take it. May it serve whatever purpose you see fit. Keep the coin. Do as Fate wills with it.

John accepted the toy, confused and surprised. The worn fabric soft against his calloused skin. For a fleeting moment, he imagined his daughter's vivid reaction, a flicker of spark in a dark age consumed by struggle.

He tucked the toy beneath his cloak, next to a small, coarse loaf of bread. Both felt heavier than metal. Not mere gifts, but farewells dressed as kindness.

The cart creaked back into motion, rolling toward a future not chosen in cruelty, but necessity. Behind them, the vendor watched, her expression unreadable hidden by an owl's mask, as if she knew more than could ever say.

They rode in silence until the cart groaned to a halt, its wooden frame settling like a coffin lid. The air was humid with damp soil rotting...

Home was now only a place to endure.

John dismounted reluctantly, his limbs weak with the labor and lack of sustenance.

John's Thoughts - Just a few steps more...

Gone was the man who once returned with hope...

John - Maria? Are you there?

A sound answered, not a greeting, but a moan, half-sob,rising from the now lost garden.

Maria - Our roses... all dead now... all of them... just like everything else...

She knelt in the dirt, fingers tracing brittle stems like a mourner touching bones. Once vibrant with color and perfume, the garden had been her pride. Now devoured by insects.

Maria - What shall we do?

From the house came the soft wails of newborn twins, fragile, starving.

John flinched. It had only been weeks since she gave birth. Her body frail, her spirit even more so.

She spoke little now. Only nursed with a distant mind, haunted by an impossible decision.

John glanced at the cart.

Hansel and Grethel waited outside, arguing with each other.

They had learned early, adult words weren't meant for them, that parents often made decisions without asking.

He clutched the toy, the bread, the hidden dagger in his pocket.

John - I brought a gift for Grethel and...I'm giving Hansel your dagger.

Maria - (with a dry laugh) A plush...What good are trinkets when there's no food? What comfort is a toy when ribs show and my milk has run dry? There's almost nothing left to cook...

What are we supposed to...

John - They've always dreamed of these... Maria, please... don't make this worse than it is.

He could not meet her gaze.

Lords starved. Forests yielded no game. The fields lay now flooded, with bugs everywhere.

And now...two more mouths to feed.

Maria (whispered) - So you are doing it then... Oh... I begged you John. That night... I told you... why did you insist... why did we...

She meant the desperate night they'd clung together, for an illusion, and conceived life in a world that now despised it.

Maria - We couldn't feed the ones we had. And now...

Her throat tightened.

She looked toward the cart outside, then away.

Maria - I can't... to look at them... No... no.

She dropped to her knees slightly looking at them from the dead garden, among thorns.

Maria - They are not mine... But I held Grethel's hand when she first walked. I sang Hansel to sleep during fevers. I know every cry, every nightmare, and you expect me to just... That I must choose between them and my babes? Oh, God, no...

She looked to the heavens for an answer.

Maria - Choose for me. Don't let their voices cry out alone. Oh my dear Virgin Mary have mercy of them please...

John reached out.

She slapped his hand away !

Maria - Don't you dare... just...don't...

Her voice hollow. Final.

John - Forgive me. I'm sorry. But what choice is there? Newborns need less than two older children. If we try to save them all... we lose everyone.

Maria - I will say no farewells. If God is merciful as said, he will grant forgetfulness. Anything but let me hear them call my name in solitude out there.

She buried her face, hands pressed to ears as if to shut the noises of reality.

Maria - End this, God. I cannot... I cannot take this anymore...

John turned away worried, leaving her among the thorns.

The burden was now entrusted to God.

Hansel's voice rang out, bright, untouched by the poison of adult truth.

Hansel - What is it, Father? You said you had a surprise? For us?

His face beamed with pride.

Hansel - Did you see? I chopped all the wood myself! I'm finally learning, just how you taught me!

His eagerness carved deeper wounds than any blade could. Grethel looked up, eyes shining with trust, no suspicion, only the joy of a child who believes surprises are always gifts, and fathers never severely lied.

John forced a smile, summoning the cheer of better ages.

John - Indeed, my little plagues! But first, a game. A very special game. So close your eyes, both of you.

Hansel tilted his head, doubt flickering behind his eyes. Always more watchful than Grethel, more cautious, more thoughtful.

Hansel - What kind of game is this?

He had hoped their trust would spare him of explanations.

Doesn't this sound that terrible ?