Once upon a time, there was a little prince.

          The boy was no more than seven, and he awoke with the sun well in the sky. He had no reason to be awake before the sun, and so, he wasn’t. With energy he ran to the window and looked out of the tower, at the most beautiful forest he’d ever seen. Behind it was the most spectacular mountain range, with the snow covered tops practically glowing reflecting the sun’s light. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the richest air. Then the young prince took off, running down the tower stairs to the rest of the castle.

          He was in a kingdom, one that feels almost magical. It was beautiful beyond comparison and every day felt amazing. He ran down the stairs eagerly, with nothing on his mind. No stresses, no concerns. Just hope for the day. 

          The little prince reaches the bottom of the tower and goes running out into the courtroom before the throne. He goes running, as fast as he can, past all the king’s advisors and most loyal servants. He runs towards the throne and the king meets him halfway. The two embrace and the king raises the young prince, high in the air with nothing but pride in his eyes. 

          It was his father’s kingdom, a faraway land, so beautiful it could’ve been a dream. His father was a good king, the best. He was attentive to the land and to its people, doing his best to rule over them. And he was beloved. 

          Still, he always put the young prince before any of them, no matter the issue. Everyone understood that. Even if it was a meeting or even if it was the king’s right hand man, everything came second to his son. 

          The two spent the whole day together, as they often do. They went for long walks through the kingdom, marveling at the sights and interacting with the locals. They ate together, in the young prince’s favorite restaurant, in no rush to get out of there. They took so long to finish their meals that their food would go cold, but neither minded. The time spent was worth the cold food.

          As the sun would grow lower the king and the prince would have their fun. The king showed his son to ride a horse and the boy would throw an apple back and forth with his father. Whenever his father dropped the apple “accidentally” the two would make a big show of celebrating the young princes victory.

          As the sun would set, the king and the prince would go to the tallest tower and see as the light dimmed. The sky grew orange and eventually purple. After they watched as the whole galaxy was on display, as if only for their eyes to behold.

          The prince grew tired and the king carried him back to his bed, setting the prince down in the prince’s tower. The boy would protest, as tired as he was, not wanting to end the time with his father. And each time, his father would smile and say they would have tomorrow too.

          And the boy would drift off to sleep thinking of that.

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Once upon a time, there was a young superhero. 

          Behind the mask, you couldn’t tell who he was. It hid his face and his identity, making him just like everyone else: anonymous. But that was fine for the young hero. He didn’t do it for the glory.

          With an array of powers, he’d swoop down and save the day, stopping petty crime and keeping the peace. He’d use his super speed to prepare food for the homeless and deliver it all in an instant, still warm, fresh from the oven. He’d use his super strength to intimidate the cruel and the manipulators, keeping them from taking advantage of the meek. He’d use his elemental powers to fight fires, to refreeze melting ice, to avert floods and hurricanes. He’d use his healing to help ICU patients before it was too late. 

          It would take his whole day, but he didn’t mind. Helping people was worth it.

          When the sun would start to set, the young hero would fly as high as he could, past all the clouds and well into the sky where no one could see him, and he’d bask in the setting sun’s glow. It was beautiful, the vibrant mixtures of orange and pink as they painted across the clouds. 

          Sometimes the young hero would fly after the sun, seeing how long he could hold on to the beautiful scenery. He never could keep up, though. The sun would always win and leave him with the company of the moon. And instead of sleep, he’d return the favor, and keep the moon company for some time. 

          The moon’s glow was just as beautiful as the sunset, and the stars beyond it were a dream to behold.

          Eventually the young hero would return to his secret base, where he would rest. He didn’t have to wake early the next day, but he wouldn’t mind if he did. It would give him more time to make a change.

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Once upon a time, there was a small adventurer.

          The young boy woke up right at the crack of dawn, when it was still cold and fresh outside. He didn’t need to be awake that early. He wanted to be. 

          He ran down the hall to his brother’s room, eager to start their adventure. They were going to go explore the beach, and see what they could find. They got dressed in their adventure outfits and went out.

          They joked the whole walk over, until their feet touched down on the sand. The sun glowed over the horizon, shining on the water.

          The two brothers ran all around, finding anything they thought looked great. Treasure was everywhere, they would say. Seashells, rocks, crabs: it was all treasure. Except for seaweed, neither of them wanted seaweed.

          Once the sun was past the middle of the sky, the two brothers began to dig a hole. There wasn’t a reason behind it, although they would say it was to find buried treasure. The reason was because they just wanted to have fun together. Using their feet and hands and rocks, they dug until the sun began to set.

          They sat in silence beside the hole they dug, watching the sun go down. The beautiful orange light would hit the sand around them as the two stared out at the horizon. The pink light hit the water and the two felt the warmth on their faces. And once the sky turned purple, they walked back home, joking the whole way.

          Even once they were back home, the moonlight illuminated their room as they played together. They laughed and played and joked until their eyes couldn’t stay open anymore. Eventually the two parted, promising to go on more adventures the next day.

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Once upon a time, there was a millionaire’s son.

          He would’ve been a billionaire’s son instead, but his mother was too kind. She could never hoard that kind of money. Every year she gave just as much money as she had received to those less fortunate. It meant their status never changed. But neither minded. 

          The son went around helping his mother with whatever tasks she needed. A humble woman, she didn’t try to throw her money everywhere. Instead, she got what she needed, and sometimes a bit more. His mother always dreamed of a house, so she got a mansion. His mother didn’t like her job, so she never worked again. His mother loved to help, so she never stopped. 

          His mother’s hands were as far from rough and calloused as they could be. The only wrinkles on her face were from smiling so much. She hadn’t known sadness or pain or loss. She’d received everything she worked for and now it was her turn to give back. And she did, with a smile on her face every time.

          The son did what he could to help his mother. When she wanted to start a new hobby, he encouraged her, and helped her find what she needed to start. When she wanted to go visit an old relative, he volunteered to drive her all the way. When she wanted to see a movie, he made their living room an at-home theater just for her. 

          The son’s mother never needed to work. She never cried. She never yelled. She never suffered. She never would again.

          When the sun grew low, the son and his mother walked through her personal garden, one so beautiful they called it Eden. They would roam as the white roses glowed in the orange light. They would pause as the pink rays of sun made the green leaves even more vibrant. And once the sky turned purple, they sat on a bench in the middle of it all to look up at the stars.

          Even as they left the garden, the moon would escort them out, lighting the way.

          The millionaire’s son would go to bed, knowing tomorrow would be more of the same bliss.

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The six A.M. alarm blares several times. The teen groans, the sound disrupting his sleep. Through closed eyes, he hits the alarm and sits up to avoid falling back to sleep.

          He opens his eyes to a dark room. The moon isn’t visible, covered behind tall buildings, a concrete jungle. The sun won’t rise for another hour, but the teen has to be awake now. He has piles of responsibilities and concerns to get through during the day, starting with school. 

          He gets up and goes down the hall to the bathroom. On the walls are family pictures hung, with him, his brother, and his mother. There was no father in any of the pictures. Or in their lives. There never would be.

          The teen yawns and rubs his eyes as he walks. His brother had been playing music loudly past midnight, keeping the teen from getting much sleep. He’d stolen his charger too, meaning the teen’s phone was going to be dead practically the whole day. They practically didn’t speak anymore. 

          The teen forced himself awake with hot water. It was hard to stay awake when you had no motivation to. He was just going to school, and he’d come home just as tired as he already felt. It’s not like he was doing anything worthwhile, anything worth the exhaustion.

          The teen served himself a cold bowl of cereal and read the note his mother left before she went out to work. She worked more than ten hours a day, awake long before the teen was. And then she’d get home and get more exhausted. She could never do anything other than survive. 

          And it hurt.

          It all hurt.

          The teen wasn’t a prince whose father ran a kingdom. The teen wasn’t a superhero who helped everyone everyday all day. The teen wasn’t an adventurer with a loving brother. The teen wasn’t a millionaire’s son with a mother who could live as opposed to survive. Those were nothing more than dreams, escapes, fantasies. And eventually, he’d awaken from them. Try as hard as he might to stretch the day into the night, it always came to an end. 

          Perhaps the greatest tragedy, however, was remembering it all, and still having to go through his life as if there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be.