The Boy Who Breathed Fire
Author’s Note: Written to be enjoyed by adults and children, this story speaks about generational trauma and how, even in well-meaning ways, we can pass on our traumas to the innocents around us, the people we care about most. Written in a fantasy world, the story is engaging for children due to its emotional and fantastical theme and setting, and it is reminiscent of the old folk tales that their adults grew up reading as children. This hope is to unite them in understanding how love and courage can start to heal those generational wounds.
Once upon a time, a very long while ago, there lived a little boy, atop a crooked hill, in a dingy old twisted house, with a wicked little witch. Cricked was her name, and she raged her wrath on the boy whenever he tried to go outside. All the boy wanted was to feel the sun on his face, the clean air in his nose and the gush of wind ruffling his hair; but Cricked was sinister and her fury kept him trapped inside.
She never touched the boy, ever; but whenever he tried to spet outside, her nostrils flared with fire, her ferocious screams forcing him back within the house. “Away with you, you shriveled little plum”, she screeched, and the boy would scurry under his bed, trembling and terrified.
The boy never quite understood why Cricked kept him confined. Anger burned inside him like an unspoken storm. One day, he discovered something strange, when he sneezed, just like Cricked, flames erupted from his nose too. What an uncanny connection to have with Cricked. How? Why? He vowed to find out.
His only friend, his only source of peace, though he did not yet know to call it peace, was a talking Bunny who often hopped by his window. The Bunny would tell him tales of how soft the grass was, how lovely was the smell of, how the sunlight skimmed through his eyelids when he lay under the sky, and how beautiful the world was. The boy would feed him greens and confide his resolve of unraveling the mystery of his strange connection he had with the wicked Cricked.
But as the days passed, the boy’s bitterness grew, and it began to seep into his words. One day, when the Bunny told him tales of acorns falling from trees, the boy snapped in anger and resentment. His words stung the Bunny deeply and to their horror, the Bunny sneezed and flames burst from his nose too.
This was deeply upsetting to both of them. Even though the boy did not fully understand what he was doing, he instinctively hugged the bunny with an alien emotion, which the world would later call Love and Friendhsip. “I’m sorry,” he whispered with regret.
The Bunny gave a faint smile, as though comforted by this gesture; but just as he sniffled, something flew into his nose, and he let out a mighty sneeze again. Only this time, no flames came, only a harmless puff of air.
The boy’s eyes widened. The fire was gone. They both looked at each other in this wonderful revelation. They boy knew what he had to do.
The next morning when the sun was warm and Cricked was brewing a bubbling potion under a tree, the boy pushed the wrought iron gates and stepped outside.
“MUTINY!” screamed the witch and snarled flames at the boy, but the boy did not scare, nor did he stop. He took another step forward, the sunlight filling him with courage. Shocked, Cricked opened her mouth and spat fire, “They will destory you, like they did me”, but the boy took another brave step toward her. “I wont let them do that to you, you blithering fool!”, Cricked snarled, flames crackling from her mouth with desperation, but the boy was defiant and took another step ahead. Overcome with shock and horror, Cricked, beside herself, grabbed the boy’s hand and pulled him inside the house.
This was the first time she had ever held his hand and that had done the trick.
The moment their hands touched, something shifted. Cricked froze, and her fiery breath faded into nothingness. A shiver ran through her, and she stumbled back, clutching her chest. The boy hugged her.
A glowing warmth spread from her hand, coursing through her body, as if the boy’s forgiveness had unlocked something hidden deep within. Her mind flooded with memories of a time when she, too, was a child, free and unburdened, before anger consumed her. Her nostrils softened, her face gentled, and the fire in her lungs vanished like smoke in the wind. It was as though an ancient curse had been lifted. She was now, just her; a kind, old lady.
Cricked stared at the boy, her eyes glistening with tears. “If only I had known...” she whispered, her voice trembling with regret, “I am so sorry little one”, she whispered.
The boy smiled, his heart brimming with forgiveness. He wrapped his arms around her, and for the first time, Cricked felt what it meant to be loved. A generational curse had been broken.