Our tale takes us to a fine summer day. Pinocchio sat with tears rolling down his eyes. A sight that sunk her heart. She knelled down, kissed his forehead and said, One day darling, you will be a real boy.
Her words were very reassuring. Pino smiled. Wow, her nose did not grow long. She must be telling the truth, he wondered. That blue fairy was kind and sweet. OOOOK, he said as he wiped his tears away. Her words had sank deep and heavy into his wooden heart. He would be a real boy. That was going to be fun. He had decided that he would be a real boy if he believed in it hard, and tried his best. Armed with hope in his heart and optimism in his eyes, little Pino head out to play. The kids playing in the park were amazed and amused. Lo, Behold they screamed, a wooden toy that walks and talks. I’m not a toy, Pino protested. I’m a real boy. You, they’d mock, are a real toy. A very good one at that.
Pino had had enough of the silly games. In anger he stormed off. I’ll head to the big wide world and prove it to everybody that I’m a real boy. A very determined Pinocchio walked away and dared brave new roads. The world was big. The world was vast. He was a red goldfish in a world that wanted sharks. He could be the best of the goldfish lot, even the best could not make the worst of sharks. He tried and he tried. His determination would not die. He’d try some more and he still failed. You are a wooden toy, the world would tell him. Pino looked at them with his sad teary eyes. Their noses had not grown longer. They must be telling the truth, he wondered. I am going to be a real boy. The fairy said I would be one. Her nose dint grow. I will endure, he had promised himself.
He tried hard, endured , persevered persistently. He was now a golden boy, but still a toy made of wood. He was the miraculous wonder of wood that could do amazing things. He was not a boy, a real boy , in the eyes of the world. He was a curiosity. A cherished amusing curiosity. Humanity was denied, and Pino once again was left dejected and rejected. They had not lied, he told himself. Their noses did not grow. And then it hit him. Such bright light of a thought ironically from the darkest abyss of his broken fragile and fractured mind.
For I’ve been the cursed one, the one who has been exposed. The lies of mine and mine alone grow my nose. The world can lie, their sweet and bitter lies could flow. Their noses would never grow.
Not today Pinocchio, he told himself. Leave me be, let me crawl back to the dark. Finally, Pinocchio was now a real boy. A real boy in a world of Men!