About fairy tales. I’ve been writing healing stories recently, but many people liked them. Through creativity, I communicate with you, convey my thoughts and feelings. The first fairy tale. “Two Sisters” Once upon a time, the world gave a girl a sister: small, tiny, defenseless. The elder always wanted to protect the youngest. She cut off her braids and wove a soft cradle so that the little one she slept sweetly and serenely. She tore her dress into shreds and paved the road so that her sister would not hurt her feet on sharp stones. When the haze fell all around, the Elder sang the song that she had inherited from her Mother. A song about the Red Sun, about light and joy, about a fast river, and ant grass, about the impenetrable gloom, and about good thoughts, about the light in the soul and the miracles that Man gives to the world. The Sister sang the song and knitted a blanket so that forever shelter from evil and bad thoughts the Girl, whose laughter is louder than the bells in the meadow and lighter than pink clouds in the morning. Only one day the ball ended. And the Girl has grown up a long time ago. She has her own path. Her own Road. She is not alone. Behind her are hundreds of Mothers, hundreds of Souls. She is not alone. There has long been a core and support inside. She is not alone. In it is the Source of boundless Love, the spring of Eternal Life. The time will come and she will sing her song. The second fairy tale. “About War...” Once upon a time there was a girl who loved Peace. She planted geraniums in flower pots and wiped the windows every morning to make the Sun more comfortable to come visit. And one day War flew to her balcony. Dirty, beaten, with a tired face and big black eyes. The girl loved Peace, so she offered War tea with milk and freshly prepared cheesecakes. War refused. - How are you? - asked the Girl - Tired. - Why don’t you leave? - They don’t let you in. - Who? - People. War took a broken mirror out of her pocket, put the first fragment in front of the Girl, and there were social networks: one post, a second, a third... and in the comments there was war .I put the second fragment, and there were people at rallies: throwing, shouting, brother throwing fists at brother. War, in a word, has laid the third fragment: the son calls his father, describing in vivid colors his opinion. The father hangs up the phone in anger: “You are no longer my son.” It’s a bloody war. In the fifth fragment, the Girl saw Hatred and Pain, and next to her drooping head, War still trudged along, all her legs covered in blood. “How can I make you calm down?” “Don’t show me the way,” answered War. And only now the Girl who loved Peace noticed that War... is blind