Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was told that she could be anything.
It was her parents who said it to her first.
As they woke her up in the mornings, they whispered to her. “You can be anything.”
As they watched her smile, they giggled at her. “You can be anything.”
As they saw her shout and scream, they consoled her. “You can be anything.”
And she believed them.
Her friends said it second.
As they played with her, they shouted to her. “We can be anything!”
As they conspired with her, they whispered to her. “We can be anything!”
As they left her, they reminded her. “We can be anything.”
And so she vowed to be.
The world told her third. Or it might have been first. (After all, one has to be a certain age to hear and understand the world.)
As it watched her play, it sighed to her. “You can be anything.”
As it watched her grow, it pledged to her. “You can be anything.”
As it watched her plan and plot, it cautioned her. “You can be anything.”
And she knew it was true.
So she planned more and she plotted better.
So she watched more and she whispered quieter.
So she acted more and she pretended better.
Then she acted.
The girl who could be anything became something that everyone feared.
And those that had left her and quieted her and stamped her down lay before her, terrified. And, oh! How they begged and pleaded with her to change her ways! To stray from the path she chose! But she grew angrier and more terrifying and decided to speak.
“So. I can become anything except for what I want?”