That One Town in Stories

In the story this time, there was a dragon thirsty for revenge, some brave princesses and a magical kite.

The boy plumped up the sugary leaves of the coconut trees, and refilled the lakes with honeydew. He restored the silk of the wind and the fluff of the clouds.
It took him fourteen days to redo the grass and another two for the huts.
Finally, the village was back to its usual silly luck.
“Thank you, little boy.”, the woodpeckers smiled, walking on the tapestry of the sky he just wove.
“Oh, what a true delight”, the fairies sighed, gathering unripe bananas for the potion they’ll brew tonight.
“Would anyone care for some pie?”, Old Miss Wickett rejoiced, pulling out her dead husband’s kitchen knife.
The destruction was already forgotten. The dead already vanished, and their stories already buried in a sleeping child’s mind.
The little boy declined the pie, then he refused the crocodile’s invite, then helped the otters move the log by the rye, before trudging back to his tall treehouse in the sapphire tree’s heart.
He stepped onto its cherrywood floor, and gazed out its curving glass domes to breathe the silence of the new village’s peace and folly once more.

“What comes must go” , he recalled his teacher’s words.

He went inside a large gleaming room and set another time for imminent doom.
41 days, a giant gold hourglass in the room chimed.
41 days until the next once upon a time. 41 days until some other disaster fell, more memories buried, and new townsfolk arrived.
It was hard, the little boy had resolved, being that one town in stories that faced it all.