I'm not a published writer and while I've toyed with the idea of writing, nothing ever came of it. Wayman Publishing is offering a contest for writers to submit their work for consideration in an anthology and I had been trying to find that perfect story to enter in "Fractured Fairytales". I think writing has to come from the heart. Not all writing, but real, meaningful and life changing stories that reach vast audiences have got to come from deep inside. The trick is getting to that point where the writing just flows from you.
Today, I was sitting at work just aching from the workout the day before. John and I are working out more and trying for a more wholesome healthy lifestyle. It is so hard and draining but my hope is we get to that place we both want to be.
Anyway, this morning I was dragging. I didn't want to move and every time I stood up, I felt like my torso just wanted to collapse on itself. Usually when I feel like this, I start writing an email to my mom. It helps to express myself using words that convey everything. Words are powerful and writing them down can be pretty therapeutic I started writing and felt a weird desire to listen to a Nicki Minaj station on Pandora. This beautiful song came on called "Save Me". I know, not what you would think coming from this particular artist, but it was the perfect song for the inspiration that followed.
I started writing my mom when all of a sudden, this beautiful story idea just came. I didn't question it, I just started writing. I wrote and wrote for a good 10 minutes and then I stepped back and read my work. It was beautiful. I felt like I knew this girl I wrote about. Here is my story:
Unlikely
Whenever my body hurts, it feels like my whole soul hurts too. One weakness allows for another usually suppressed emotion to come out. It’s like a dam with a crack in it. At first you just notice the actual problem; there is a crack in your foundation. But then as time goes on, more emotions just start leaking out regardless of how hard you try to keep them inside.
That’s how I feel every day. I’m in the shadows, I’m stuck inside my own mind, in my own life and there is no breaking free. I walk stair cases up and down every day, wipe up other people’s messes, and attempt to smile when I feel like bursting. How did my life get so messed up? How did I allow the actions of others to dictate my life? I used to be a ray of sunshine, a bird flying carefree in gentle breezes and ready to help anyone in need. Now, I am a slave in my own home. I am dimmed by own choices.
Whoever said that “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” was, I hate to say it, a gigantic liar! The sharpest and most deadly weapon ever used against another person or being was the tongue as it spewed out cruelty in the form of words. How often I have wished to be mute, to not be able to hear, speak, or understand anyone around me but just live in the blissful abyss of my own padded existence.
But that is not my fate. I am doomed to scrub other’s mansion with the ever present knowledge that I will never have more than the clothes on my back which, shocker! Aren't even mine.
My name is Cinderella. I was the daughter of a wealthy man and a loving mother who died when I was born. I had hair of spun silk that glowed yellow in the sun and eyes that sparkled like sapphires. At least, that’s how my Daddy used to describe me in the letters I read. Letters he left in surprise places every day for me to find and realize how much he loved me. My daddy was a good man, full of love and support. Kindness, equality and happiness followed him everywhere and enveloped me like a warm comforter every day of my young life. I was perfectly content not having anyone else but him, however, he felt like I needed the influence of a woman in my life. That’s why he married a woman who I have come to see as the death of my happiness.
My Daddy is gone. Stolen from me 12 years ago by the injustice in the world and all the hatred that ever existed. His absence has left me bitter and alone. I know I’m sad, hateful and hard to be around but it’s all I can do every day to drag myself out of bed.
The woman that I now have to live with and who I will ever refer to as the Death screams for me every day to clean and cook. She beats me with words so hateful they pierce my very soul. She manages to find every weakness and unhappiness in me and lift it to the surface. I used to smile and laugh; now I am a straight line with no emotion on the surface but full of rage and bitterness on the inside.
Today is just another day. A day that will never end because every day is the same. Wake up, cry, clean, cook, run out into the orchard and scream to try and drown out my own emptiness and then return to do it all over again before finally returning to my cold attic to curl up and wish for death.
The orchard is my only moment of breath. As I scream out every obscene desire and choking emotion to the sky, I beat my hands on the hard bark of the apple trees until they are as red as my eyes are from the crying. I scream and cry and thrash like a small child, not the woman of 24 that I am. Once I did this for so long I vomited blood and now have to live with those spots on my dress. My throat was so worn and raw that it took days to heal. I am alone in this huge house with the Death as my only companion.
Sometimes I just want to run away but where would I go? How would I eat? Women don’t have jobs or position outside of their own homes, it just isn’t legal. We are at the mercy of our parents and the man that is supposed to sweep us off our feet. In order to meet that one man who will make everything better, I would need to actually leave my house. No one even knows who I am or that I exist. The Death won’t allow me to leave the grounds and insists on having everything delivered to the house. When it is delivered, I am not allowed near the door. I’m trapped. Alone. If I disobey, I would be thrown out and forced to either die on the streets or sell things that aren't for sell.
“Cinderella!" Get down here!”
The Death is awake. Here we go again. I dress myself in the dirty dress that I’ve worn for going on 5 years now. It used to be blue? I’m pretty sure it was blue but now it’s a dingy grey with random bits of green to cover the holes that appear despite my best efforts. The Death refuses to buy me new clothes and just digs up something from her old supply. I think this dress was the last one she could find so who knows when I’ll get another one.
I stumble to the kitchen to get her nasty tea she can’t live without. Who drinks milk thistle tea with mint and no sugar? It’s disgusting and I hate the smell. The Death loves it and refuses to eat more than a handful of the food I am required to cook for her. I think she likes to feel like she has more than enough and can say no to keep her bony body “fit”. I on the other hand, was blessed with the same, soft curves as my mother. In the Death’s eyes, I was fat and would never be attractive to anyone. After hearing this everyday for years, I am starting to believe she is right. After all, who would want me? Straw haired, angry, fat girl.
Anyway, enough of that, it’s bad enough that I have to listen to her every day; I don’t need to replay it in my mind as well.
On my way to her room, I nearly trip up the stairs and have to twist my foot in a way to keep me upright and not covered in hot, nasty tea. I hear something in my ankle make an angry pop. All of a sudden that dam has another crack in it and I feel angry tears start to well in my eyes. Why now? Why right before I have to go into that dark, cluttered room and feel the angry blows of a woman so bitter the only joy she feels is when she tears me down?
I manage to compose myself enough to hobble to her door. My ankle feels like it’s about to roll off my foot and leave me crumpled on the floor. I can feel it start to swell and shoot little sparks of angry fire up and down my leg.
“Why are you just waiting outside the door you worthless piece of flab?” “I can see you but more obvious than that I can smell you!” “Ugh, why are so disgusting? Are you incapable of bathing yourself? Are you so stupid you don’t even know how to bring water to a boil and put it in the tub?” “What would your father say if he saw his precious princess turned into the dirtiest, smelliest, most disgusting creature ever to walk the planet?”
The war of words has started and I was armed with nothing. Every time she started my tongue would get confused in my mouth and not be able to respond. I was so angry and so hurt that I just stood there wanting to die.
I turned the knob, walked slowly and purposefully to her bed and laid the tea tray on her bedside table, said good morning and squared my shoulders to walk out the door.
“Oh my God, you smell like something rotten! Your hair is a disgrace! How could you even bear to be with yourself? Do you gag as you pass windows and see your worthless reflection? You would make a pig commit suicide just so it wouldn't have to smell you” she said as she held her nose and pretended to pass out.
“I hope you enjoy your tea” I stammered as I started walking towards the door.
“Hope your fat ass can squeeze through the door. Try eating a little less cake today, eh? Hahahaha!” she cackled, choking on her tea as she laughed at her own joke.
At this, I hobble/run into the orchard and beat my fists and scream my frustrations and anger to the sky who never responds. All at once, I feel a warm hand on my shoulder. I spun around as fast as my ankle would allow and stagger back as a gypsy man was standing behind me. His warm brown eyes were full of shock and pity as he asked me “What on Earth happened to you to make you so angry?”
I didn't know what to say. My face started to contort into worried lines that I knew meant a new wave of sadness was about to crash over me. All I could manage was “I’m so sad” and streams of tears started to pour from my face.
What kind of response was that? Oh well.
The gypsy man then said something I wasn't expecting “ I've seen you come out here every day for a month and scream like a wild banshee and wondered what in the world would make someone so upset.”
I stared at him a little and just crumbled into his chest and started sobbing.
He awkwardly held me and patted my head. I couldn't stop, I felt the dam inside of me just waiting to burst and I was exhausted from holding everything back.
After a while, I finally managed to step back and say “I’m sorry you had to see me like this”.
“It’s ok” he said and flashed me a smile, “Why don’t you leave this place and come with me?”
Shocked I asked, “Go with you where?”
“To freedom from your sadness” he said, offering me a hand.
I stood there, looking at his hand and wondering how my life could really get any worse. Then, I felt a ray of sunshine. A glow started to heal the crack in the dam that was growing inside of me and I felt like my father was back. I stayed for a moment, letting this warmth wash over me and made a decision.
“Ok, let’s go” I said.
I took his hand without a backward glance and walked to my new future.
This is my story. My only complete work of art that I'm very proud of. Remember, this isn't about me, it's my interpretation of a Fairytale. I don't know if I will be chosen for the anthology but I do know that this just the beginning of my writing career.
