Category: Fairy Tales

Bring a Smile Wherever You Go

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A prince and a commoner competed to cadge a smile from a princess. The prize: marriage and half the kingdom. The prince claimed the right to go first. Noob mistake.

“Look at him. Sad excuse for a man.”

Cruel, not funny, the prince was struck dumb by his own vanity.

The commoner called his posse. All kinds, all sizes of butterflies cavorted around the princess, a cloud of color. Her aroused senses softened her lips.

The commoner entreated the winged creatures. “Best beauties, brush against her ears, her nose, titillate her love of wonder.” They did just that. She smiled.

Roads Traveled

Gretel did these interviews reluctantly. She hadn’t been a saint, far from it. She did what she had to after her stepmother kicked her and Hansel out. “We were homeless.” The reporter looked into Gretel’s eyes and seemed to reach into her soul. It was an uncomfortable moment. The reporter’s face softened. “But you… Somehow…”

“There was an older woman. When she died we made a go of the bakery. We built a home to shelter runaways.”

The woman wiped away a tear. “She was my sister. The black sheep in an old Wiccan family. She wasn’t all that kind.”

Runaway

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Rigor mortis didn’t set in. Snow lay in front of the open door, a box of apples scattered beside her. She’d said nothing about her past, but the quality of her thick wool cape suggested she came from a good family. She told them fear had made her run away. 

When the doorbell rang she wanted to hide. When she realized that no one but her was home, she felt obliged to answer. Someone needed to take the Amazon delivery. In slo-mo, Wicked Stepmother brushed an apple against Snow’s lips. Snow’s last wish countered the poison, but not the spell.

What the Mirror Said

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Madge looked in the mirror. With all the money she’d spent on age-defying creams, she’d expected fewer wrinkles; soft, supple skin; and rose red lips, plump and full.

“Young lady,” Madge checked her watch. How annoying. It was so busy. “I’ve been waiting.” 

“So sorry, ma’am. Just a sec.” 

Madge watched the girl ring up a sale. The lines in the customer’s face told a story of many smiles. The girl’s skin was unblemished, smooth like a baby’s bottom. I’d kill for that face.

Madge checked the mirror again and it said, “No. Look deeper. Make-up won’t change your heart.”

Better Buildings With R&D

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The three Porcine brothers inhaled their lunch. It was nerves. If they killed on this presentation, business could be very sweet. Their R&D guy hadn’t shown up yet, so Arthur was sweating that. He checked his watch. “It’s time.”

A gale force wind blew the three pigs through the hall and neatly deposited them at the podium. Henry Wolf made his entrance dressed in a white lab coat. Arthur made a thumbs up sign.

The auditorium was full of chattering suits. Henry huffed them silent. “Listen, our buildings are guaranteed not to blow down.”

Arthur went to the first slide.

SweePea

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She flounced up to the desk, leaned on it with her elbows out, her fingers leaved together, and in a honeyed voice said, “My bed is unacceptable.”

The clerk handed a new arrival keys and turned to her. “I’m so sorry ma’am.”

“I want a new room, not a sniveling apology.”

“Sorry about that, too. We’re full.”

A gentleman approached, “I overheard and I’d like to offer my room.”

“Mr. Prince,” said the clerk. “How kind.”

SweePea liked what she saw when she looked at Prince. “I’ll try the bed. No point moving otherwise.”

Prince offered his arm. “C’mon honey.”

What If It Was the Mattress and Not the Pea?

Scullery Maid by Edme Bouchardon is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0

Cook observed that the less than princess would fail the test the Queen had set. The sous chef nodded.

The scullery maid said, “Only a corpse could sleep on those lumps.”

“You and your airs. Anyone but a true princess could.”

“Then I tell you, I’m a princess.”

Cook pinched the maid’s cheek. “You’re not meant to nap.”

“Not on that mattress pile. I’d rather sleep under a tree.”

Cook’s nose flared. “Tell the Queen. Maybe she’ll find you a husband.”

With a cheeky grin, the scullery girl said, “Or maybe if I complain enough I’ll win my prince.”

The Riding Hood Brigade

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The cool air stank down the dark steps into the underground. She pushed through a turnstile, onto the platform and hopped the subway at Prospect, intending to walk through Central Park to Fifth Avenue where her grandmother lived. Her mouth watered at the thought of Grandma’s gingerbread.

He winked at her and rubbed his crotch. She pulled her red hoodie up. Her thumbs flew over the keyboard on her phone, cycling through numbers, texting the others from her friend group. He followed her off the train. Her posse was there waiting. Watching. They made certain that there were no surprises.

It Takes a Princess to be a Queen

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Poor little thing, feet bare, bedraggled dress, beleaguered, and common. The prince says to me, “I’ve found a wife.”

More like a wet kit.

I could say, “She’s a sly one.” He would never listen. He has too good a heart.

So, I tell my maid, “Find her a gown. Let her sup in the kitchen. And lastly, make up the softest bed with the hardest pebbles inside as a test.” Maid’s done this many times.

The ungrateful girl eats nothing. The satin is not fine enough, the slippers too stiff. By morning, I know she’s a princess most uncommon.

A Stormy Night Atop a Pea

Edmund Dulac, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

She rushed along a lightening illuminated path. Mud sucked one satin slipper off, the other she tossed away calling it useless, like she had the cooks whose roast meat was not bloody enough, their bread not crusty enough. Torrential tears fell. Rain streamed from her hair, her clothes, and the tip of her nose.

A man and his unruly mare pulled up, clods flying.

“Fool, do you know who I am,” she asked.

Eyebrow raised, he said, “A woman in need of dry clothes.” The lord carried her to his castle, grand as her father’s.

She didn’t sleep a wink.