Cinderella’s revenge

Yesterday’s prompt for Write yourself alive was to rewrite the ending to a favorite book or movie.  The first thing that came to mind was Cinderella, not the Brother’s Grimm version but the Disney version.  Not a a favorite but I liked it and enjoyed it as a child.  What child doesn’t dream of having a fairy godmother rescue her?  Or to marry prince charming? Hope you enjoy fresh from my mind to you 🙂 (first draft)

Cinderella had had it. She was done. Clutching the knife in her hand she flew out of the kitchen ready for the hunt.
Step sister number 1 was in her closet, feverishly throwing dresses off their hangers. She had to find the perfect dress, nothing less than perfect would do. The first strike ripped open her flesh, torn through the muscle until it stopped at the bone. She shrieked.
“It’s not that bad. Stop your whining and get ready!” Cried a voice from the other room.
Step sister 1 wheeled around as Cinderella pulled the knife out. Before the step sister could talk, Cinderella shoved a pearl necklace into her mouth, causing her to choke and spasm until final she collapsed lifeless on the floor.
She didn’t care about being quiet. She had had enough. She was done. Rage consumed her being.
It was step sister 2 who would fall victim to Cinderella’s wrath next. Brushing her hair, Cinderella stood behind her.
“What do you want? You little bitch?”
Cinderella grinned, grabbing the back of step sister’s number 2’s head and slamming into the mirror, over and over again. Until her step sister didn’t move.  Blood ran down her emotionless face pooling on the golden table.

Cinderella could feel the rush of satisfaction. Why hadn’t she done this years ago?
“Girls, Girls! Hurry up. The coach will be here any minute!” Cried her step mother from down the stairs. “Cinderella! Ciinderella! Where is that horrible girl! Cinderella! Cinderella!” Her step mother screamed.
Cinderella followed her. Paced her. Silently.  Her step mother was out near the pigs.

“Cinderella! There is no time to be feeding the livestock. Come out from your hiding. I know you are out here! You can’t hid here forever!”
Cinderella sprang on top of her step mother. Knocking her off her balance. Falling into the mud face first went her step mother, with Cinderella on her back. Cinderella sat on top her, holding her head in the mud while her arms and legs flailed. Trying to escape. It was useless. Her body finally relaxed, motionless in the mud.
“One more to go.” Step sister number 3, the cruelest of them all was in the kitchen.

“There you are you little tramp. What have you done?” Cinderella smiled and started to laugh. Grabbing a piece of wood from the fire, she threw it at her step sister. Her dress immediately caught fire. She screamed. Spun in circles.

“Please! Please spare me and I will be your slave, forever!”

“Forever?”

“Forever!”

Cinderella grabbed the pot of boiling water and flung in on her step sister who was now curled up on the floor crying.
1 Year Later
Cinderella married the prince. She a beautiful daughter and always at her side was her horribly disfigured and ugly hand maid, forever loyal and duteous. The hand maid never went far for she was always followed by the mice and birds, making sure she said in line.

Rejected Revenge Chapter 3 (first half)

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Chapter 3 (the first half)

Feet running down the hall way.  Banging and crashing.  Unnerving laughter.  Heavy sighs.  Groans, moans and screams.  Wheelchairs and walkers.  Drool, vomit and feces.  The smell churns the stomach, the smell of a veterinarian clinic that hasn’t been cleaned for months, maybe even years, with the smell of food, piss and vomit.   The sounds of screaming and crying, of torment and torture send chills down the spin.  The sights of the disabled and broken break the heart and tear at the soul.  Those who had been here long enough are oblivious to it, they are immune.  They no longer notice.   This is a condemned house of horrors, home to the damaged, rejected and damned.

Purple grass and orange sky.  A man dapperly adorned in a Victorian era suit, spinning his top hat on his cane while a woman scantily dressed in 1920’s flapper attire, tassels, pearls, feathers smokes a cigarette with a cigarette holder.  She looked like Marion Davies, the soft blonde hair and big doe eyes, he, on the other hand, looks like more like Gene Kelly, chiseled face and eyes that dance.  Together they are like watching an old Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy movie.  They sit at the end of the bed of a tiny woman, childlike in her features, drugged and strapped to a bed.    The room is like any other hospital room, plain and white. All the furniture here is old and metal.  They are patiently waiting for her to awake, eager to talk with her. The woman in the bed is called Her.  Everyone calls her, Her because no one knows her name, so they ended up calling her, Her.  Once she starts to arise, they waste no time in letting her know exactly what they think and how they feel.

“You really shouldn’t do that.”  Dera tried to say in the most compassionate way possible, however the undertones of her frustration could be heard.  She was getting tired of worrying about her friend.

“You know they don’t understand.”  Dante was angry, not with the woman lying in the bed, but with the people who had put her there as a form of punishment.

She (meaning Her) looks away, out the window, she stares at a large bird with its wings out stretched.

“You can’t hide from us.” Dante said, now with his hat on his head and he pokes her with his cane.

“Life is easier when you don’t fight.” Dera said placing her hand on the woman’s leg.

The woman stares at the bird who slowly turns into a tree.  The purple grass turns green and the orange sky blue.  The drugs are kicking in.

“See, they make you play nice.”  Dera said, half happy that she wouldn’t have to worry about her friend and yet a bit forlorn because she hates to see someone she loves be unable to express themselves or even be themselves, especially under sedation.

She half hazily tries to focus, open her eyes, and tries to take in the contents of the room.  The man and woman gone.  She smiles.  Dede is sitting on the dresser.  Dede is an antique, turn of the century doll.  This is her doll, one of the only things she owns.  She, meaning Her, has had this doll since she was a child.  The doll is old and torn.  It has the same dead stare as the woman in the bed.  A stare that sends shivers down the spine when others see her face.  The doll sits on the dresser and stares, as if looking into the souls of all those who enter the room.  Yet, for Her, seeing the doll on the dresser brings her comfort.

Rejected Revenge and Therapy Thursday?

I have been working on my first novel, Rejected Revenge.  What does that have to do with therapy Thursday?  A lot actually.  You see, I got the idea for Rejected Revenge working with developmentally disabled adults.  Talk about stigmas.  People constantly judging them, misunderstanding them, treating them as if they are diseased.  Whereas, I have never met a more loving, genuine group of people than the developmentally disabled adults I have had the privilege to work with.  Yes, there are few unhappy or grouchy ones but when I walk in their shoes, I would be too.  That is what sparked Rejected Revenge.  After hearing horror story after horror story and seeing first hand the judgement, shunning and over all poor treatment developmentally disabled people face.  I thought, what if they got sick and tired of how people, society, and the world treated them.  What if one day they just said enough is enough and sought their revenge for years of abuse and mistreatment.

Rejected Revenge Chapter 2

WARNING GRAPHIC CONTENT

It is pitch black. The air is cool and damp. The smell of musk and dirt assaults the nose. The sound of breathing and slight movement can be heard from somewhere nearby. The feeling of being watched, every moment being followed, as if there is no escape for being observed. Trying to call out. Mute. Silent agonizing cries. Trying to move. Struggling. An unresponsive body. Failure to work. Nothing. Straining. Nothing. No voice, no movement. Thoughts race. The mind a buzz. Yet, nothing. No movement. No light. Trapped. Alone and afraid. Flashing lights. Bright and blinding. Finally glaring intense white light. Shutting out the light. Sightless. Again battling the light, the pain. The feelings of being trapped. Eyes opening once more. Curious to understand. Blaring light. Finally vision. Blurry silhouettes standing and staring. Terror. Fear. Panic. This cannot be happening. This is not right. Again the fight for freedom is crushed, nonexistent. Immobile. Just like a fly caught on fly paper.
Drool dribbles down. The feeling that something is off, something is wrong. The realization of vice grips holding the tongue out of mouth. Dangling and hanging. Another struggle ensues. The clanking sound of metal hitting teeth. Pain shooting through the body. Against all efforts the tongue remains caught. Doom sweeps over all senses and a knowing that this is the end.
The sky dances with vivid colors, swirling, whirling and shifting as the sun slowly sets on the horizon. They sat on the porch hand in hand, watching the sunset. Gerald curled up in a ball on the porch next to them, peacefully sleeping and Ester playing ball in the front yard. She (meaning Her) giggles consumed with happiness. Tucked away in the Rocky Mountains, their escape from the madness of the world.
The prisoner tries to cry out for help and she snaps back to reality, to the task at hand. She has work to do. This was no time for fantasy, daydreaming or memories.
Slowly, she, meaning Her, takes the old pocket knife to his tongue. He struggles to pull his tongue free. He violently fights to free himself from his restraints. Tied down. Unable to move. His body strapped to the wheelchair. The knife dull and rusty. It has spent years drowning in the rain and covered in the earth. Unhurried she, meaning Her, saws away at the tongue. The agony from the pressure, the pulling, the tearing. It is slow and grueling. It seems never ending. Despite all of this, he remains awake, fully aware of what is happening. The blood trickles down his chin, down his throat, soaking his stained white shirt. A shirt already stained with sweat and food. He is a slob. He smells like week old beer and cigarettes. His appearance is offensive. Unkempt and dirty. His hair greasy and his skin oily. He oozes misery and unhappiness. Life had been hard on him. Lust for life faded from his eyes, years ago.
A grin swept across Her face. The most menacing and evil of grins. Like the grin of a child on Christmas morning, the excitement in her eyes. Terror on his face. Pupils large and fixed. The look of a mouse about ready to eaten by the cat. The moment between two people when they both know what is going to happen, that they can no longer escape fate.
This would be a slow and painful death. All the deaths here would be painful and full of torture. Torture to make up for the years of mistreatment and abuse. Torture to teach the world a lesson. Torture to cure the madness, to ease the pain, the suffering and to make amends.

Rejected Revenge Chapter 1

On a lonely island, deserted and empty. Stood one person. The sunlight reflecting off of Her, blinding so no matter where you stood you could never really see Her. There she stood, watching the tide roll in and out. Never moving, never budging. Never. There she stood motionless and still. Empty and alone.

The people here are like a million people standing on the shore, watching the tide roll in and out, never moving, motionless and still. Empty and alone.

Gerald- part of Rejected Revenge Sneak Peek

She visited him here once. He was crouching in the corner. The sadness in her eyes when she saw him. When she looked at him, he could see that she was hoping that some part of the old him was there. That he would remember her. That he would embrace her and tell her everything was going to be okay. It wasn’t okay and nothing was going to be the same. He wished he knew her, that he could ease her pain and suffering. He wished that he could have been who she wanted him to be, if even for a brief moment. His thoughts were always fleeting, like trying to catch a butterfly. A glimpse here and there. They never stayed long, before he could entertain them, remember them, they were gone. And he had already forgotten her, he lived moment to moment. She placed her hand on his check and kissed his forehead. “I will always love you.” She whispers in his ear. The smell of apples. Again he scanned his mind, she was so faint, so far away. He didn’t understand.

Lucy and the Mirror part 2 (Part 1- Rejected Revenge Sneak Peek)

The three of them looked down at Lucy. Lucy laid motionless on the white linoleum floor, blood pooling around and covering the shards of mirror, pieces of mirror jutting from her body, reflecting the florescent lights. She truly was glowing.

She never saw it coming…

Death of the Director part 1

When he awoke she was still perched on the desk.  He was taped to his chair.  Taped covered his mouth preventing him from screaming.    She grinned.  First she stabbed one hand, leaving the serrated steak knife protruding.  He screamed through the tape.  Pain in his face.  His eyes large, as he watched her.  The anticipation of the next knife.  He violently shook his head no, tears flowing down his face.

Maybe he should have been nicer?

Her

The human soul can only take so much before it comes apart, breaking, tearing and splintering, into distinctively separate pieces ultimately becoming unrepairable.  Fragmented slices of what was once but is no more.  Like a shattered mirror, pieces reflecting glimpses of what was once whole.

Sneak Peek- Rejected Revenge book- Chip’s truck

The moon dimly lights the parking lot, hiding behind the clouds.  The parking lot lights faded from dirt. The two men are but mere shadows in the back of an empty lot with a few scattered cars.  Moments passed as the two sit on the tailgate of the old rusty and battered pickup truck.  A truck that has seen far better years, now wasting away.  Heavy feet swinging back and forth freely, boots kicking loose rocks scattered on the ground and spit flying.