FAIRY TALE FAIRY STORY - FLASH FICTION COMPETITION - PAGE 2

The sad and lonely King huddled in the corner of the dungeon. Sixteen years ago, he’d lost his one true love and their unborn babe, and still he mourned.

That morning, a girl, Briana, and her friends had come to the palace, demanding he give up his kingdom, cease feasting and hunting; ordering him to use his wealth to help his people, not drive them into poverty. And his guards had flung him in here. His rule was over and he feared for his life.

Thedoor swung open and Briana stood before him.

Come,’ she said to the King, ‘let me take you somewhere more cheery, somewhere we can talk properly.’ 

‘I’m sorry I was so long,’ she added as they left the dungeon, ‘I lost my way.’

They reached the kitchens. ‘I thought it might be more cosy here,’ she said.

The cook looked up from her task and curtsied deep when she spotted them.

‘Now; sire, lady, what can I get you? A midnight feast? Or a hot chocolate? I know that often comforts you late at night, sire, when your thoughts turn to despair.’

‘A hot chocolate would be most welcome,’ smiled the King, ‘thank you.’ The cook curtsied again, blushing as she scurried away to prepare the drinks; it was the first time he had spoken kindly to her his whole life.

Briana and the King talked long through the night. She told him of his people’s plight, of their fight against the taxes imposed on them, and when those who collected them had nothing but their own wealth in their minds. He’d not realised, and began to feel ashamed.

As she told him of her mother’s death, she fondled the silver strand around her neck.

‘Where did you get that?’ the King asked. ‘My fairy godmother gave me one like that when I was born. I gave it to my one true love, before my parents sent her and our unborn babe away from the palace. I hoped it would bring them back to me…’

‘It was my mother’s. She told me my father, her true love, gave it to her before she had to leave…’

The King gasped, ‘Briana, you’re my daughter! I should have known; you’re so like her! I shouldn’t have let her go; I should have stood up to my parents. And now she’s gone…’

Tears started rolling down his face. But Briana embraced him, saying, ‘Father, don’t cry. She would be happy to know that we’ve found each other at last.’

‘But how can I make amends?’ the King asked.

They continued to talk, and he finally began to rejoice. He’d gained a wonderful daughter, and his true purpose in life. As the sun rose the next day they announced that henceforth, the kingdom would be ruled by the people, those who had the best interests of all in their hearts. And the King would be their ambassador, spreading their message to all the kingdoms of the world.

There was once a prince who lived in the most beautiful palace. Everyone loved him.

But was he happy? No.

Nobody loves me, he said.

There was only one person whom he had ever truly loved, but she died.

And he cried bitter tears. Not just for her. But for himself. 

Where his tears had fallen flowers grew and soon the palace was surrounded by thousands of flowers, all with messages declaring love for the prince.

But was he happy? No.

Nobody loves me, he said mournfully.

The prince grew up and had many friends and colleagues who cared about him. Countless women fell in and out of love with him.

But was he happy? No. 

Then the prince fell deeply in love with a beautiful woman and for a while he was happy. But his new love told him that he was not happy and that his life was not worth living. So the two of them agreed to leave everything and everyone he knew to start a new life for themselves.

But was he happy? No.

Nobody loves me, was his mantra. He took every opportunity to tell people how he felt. Eventually he told his father, I don’t want to be a prince any more.

That’s fine with me, said his dad, but then you can no longer live in a palace. We will still call you prince but you can no longer expect to have all the good things that go with the title.

The prince moved to a new country far away where he had a beautiful house, servants, two beautiful children and everything his heart desired. But was he happy? No.

He started to take pills and other drugs hoping they would make him happy. 

The prince complained to anyone in the world who would listen that his father had been cruel, that his wicked stepmother hated him and that his family, whom he had chosen to leave, did not want him.

Everyone he met wanted to hear what he had to say about his old life compared to the new one. 

I was not happy, he said. No one listened to me, he said. Everyone wanted a piece of me, he said.

Advisors told him, you must tell the world how you feel, how you have been mistreated.

And so he did.

He gave interviews to the newspapers, appeared on TV and even blogged – with some help and encouragement from his beautiful wife – on his very own web site.

But still he was not happy.

So he wrote a book which everyone read.  It sold millions of copies all over the world and made the prince even richer than he had ever been before. But not any happier.

I would like to be able to tell you that this is a mere fairy tale. But, sadly, it is all true.

And it looks like the prince is going to live unhappily ever after.

Once-upon-a-time, in a place called Epping, lived a girl called Felicity, who everyone – well, almost everyone – loved. But Felicity was sad because despite being a kind and caring young individual, she had left school with not a single certificate to her name and now found herself with no job and very little to do.

One day, wandering in the forest, she spied a nursery, a place she’d never ever noticed before.

‘That’s very strange,’ she thought, ‘I wonder if they might need a kind and caring young individual to help with their children.’

Well, miraculously, they took her on straightaway and in the twinkle of an eye she found herself in charge of Alex (who rarely spoke) and his six three-year-old friends.

“Oh! How I love you all!” she exclaimed, beaming.

‘And we love you too!’ they answered as one (except Alex) ‘have a lovely weekend, Felicity; take care of yourself!’

To celebrate her new job, Felicity decided to visit her ‘local’ where her school-friends always went. She straightened her fringe, added a dab of blusher, then kissed her mother goodbye - and promised, of course, to be back by midnight. Then, she grabbed her purse, and the twenty pounds she’d taken out that afternoon, and caught the 305 into town. 

‘Flick!’ her friends cheered as she entered the pub - all apart from Tanya who sat and glowered in the corner: Tanya, who was clever, cruel, and jealous of all pretty girls, especially Felicity.

Tanya elbowed one of the gang in the ribs: ‘Urrggghhh! Look what the cat’s dragged in. Friggin’ Felicity with her floppy fringe!’ and her friend giggled nervously, as Tanya was prone to violence. ‘Oooh, she’s done herself up, like the slag that she is,’ which was as far from the truth as it was possible to be – but nobody argued with Tanya.

Now, across the pub, leaning on the jukebox, was Darren, a trainee para-medic, and every girl’s dream.

‘Will you look at those pecs?’ Tanya said, a little too loudly, through an increasingly drunken haze. ‘What wouldn’t I do to have the Kiss of Life from him!’ and her friend snorted her approval.

Suddenly, to Tanya’s horror, Darren and Felicity were talking, giggling, staring into each other’s eyes! Hold my Girl played on the jukebox; a warm glow enveloped them as they smooched.

‘Right! Enough! I’m moving in!’ Tanya whispered darkly, ‘Freckle Face has to go!’ 

She joined them at the jukebox.

‘Dar, Flick…sick to see you!’ she lied. ‘Want a gobstopper?’ 

Felicity, so kind and naïve, picked a large one, popping it into her dainty mouth.

Immediately, she began to choke, and fell to the floor, Tanya’s low cackle the last thing she heard as everything went black…

Next thing she knew two strong arms were around her waist and Darren was whispering her name softly in her ear.

‘F’n Heimlich Maneuver!’ Tanya yelled, disappearing forever into the cold, dark night.

****

Post-Script:

Tanya lived happily ever after.

Felicity and Darren didn’t.

Once a upon a time… oh lord, here we go again! 

How does one write a fairy tale without sprinkling sugar on the top?

There’s got to be an impoverished figure; hero figure; a witch or wizard; a cat; four mice; and evil sisters, right?

Well, not always. Fairy tales are all around us. We can even create our own fairy tales in the things we do and the way we treat each other. They may not be traditional “fairy tales” as our actions are reality and real, but the overtones are similar, surely?

One can be a hero by being fair. One can tell a tale without it being tall. One can be a fairy godmother or why not a fairy godfather…? oops, hang on… maybe a godfather, forget the fairy bit! So, says St Peter!

Anyway, here’s my story…

One day, I got up and may have dragged the comb through my hair. I can’t remember that bit as everyday routines at the same time on the clockface merge into each other. Took a quick detour to drink a cup of tea as, pulling back the curtains, I noticed the freezing fog outside my door being thickset and likely to be slow to clear. I wasn’t late, nor did I require the bus. I don’t smoke so that’s where the song ends folks! 

It was new year, a typical January winter day and cars completely iced. Two layers, two scarves, two pairs of gloves, I ventured out into the pea soup and almost with a chilled blindness walked into the gate when I actually should have opened it!

Decisions, decisions… do I scrape my wife’s car, my son’s car, my daughter’s car, as well as my car…? running four engines and adding to the smog already descended? Be eco-friendly, eco-friendly, recycle, recycle, rethink, rethink, repeat, repeat! 

Life is like an engine of a car. The batteries require charging every night before starting up again at daybreak. Ok, decision made. One car at a time with mine last as it is the oldest and without a heated windscreen, so, the worst carbon footprint in our family’s collection. ULEZ is on its way and so is the bill to replace our cars. I wonder if the new cars will have enough power to tick over whilst scrapping of the ice takes place and still have enough power to get us from A to B and back?

****

(An hour later, the answerphone message)…

‘Hello darling. Thanks for scrapping my car. I saw you had done the same for the kids. They're not up yet. The mist has lifted along with the temperature. Told you before, leave the bloody kids cars. Don’t waste your energy. Not worth it. Anyway, see you at home tonight. Fish and chips, your favourite.’

****

(A knock at the door at home)…

‘Hello, I’m Constable Holland; this my colleague Constable Travers. Are you Mrs Greaves?’

‘Yes’

‘May we come in and speak with you?’

‘Has something happened?’