I have a newfound love for writing fractured fairytales- Basically, your everyday Snow White or Cinderella story, but with a twist. Here’s one I just wrote, based on Sleeping Beauty, entitled Once Upon a Nightmare, along with the cover. It’s for an online writing contest. I hope you enjoy it!
Here’s the summary:
Briar Rose, better known as “Sleeping Beauty” in the child’s tale based on her story, was kidnapped at birth by a young girl named Snow. There she lived happily, until she was informed of a dark mystery, basically murdered her parents, and was encased in a white prison. Now the only thing she can do is call for help… And you are the one she has chosen to rescue her kingdom from destruction.
Here’s the cover:
Here’s the story:
Look, I know you’ll all probably hate me for this. I know you’ll probably roll your eyes, wondering what I’m thinking, knowing nothing can erase the wrong I have caused. But by telling this story to you, I’m hoping my knowledge will prove to be incorrect. Because they’re still after us. Remember, this is only the beginning of the tale. The ending all depends on YOU.
It all began long ago, in a land far away… Well, if you consider an old-fashioned palace (carved from only the finest cobblestone around, and topped with a huge red-and-yellow striped flag) three miles south of here to be ‘far away’, and sixteen days ago to be ‘long ago’. I don’t. But stories like that always begin with cheesy opening lines like that, and I guess trying to change that won’t improve your opinion of me. I mean, heck, I don’t care what you think of me at all, but I need you to at least trust me. Otherwise, how will we ever save the world?
Anyways, it all began in the huge purple palace I was talking about. I’d go on explaining how beautiful the lush forests and gardens and pools surrounding this palace were, and how one look at the surrounding land, and one could faint in the beauty, but we really don’t have enough time. And the more you nag me to tell you anyway, impatient reader, the less I will reveal!
OKAY, ENOUGH WITH THE INTERRUPTIONS. I am now officially carrying on. And not stopping for anything this time. Not even you. Trust me, I don’t think you deserve to hear this at all, let alone be a crucial part in it. So, as I was saying…
If the castle were to be in an exterior design contest, I’d bet you anything it would win five stars. Of stone and amethyst this castle was carved out of, and the many turrets were so high, clouds gently danced over them, like a paintbrush swooping over the canvas, leaving a glorious color where white had been seconds before. The moat surrounding the many turrets was a clear, pure blue, and everything about it left a happy feel inside your heart. Except for the interior. Sure, the violet wallpaper with the crowns on it was cute, as were the crystal-and-gold chandeliers hanging from every pearly white ceiling. But each and every hallway was empty, unguarded, expecting the throne room. There sat they. The king and queen, upon their tall golden thrones. King Leonardo II of (for that was his name, although more referred to him as simply ‘King Leo’) was bushy-haired, and not just from the curly . He had thick, menacing eyebrows overtop his eyes, which were the color of evening wind, and big, full beard under his crooked smile. His wife, Queen Arabella VI, was petite, with mousy black hair, fair skin, thick eyelashes, and naturally red lips. The two were smiling so brightly, their joy practically lit up the room, which was full of lords and ladies. Medieval capes and violet-and-green banners littered the crowd. Excited chatter filled the large, echoey room. Finally, the king stood up, letting his green cloak’s hood fall off and unveiling his spectacular golden crown, glittering with gems. Silence. Just like that. In a booming voice, he began to speak. Importance glimmered around him as his words filled the room.
“Well, we all know why we’re gathered here today, but, as this is an official speech, I have to say it again! We are here to celebrate the birth of my newborn daughter,” he snapped his fingers to cue the royal trumpets. A joyful tune filled the ears of many, as the king shouted over top of them, “BRIAR ROSE!”
Can you please stop staring at me like I’m some rare animal from the zoo? Yeah, I’m, what do you modern folks call her, oh, right, sleeping beauty. Deal with it. And don’t you tell me ‘I’ve already heard this story’, cause I know you haven’t. Perhaps you’ve heard the fractured version of my tale, but no mortal has ever breathed the truth out. Feel honored. You’re the first person I’ve told. Ever.
AS I WAS SAYING, the crowd all cheered, and, with much pushing and shoving involved, formed a line-up, each citizen holding a small parcel of sorts. All gifts for the newborn baby. Time dragged on, and soon, the small pile beside the large, golden crib in between the thrones was no longer small. Dozens of toys, food, and many other useless baby care things were piled, all with admiration notes for my parents. For some reason, people thought if they buttered mom and dad up, they’d lower taxes. Ha. As if. Soon, nobody was left in line. No, not even the three fairy godmothers. Geez, grow up, dude, that was added in by whatever scatterbrained idiots fractured this tale in the first place. Soon, everyone (except me, of course, I was sleeping in my cozy crib. It was as soft as silk. Actually, I think it was silk) was feasting around a big, loooooong table, draped in a green tablecloth with lace at the edges. It was all merry, when all of a sudden, the large doors slammed open, and in walked… Oh, seriously, it wasn’t a witch. Stop acting like you know everything. It was a cute little girl, dressed head to toe in a periwinkle blue dress and apron. She was about five, and practically everyone went “Awwww” when they noticed her presence.
Not her. She lifted her foot off of the ground and slammed it onto the lime carpeting. The force was so strong, the floor seemed to jump off of the earth for a couple of seconds. Her eyes were red with fury, her black hair wet and matted from walking in the rainstorm happening outside, and her mouth curled into a frown. In a calm, high voice, she spoke.
“A party? But my mommy wasn’t invited to a party. You can’t have a party without my mommy.”
“Oh, dear heart.” chuckled somebody in the crowd of diners, “Your mother is a peasant. She was not invited because she has work to do.”
“Well, that’s not fair. If Mommy don’t go to no parties, you no go, either!” the little girl slammed both bare feet on the floor, and this time, the extraordinary occoured. Earthquakes are quite uncommon in my kingdom, especially ones caused by young girls’ tantrums, but, nevertheless, that is the type of event that I shall tell you of next. Eight seconds. Eight dreadful seconds. That was all it took for each and every person to get knocked out of their fancy chair and fall to the shaking ground. Everyone was so shocked at the power held in the little girls’ foot, they gawked at the shaking floor in wonder. That was around the point when I was kidnapped. By a five-year-old. With anger issues.
See, the girl was a prophet. She had foreseen horrors in my future. If I’d stayed in that room for another minute, the witch would’ve come in with her spinning wheel *that part wasn’t fake-ouch!) and I would’ve died. But, obviously, I didn’t die. I mean, I’m right here. Touch me. See? Not dead. Alive.
So, fast-forwarding through the next couple of years, they’re boring and out time’s a little more than halfway up. The end is the crucial part. Basically, the girl brought me up, teaching and training me for my future. She lead me to believe she was my sister, and our mother had died, leaving her in charge. As we grew up together, I felt a bond begin to form. The girl, named Snow (no, just because her name is Snow DOES NOT MEAN that she is Snow White’s younger self. She was actually Snow White’s first cousin, twice removed. ), was amazing. She lived in a small hut, in the middle of the greenest jungle I’ve ever seen. Each morning, we’d wake up at dawn (though it was hard to tell it was dawn, and the thick clumps of trees scattered every which way did not allow much light) and sneak out, hiding behind giant purple flowers to watch the many exquisite animals of the forest wake up. Afterwards, we’d hike up the windy dirt trail to the river, and, careful not to be bitten by the large-eyed piranhas that roamed the rapids, and purify the water with our water purifier. We’d drink it. It tasted fresher and purer each day. We’d hunt whenever we felt hungry, and I’d beat her in races from tree to tree, and we’d laugh together until the sun went down. If there is any magic at all in this world, I remember thinking at age twelve, She must have it.
At age fifteen, the day before my sweet sixteen, Snow sat me down on our porch. She was rocking back in forth in her polished rocking chair, the way she often does when she is worried. This was not a good sign, but I hardly noticed at the time. All my life, I’d been reading books about girls whose lives changed on their sixteenth birthday. I wondered if I’d be the same person when I woke up the next morning.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Briar.” she had said. Her voice was quivering, the way it does when she’s about to snap.
“What is it, Snow? Are you throwing me a surprise birthday party?” I said, bluntly. I confess, I do love to daydream. Sometimes it takes my mind off of what really matters. Like family. And SURPRISES.
“Well, darling, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it? But, that’s not it. See, Briar-”
“BRI.” I cut her off, sharply. I can’t stand being called Briar Rose. It just sounds so girly, ya know? I call myself ‘Bri’. Always have, always will. If only I could get other people to call me it, too. Everyone always calls me ‘Briar’, or ‘Rose’. It gets so annoying.
“Bri, Briar, whatever. Your name doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we’re in danger. If you do not return to your parents before you turn sixteen, great danger will fall in our pathway and we shall meet our fate.”
My mouth fell open. That is, it did until I burst into a hyena fit of laughter. “Yeah, right. I don’t HAVE parents to return to. And what sort of danger could we possibly face? Jaguars are the most dangerous part of this rainforest.”
“No, Bri, this is serious. See, I never told you, but you are a princess. Your mother and father entrusted me to bring you up, after I sent them a letter explaining your scenario. They allowed me to raise you. But I cannot continue this. Your life is at stake. Millicent is after you, and we can’t stop for anything. Grab your backpack, kiddo. We’re evacuating.”
Before I could say “But..”, she had pushed me into my bedroom. It was a small, square room, with wooden planks making up the floor, ceiling, and walls. Just like most rooms in our house. Unlike the other rooms, I had used berry juice to add blue coloring to my walls. A mattress was in the corner of the room, with a blue-and-yellow checkered quilt I’d had since I was a baby. Books, books, books, books, and more books littered the otherwise empty floor. Grudgingly, I picked up my knapsack and began to stuff novel after novel into it. Unfortunately, along with my food rations, a change of clothes, and my rolled-up quilt, I only had room for five books, so I spent a full half hour picking.
It was dusk when we set out. My feet ached, but we couldn’t stop. We had to run. Past mountains, through forests, until, at 11:45pm, we reached the castle I told you about earlier. Words left my soul as I inhaled the beauty of my true home.
That was around the time when I was grabbed by the back of my collar and shoved through the large doors into the throne room of the castle. It was empty, except for the two occupied thrones.
“M-mom? Dad?”
I was hugged and kissed and hugged some more for what felt like a lifetime. Blubbering like an idiot, all I could say was “Mom! Dad! It’s really you!” All of the hugging and kissing and blubbering went on until we heard it. The grandfather clock. Striking midnight. My mother, a small women with a beautiful magenta gown, shooed me up to bed. “Your bedroom is the second room on the left wing of the third turret.”
“But I don’t want to go to bed!” I felt hot anger prickle down my spine. Geez, how could they think of bedtimes at a time like this? I’d just met my true parents for the first time. I did not wish to part with them just as our paths had crossed!
“Dear, you must.” said my father. His voice was gentle, yet stern. I could tell he meant business.
“Fine.” I stormed out of the hallway, and as I did, my fingers brushed against a silky banner. And as it did, I heard a crackle. And not just an ordinary crackle. A distinct one. That of-
“FIRE!” screamed my mother. I turned, just to see the fire spread across the room at the speed of light. I called out in alarm, but my parents couldn’t hear me. I was terrified. Of course, any nobel, brave, sensible person would run back into the room and rescue their parents, smother the fire, save the day. But being the coward I was, I ran. Running away from the screams of my parents, I felt the tears prickle down my face. What have I done?
Of course, I got lost. With the maze of corridors, all of which looked exactly the same, who wouldn’t get lost? At least the squishy violet carpet felt nice against my bare feet. Eventually, I found what I figured must be my room, and creaked open the large, gray wooden door. I cautiously stepped inside, wiping a tear from my face.
Blinding light hit my eyes. I squeezed them shut to avoid the whiteness, and heard an evil-sounding cackle behind me. I spun around, and screamed. The most horrifying thing I had ever seen in my life stood in front of me. It looked like a crocodile, but it stood on two legs like a dinosaur. Its eyes glowed red, its teeth dripped red, its body was red. It snorted, and a spiral of flame shot out of its nose. It was the size of a castle. When it opened its mouth, a voice, much like a female girl’s, spoke.
“Ahhh, Briar Rose. I am so glad you could join me. But I fear you must now leave. Forever.”
“Am I d-dead? Am I sleeping? Is this a d-dream?” I stuttered. What else could I do? I was terrified.
“Almost, yes, and no. I wouldn’t call this a dream. This, dear heart, is a NIGHTMARE!” the swirling white around me began to spin at the speed of a tornado, scooping me up in a cyclone of power, and slamming me to the ground. The last thing I remember before being knocked out was that voice.
“Now, that should take care of her. She’ll be stuck in this storm of white for years. Shame. She was quite a pretty girl. But seeing her kingdom fall to ashes might rot out her brain. We can’t have that. She is the key to our goal, after all.”
And after that, all I remember is white. I’ve walked for hours, surrounded head to toe in white. It’s all I can see. Somehow, I am never hungry or thirsty. I just sleep, read bits of the five novels I have in my canvas pack, and walk in the white. No matter how hard I try, I cannot find a way out. Which is why, of course, I am speaking to you in your head. My years with Snow may have been innocent and vague, but she did teach me how to possess minds. Communication signals from my brain cannot seem to reach anyone else, however, but you. Which is why you are vital. You must be the one to go challenge that beast, that witch, that foe. You must lead my kingdom out of harm’s way. You must release me from my enchanted sleep, for legend tells me that that is indeed where I am. You must believe that this is not just a myth, this is the real deal. You must chronicle what I have told you so you never forget. You must listen to my guidelines, but in the end, do what you see fit. Destiny can be carved by only he or she who holds it.
Your hands now hold the key to the ending of this story. But what will you do with it? For the good of all, I hope you choose to do the right thing. I shall await your arrival from my white prison.
Good luck. I believe in you.
The End… For now.
May be continued at a later time if my readers wish it.
I am ashamed to say that, besides what I do in NaNoWriMo, I hardly ever get any writing done.
Rainbow of Words 