A Good Witch Is Hard To Find

The brother and sister had been wandering throughout the depths of the forest for days. The girl, Gretel, was growing increasingly anxious and pessimistic about their chances of survival. Presently, she was recounting the tale of an ancient, cannibalistic witch who supposedly resided somewhere deep in the woods. “She eats children, Hansel! That’s her specialty. I don’t know about you, but I’m simply terrified of meeting someone with such an under-developed conscience!” Gretel considered her own conscience to be highly admirable, and was disdainful and slightly fearful of anyone morally inferior to herself. Hansel blatantly ignored Gretel’s story, choosing, instead, to study the uniform lines of trees that surrounded the siblings. The trees offered no insight into their location within the forest, or, for that matter, in relation to their old home- but no, they couldn’t return there. They had no home anymore, Hansel remembered, not since they had been cruelly thrown out by their stepmother.

Suddenly, Hazel spotted a subtly marked path leading through the trees. She was positive that she had seen this trail before, on an earlier hike through the woods with her father, and that this particular path lead directly to a village where the two children could find food and shelter. “Hansel, look! I know this path and I’m sure that it will lead us to safety!” Hansel was hesitant to vary from the southward path they had been following,  but allowed himself to be lead down the path on the strength of his sister’s conviction. As they walked on the trail, with no village in sight, an embarrassing thought occurred to Gretel: there was a possibility that this was not, in fact, the trail which she and her father had traversed, but instead a random route through the forest. She was so shocked by this revelation that she promptly tripped on a tree root and tumbled down a large hill, landing haphazardly next to the strangest house she had ever seen. Hansel quickly caught up with her, but did not even scold her for her clumsiness, so transfixed was he by the house at the bottom of the hill. It was made entirely of candy, with windows fashioned from clear sugar and walls of gingerbread.

From the perplexing house, an elderly woman emerged. As she walked towards the children, Hazel studied her and a dawning recognition was visible in her eyes. “I know who you are,” Hazel shouted, “You’re the old lady who lives in the forest and eats children! I’ve heard about you!” This proclamation shocked all three of them into momentary silence. The old lady continued to walk slowly towards the children, a slight smile on her face. “It would’ve been better for both of you if you hadn’t recognized me,” the old lady drawled, “but since you’re here, and you both seem tired and lost, why don’t you come inside? I have food to spare, and beds for both of you to sleep in.”

“You wouldn’t lie to us, right?” Gretel asked anxiously. “I mean, you seem like a good person, like your family has good blood in it. You seem like a nice woman, and you wouldn’t hurt children, I know you wouldn’t.”

“I appreciate that, child. Now would you mind stepping inside the house?”

So Hansel and Gretel stepped into the house, so mesmerized by the confectionary creation that they neglected to notice the door locking ominously behind them.

Beauty and The Beast

As I sat in the windowsill of my fabulous palace bedroom the smell of fragrant roses wafted through the open window. “Beauty, what can I bring you upon my return?” I thought. “Father, all I need is a rose plucked by your hand to make me happy.”

 I had been given the biggest, grandest room in the palace upon my arrival. However, the space made me feel even more confined in the Beast’s large palace. The smell of roses beckoned me down to the garden where I preferred to spend the majority of my time. The sun shone down on the myriad of flowers, refracting on the droplets of morning dew peppered on the brightly colored petals of the roses and daisies. I bent down to admire the patch of dark pink roses that lined the garden’s winding pathway. Their beauty was beyond compare and I reached out my hand selfishly to pluck one of the roses from its home in the soil. “Father bring me pearls! Bring me dresses and furs and ribbons! Father please!!” cried my sisters. “Father, all I need is a rose plucked by your hand to make me happy.” All I need is a rose. A rose.

  Late in the afternoon, I retreated back into the castle and took my post by the fireplace and began my sewing. The warmth of the fire and the familiar task of sewing made me feel more comfortable in this foreign stone place. Minutes later, Beast entered the sitting room, sitting into his plush armchair that directly faced my place by the hearth. He treated me with love and kindness but his beastly face was uninviting and still frightened me even after all this time. Silence filled the room, enhancing the sound of the ticking clock. Suddenly Beast interjected the clock’s ticking sound, “Beauty will you marry me and remain with me at the palace forever.”

“Beauty, I beg you take my hand in marriage.” “Beauty, marry me!” “No.” “No, I am too young. I will remain with my father.” “Father!” “Father, all I need is a rose plucked by your hand to make me happy.” “All I need is a rose.” A rose.

Hansel and Gretel

The ground is soft and dry. The light bears figures out of the bushes and crowded trees. The air smells like dirt and pinecones. The crumbs drizzle behind us as we walk on. We cannot find the crumbs; all that’s left is our bare feet sinking into the earth that grips our toes, again and again. Trees. Trees. Everywhere. Hansel’s hand in mine. Trees. Trees. Hands. Father left us. Father left us in the woods. In the woods. The woods. The sound of my empty stomach fills the empty air. “Let’s go for a walk. You’ll be fine.” Father left us.  I do not know where we were going or even where we came from. Hansel looks confident and at ease as we begin our walk into the dark woods. Hansel’s hand shakes in mine. A chicken bone replaces Hansel’s hand. Dark eyes infiltrate my vision. A Swan. Dark eyes. Fire. Fire. Fire. And finally the sweet smell of trees.

The house is beautiful- carefully crafted out of assorted sweets that I am sure will fill my mouth with the pleasure it has been forever lacking. I cannot even recall the last time my tongue has touched a morsel of food. Time has no meaning in the woods, a vortex of darkness and intoxicating smells. The aura of sweets stemming from the house battles with the clean air that had suffocated us on our dreadful journey. My mind struggles with the physical intoxication of senses and my memories hunger for past sensations. Into the woods. A horrid woman emerges from the mansion of heavenly desire. She waves us in with a single hand motion, calling for our empty stomachs and heavy hearts. Mother said be careful. Mother said we would be safe. Mother said. I go in, begging for the feel of another human, the maternal care I had been lacking. Hansel and I stand at the point where the shadow of the house and the shadow of the tree converge. Keep track of time. Be careful. Mother said. Mother lied.

As we enter I feel the air hit me. The sweetest smell of all the goods I could have ever imagined infiltrates my lucky nostrils and my greedy hands reach towards them all at once. They are gone in seconds. Hansel and I look at each other with the remains on our shaking lips and fattening chins. As a swallow the last bite, I feel my body go weak as exhaustion tumbles over my bones and the rest of me crumples to the floor. When I wake I see Hansel encased in a crusty and compact cage. As soon as I come to terms with my surroundings, hot blood begins to fill my veins. My heart is racing with pure hatred as I stare into the eyes of what I thought was my savior but transformed into a demon. Her eyes are black, dark and weak, a reflection of my own dark blood and my own evil thoughts that fill me with the most animalistic want for revenge. For days I work for the witch who consistently stuffs Hansel’s face with the sweets I had once desired but now renounce. The fresh smells that once fed my soul now split it apart.  I can see his skin stretch with the intake of the treacherous goods that battle his raging blood. Each day, the witch asks for his hands, to check if he is ready to be eaten by her salivating, greedy and destructive mouth, but each time he holds a thin chicken bone out instead of his own ever-growing fat wrist. On the day she decides to eat him, my raging blood finally reaches my brain and tells it what to do, how to fight, how to win. When she orders me to start a fire in the oven, I play dumb and purposefully fail at my one task, forcing her to take over. The second she steps in front of the oven I listen to my shaking body and push her into the furnace with all my might. Her body is easily lit and taken over by the flames of sin. We run.

We then stumble upon a small brook in the woods. The water sings of sweet relief as we wash our dirty faces clean of the sweet’s treacherous remains. Finally clean, we look up to see a large swan, resting on the water, waiting for us. In that one moment I feel clarity in this nature I had previously lost myself in and climb upon the creatures back with my sister. It carries us gracefully across the water. I capture a small flower that is floating in the waves, hold it in my still shaking hand, and let the water take me home.

The Princess's Party

  The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and the wind carried just enough of a breeze to keep the guests cool, leaving Queen Irene more than pleased. It was as though nature had taken favor on the day set to celebrate her daughter. She smiled to herself to think of the many affirmations she would receive from her guests about the fortunate weather, and how it promised a blessed future for the child. Everything appeared to be falling perfectly into place. To think that fortune had favored her so, first with an ideal marriage to a wealthy, powerful, and loving king, followed by an uncomplicated pregnancy and the birth of an heir, and now the child’s name day playing out perfectly, bringing no omens of suspicion to haunt the minds of the people as to the prosperity the new royal would bring the kingdom.

            The child, to be christened Ella, appeared significantly less happy than her mother. Perhaps due to the suffocating nature of the yards of billowing silks that swaddled the dear baby girl, she would not stop crying. So it was, needless to say, much of a relief to young Ella’s nurse when one of the guests arrived early.  The guest, Aribella, greatly displeased with the perpetual cries of the child, entered her chambers, wand in hand.

            “I would like to give the child her name day gift early” Aribella said, and without waiting for a response, she walked over to Ella’s cradle. The fairy quietly thanked the heavens that there was both the heavy shadow of the canopy to shade the baby’s face and other fairies who would be able to bestow another gift on the girl, for it was one of the most hideously faced babies Aribella had ever seen. However the noise was too much for her headaches, which none of the herbs she had taken that morning seemed capable of curing. So, flicking her wrist, she gifted the child with grace and loveliness of voice and demeanor. She hoped the latter element of her gift would give the child the sense to stop crying, lest she continue to do so, however beautifully it may now be. Satisfied, she left the room—and the nurse—much more content than she had found them. Returning to the newly blossoming party, the fairy began to make her rounds to boast of her brilliant and successful gift, as is typical and expected of the fairy kind.

            On this lovely day, the Queen, the Nurse, and Aribella were not the only ones in high spirits. Past the forest that surrounded one side of the castle and high atop a hill far enough away to remain unseen by any of the castle’s inhabitants, sat another satisfied woman. This particular woman’s contentment might have perhaps seemed perplexing upon first glance. As she sat looking at her letters, the woman found herself glad with the lack of an invitation to a royal baby’s celebration. This situation presented her with an opportunity.

There was, in the kingdom, an unspoken tradition of competition of sorts, as to who gives the best gift to a child at their name day celebration. The woman atop that hill was no exception to this spirit of challenge. She thought to herself how much more grand her gift would seem, considering she was not even expected to attend. Staring at her attractive face in the mirror, the woman’s red lips curled ever so slightly at the edges, for as she ran her fingers over the rich, black, silk of her dress, a plan was forming. In true fairy fashion, the woman thought of the splendor this gift would bring her, a place in history even seemed likely; true bragging rights for years to come. It was almost a sense of duty that compelled the fairy to stand up, gather her things, and prepare to carry out her little piece of brilliance.

Back at the castle, the event was underway. Colorful gifts of every shape and size filled the grand hall from floor to ceiling. Airbella’s had been effective, for although the loud shouts of many guests reverberated around the sandy-stone walls of the hall, the baby princess Ella lay quietly in her cradle, stationed comfortably between her parent’s thrones. Just as Aribella had hoped, her sister, Elise, had gifted the girl with beauty. Their cousin, Giselle, had given the child wits and smarts. That particular family of fairies were feeling particularly good about themselves at that moment, as they knew their magic could be matched by no physical gift of silks or gold that the other guests had brought.

The light chime of silver on glass quieted the room, as the King stood to toast his new daughter and heir. Standing next to his throne, the large man would have looked extraordinarily powerful, almost menacing, were it not for the large, encompassing smile that seemed to reach every corner of his face. Clearing his throat, he began,

“Friends, we are gathered here today—”, his speech was interrupted by an explosion of light on the far end of the hall near the doors. Smokes of blue, purple and grey bruised the air, swelling in the great hall before retracting immediately to reveal a tall, lean woman dressed in dark silk. She walked slowly, the rhythmic click of her confident pace sharp yet echo-less, until she reached the platform on which the thrones—and the young princess—were stationed.

“My invitation seems to have been lost” she said in a heavy yet clear accent. She cocked a vibrant red half-smile and looked around the room. “Well. At least allow me to present my princess with a gift, as is tradition,” there was a heavy emphasis on the last word. The King and Queen, though they did not recognize the woman, were still, as though compelled static, and could do no more than simply watch the stranger walk towards their daughter. The woman approached the cradle, and pointing a long, delicate finger at the child. With an animated face and exaggerated motion, she looked down at the child, saying, “I give this child a wonderful little gift. I give the princess death.”

             

The Hollow Slipper

November is the coolest month, bringing

Chilling winds and gentle frosts that

Mingle with the dying lilacs in the cold earth.

A mother’s grave long elapsed, replaced

With the cruelty of a bloodless family.

Stepmother surprised them, crushing

Young Cinderella’s hope and

Silencing her father into grim submission.

And in spite of this torment,

Positive and kind she stayed.

When we were children, during the winter

the evil stepsisters took me out on the sled

And I was frightened. But they pushed me.

Alone in the mountains, against my will

They make me wear rags and force

Me to sweep ashes and wash their robes.

The Prince galloped into town, clutching

Invitations for every young woman to a ball grandiose.

Taunted by her sisters, Cinderella

Remained and wept in despair.

The heat of the night,

Glittering and colored, shrouded the fortunate citizens,

Decorated with jewels and silk,

The air reeking of synthetic perfumes.

From the dusty hearth, rose a fairy godmother,

“What is that sound darling?”

the prince’s ball.

“Why are you still here? Where is your gown? Where are your shoes?”

the step sisters have them.

O O O O  Bibbidy-bopbbidy-boo

A dazzling gown took the place of

Her filthy rags. Slippers of glass

Appeared with a pumpkin carriage,

Mousy footmen and a reptilian driver.

“Adieu goddaughter! Return before midnight!”

aurevoir

At the violet hour, she departed,

Attracting the eye of stunned suitors and jealous ladies.

But humble she remained,

Her painted face unrecognizable to her sisters,

Danced the night away.

Allure and charm like no other

Lady in the ballroom, the prince begged for a dance.

Newfound love at first sight, like sudden clarity

Evolving from thick fog.

A golden clock in the center of the room tolled, bells booming.

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME

“Where are you going? It’s only midnight!”

I have to leave

Leave I have to leave

No time left I must

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME

She left the palace a simple country girl, abandoning a shoe on the main steps.

Running alone

Uneven step

Empty night filled

With the call of the nightingale.

Jug jug jug jug jug jug jug

Jug jug jug.

From palace to prison she moved,

Returning to scathing remarks.

Haunted by his love’s swift departure,

Consumed by the glass slipper,

No relief. No promise.

From door to door of

Every lady’s house

Knock knock knock knock knock

With no success.

At Cinderella’s house the twins pushed and

Shoved to try it on,

Grotesquely large toes

Calloused heels

The bells tolled.

Stepping down from the attic,

Young Cinderella stepped forth.

“ Hello my prince”

“Does this belong to you?’

A perfect fit, an extension of her foot.

An autumn wedding

Leaves decaying, littering

The streets with their frail shells.

Away away away into the sunset.

This is the way the world ends,

This is the way the world ends,

This is the way the world ends,

Not with a bang, but with a happily ever after.

The Hands of Both a Mother and a Sinner

The miller’s daughter leaned against the top of the brown spinning wheel, bearing all her weight upon it. Tears poured down from her stormy blue eyes as she pictured the terrifying new life she had begun. She considered herself a martyr for giving herself up for what could be seen as the greater good while she considered her father to be a selfish, undignified slob. As she sat staring at the decaying, brown spinning wheel, her thundering eyes glazed over the figure of a small man leaning against the open door. The man’s eyes were black as a raven’s wing and seemed to be filled with the devil himself. His wooden leg dragged behind him with a considerable weight that seemed to anguish his every move. “Dearie”, his voice screeched like tires halting to a stop. “Let me spin that straw for you in exchange for your necklace”. The miller’s daughter who put too much of her faith into the books she read rather than her belief in God and miracles sullenly stared at the tiny demon. “How am I supposed to assume you will finish the task”, she said haughtily. The tiny man replied, “Because without me you are doomed”, and from that point on she reluctantly put her faith into the little wooden-legged pest and allowed him to spin the long strands of straw into rich yellow gold. To become queen, the daughter promised the man many things, one of those being her child, and therefore, the man came for three more days and spun the straw into gold until the godly prince decided it was time to marry the despairing miller’s daughter. During the wedding, the sky began to turn a deep, stormy purple color while pitch-dark blackness descended upon the miller’s daughter and her prince. The daughter couldn’t escape this darkness, and during the ascension of it, she gave birth to a severely malnourished baby girl. She looked at the child, disgusted with it and the idea of it. This child would be the rot of her existence, the detriment to her capability as queen. Once she gave it up, her reign would be over, the power that she had begun to develop would fall threw her fingers like the ashes of her dead father. However, she remembered the promise she had made the devil: if she figured out his name, she could keep the child and her power. How she was going to do this, she knew not. At this precise moment, the child bit her and dug its tiny, little teeth into the miller daughter’s finger until a dark flow of blood came out. As the blood flowed from the daughter’s finger, the darkness began to depart and a blood red-orange sky appeared. The beams of rays seemed to stretch out to the ends of the kingdom enveloping the residents in a warm glow of orange, yellow, and red. The miller’s daughter’s vision of her bleeding finger became blurred and then became replaced with a vision of the wooden-legged man skipping through the very depths of hell. He was chanting something over and over again as he pushed a cart of what seemed like babies and young children closer and closer to a burning fire. “These are the sins of the weak, the mild, the afraid. These are the sins I collect. Me, it’s time to collect. Me, Rumpelstiltskin, I’m coming to collect!” The vision disappeared and the woman woke up to a pool of her blood and her baby in two mangy, old hands. Her now piercing, sky-blue eyes looked straight into the raven-winged eyes of the monster while she screamed “Rumpelstiltskin!” The widening smirk on his face began to slowly shrink into a partial smile and finally into a definitive scowl. His once black eyes blazed with the depths of hell, the depths of fire, the depths of anguish and suffering. The sky turned blue again and the Miller’s daughter touched her baby with the hands of both a mother and a sinner.