'Not Based on a True Story' by Lucienne Cummings

‘How did you get home without it?’ she asks the mirror. Surprisingly, the mirror doesn’t respond.

She’d woken up that morning in the fireplace – normal – with one clean foot and one dirty foot – weird. Her sisters and her stepmum had, of course, pointed and laughed, which made her hangover worse. But they hadn’t guessed what she’d been up to last night while they were out. If she can keep from throwing up, they probably never will.

She rifles the kitchen again – the dish cupboards, the broom closet, the waste bin. Under cover of filling a bucket for washing the breakfast dishes, she sticks her head into the deep well, nearly losing last night’s midnight kebab in the process – nothing.

‘I wish I could find it!’ she shouts in frustration.

Poof! In a shower of stars, her fairy godfather sashays into the manor house. ‘Girl, I thought you’d be out of here,’ he says, hands on hips.

She shakes her head, and explains.

‘Oh babe!’ He sighs. ‘I hate to tell you this, but you’ve used up your fairy godfather quota for this month.’

‘**&(%^$!!!’

‘Is that any way for a Queen to talk?’     

‘**&(%^$!!!’ she repeats.

‘Take a break child. Come outside.’

In the kitchen garden, over a lemonade, things begin to look brighter. She closes her eyes and basks in the morning sun.

‘Look up,’ her godfather whispers.

She looks up.

High in the oak tree by the well, her missing football boot glitters. Finally, she remembers throwing it there in the early hours, whooping in celebration.

‘My work here is done,’ says her godfather, waving his wand. ‘Congrats on getting that football scholarship by the way.’

‘Thanks,’ says Cinders, to the space where he’d been.

Back in the kitchen, she crosses another day off on her calendar.