'Woman, Resplendent' by Julia Ruth Smith

What if she gets to the fork in the road and thinks fuck it and keeps on going, through the gorse and the pain, with her basket filled with the sweetest jam from all the times she bled like a good girl and she dips in her fingers and smears it on the trunks of barren trees so she’ll know her way back home? 

What if the blood brings boys prowling with sharp thoughts and feelings for this woman with fat on her thighs? What if they see how disheveled she is with her greying roots, platinum memories and twigs and berries splattered like broken capillaries on the flushed cheeks of a hot day and they’re the ones who’re frightened, because here’s a woman who stares into the face of the wolf and twists the lies right out of his scrawny throat; here’s a woman who doesn’t care if she’s the fairest in the realm and needs no woodcutter to save her because she’s taken the mirror and smashed it into pieces?

What if they call her a witch, a hag, a crazy dyke and she lets out a guttural cry because sticks and stones and all that crap, when she know in her heart she’s more than their pitiful manhood put together and she tears down the castle, where the prince admits he was wrong because she’s fine, as fine as the thin queen who glitters in gold but is no company at all on the dark nights of winter?

What if she stands on the castle walls, fluttering emblem in hand and looks out over her kingdom? What if nature salutes her, blows a brave trumpet and the sky cracks open with starlight? What if she smiles? What if she comes through resplendent?

'The girl who cried wolf' by Christina Tudor

There'd been rumors of wolves circling the outskirts of the village. There'd been rumors that the wolves played tricks on little girls who risked walking alone in the woods, their feet breaking branches under the glow of the full moon. The wolves posed as grandmothers, shape shifted into soft creatures that have big eyes but do not bare teeth. All the little girls in the village were taught how to keep themselves safe. After sundown, they were kept home under the watchful eye of their mothers. The village boys sharpened sticks with knifes and gave them to their sisters to keep tucked behind their ears. The youngest girls, not yet five, learned the meaning of big words like vigilance. Even the youngest girls carried weapons, their bodies tense even in sleep like prey in the wilderness. 

Then there came a day when a girl did as she was told. The girl cried wolf. All her friends and family and neighbors gathered around in broad daylight while she pointed at the wolf with her index finger and thumb, her feet set and her head high. The villagers looked at the girl and then at the wolf, confused. Because to them, he was a villager just like them, wearing fancy clothes and leather boots up to his knees. Silly girl, the village leaders admonished. That's no wolf. He's one of us.

The villagers ignored her protests. Liar, they chanted. Her mother moved to usher her back inside the house. Her brother wanted to know why she wasn't carrying around a knife tucked inside her boot. Behind the leering crowd, the wolf flashed his teeth. The girl who cried wolf remembered what she was taught: when you meet a wolf in the woods you always look it in the eye.

Zel in the Ivory Tower by Abida Akram

 Bored, bored, bored, Zel sang to herself in her ivory tower in the middle of the forest.

What a cliché this was. She was already in a castle in the air, why would she want to

marry a prince and live in one? She was sick of waiting for her witch of a mother to

deign to visit her. She was fifteen and a lonely birthday it had been yesterday with

just the birds visiting, enticed with fruit from the magic food cupboard. She was also

tired of her hair growing all the time, what a pain.

Now where had mother hidden her scissors? It took Zel a couple of days to find them

behind one of the paintings, the one of the big grey wolf that mother used to frighten

her with as a toddler. She quickly cut the braid at the nape of her neck. Oh, the relief!

Her head so light and free. Tying the extremely long golden braid to the four-poster

bed, she climbed down from the tower.

Walking through the forest was scary but she did it. She had never used her legs so

much; her feet were sore. Her hair was waist length already. In a nearby village, a

kind couple took her in. Now with foster siblings and a foster father, she learnt to

share. Her foster parents let her use the cottage to set up a hair salon. Her magic

hair was used as wigs for sick people, who soon started to feel better. She also

learnt to cut and style the hair of everyone in the village. She learnt about the lives of

everyone in the village. Life was busy. Word soon spread about Zel’s hair salon

called Hair Today and the family had to move to a bigger cottage.

'Lessons in Economics' by Lynda McMahon

The shoemaker was at his wits end. Business was bad.

“It’s these cheap imports. Nobody wants quality anymore. Hand made shoes are a
thing of the past.”

His wife agreed. To make ends meet she got a job as a chambermaid at the Castle Hotel. Minimum wage, poor conditions, zero hours contract but it kept the wolf from the door.

The shoemaker wasn’t happy.

Things went on as they were but trade dwindled to a handful of customers. They could get what they wanted for half the price on eBay so why would they buy from him?

“No loyalty!” he complained. “After all these years I thought we were friends!”

A basic mistake. A commercial transaction was not a friendship. The customers smiled and called him ‘Jack’ but they were hoping for a discount which they frequently got.

His wife bided her time until, inevitably, he was spending more than he was making.

“Perhaps we should diversify? Find a gap in the market?” she offered.“ Or, I know some artisans who can make you some perfect shoes out of your remaining leather. They can’t get work so they’ll do it for a meal and a bed.”

The greedy shoemaker’s eyes lit up at the thought of cheap labour and he set them to work at once. By the end of the day, 100 pairs of shoes were ready for sale. His customers were delighted. The same shoe at half the price! But within days the complaints flooded in: poor stitching, letting in water, soles coming away. The ‘artisans’ had disappeared as quickly as they had come.

The new sign said, ‘Sally’s Second Chance Emporium: Re-purposed Goods for the Discerning Re-cycler’. A gap in the market. The shoemaker’s wife unlocked the door for her new customers.

'The Castle Yonder' by Srividya Ganapathy

Cinderella was upset that she wouldn’t be able to go to the ball. As she sadly went about her
household chores, she wondered who her step sisters would be dancing with.
Suddenly there is flash of light across the kitchen window. Cinderella began walking towards
the light as though hypnotized. As she walked, the path widened and she saw a castle built
of white marble in the distance. Soon, her dress magically turns into a shimmering ball
gown. When she lifted her foot to side step a pebble, she finds a pair of golden slippers on
the side of the pathway. Delighted, she tries them on and it fits perfectly.
Soon she reaches the gates of the castle and she was escorted to the ballroom by two
handsome men. The prince’s eyes fall on her immediately and he rushes to take her to the
dance floor. They dance away to soothing music. But suddenly, she was reminded of the
oven back home, which would now have burnt the cake inside. She quickly runs out of the
ball room. Once outside, she picks the shoes in her hand and breaks into a run.

'Yes, we are famed, & you know us as a pantomime of stepsisters' by Kay Medway

Stepsisters.

Seeing us as the perfect storybook pair, you have all had time by now to uncover and agree that we are often the best-placed champions for all others' convenience & encouragement. 

We are all ceremonious, and overly polite here in our ways, with the same politeness in our society spheres extended for upholding the bringing out of our kind Cinderella's best. 

You rightly describe us as witty and quick, perfect when tasked with helping others find a voice when confidence is low.  

Here, I see you are overwhelmed, so sister, now and onwards, let us try to assist you because your problem doesn't need to stay weighing heavy.

Beautify the gown, delegate the chores, and exude kindness as your strength. There is safety in these family circles here. There is no need to bottle up an emotion of sadness and feel neglected or shut away your dream. No competition or courtship from a princely visitor will alter how we respect and see you.

'Burden of Knowledge' by Sean Hill

Fionn bent over the water's edge. If the river looked so absolutely still. When his master Finnegas had cast the line in the shadow-laden water which coursed through these nameless woods, the surface had nary rippled, but had utterly consumed the lure. He wondered from what earthen deep this slinking stream came, and to what ocean deep it went, and just what the old druid sought from either source.

It looked like no fish Fionn had ever seen before. Slick black skin pulled taut over very few bones. Half the thing was a gaping maw of needle teeth. It had no eyes Fionn could make out, but thin little strands like hair were about where eyes ought to be. Finnegas had said the shining arm of Nuada Airgeadlámh had pointed to the spot, but Fionn wondered if it hadn't been something else which spoke to the druid.

Its skin curled up in wrinkles in the little fire, as if unused to the touch of warmth, even in death. The stench which came from it seemed to have driven off the animals, and no bird sang. Finnegas would return soon. He had warned the boy to not touch it. Leave it to burn. No matter what happened.

But it was such a waste, he suddenly thought. When next might the fair folk take from his people the hunger they'd set upon them? It was such a little thing, too, Fionn thought as he reached into flame and took the shrivelled corpse in his hand, not even thinking as he crunched its brittle bones between his teeth and let the hot greasy flesh slide down his throat and—

gods help him he could see

From somewhere beyond the maelstrom of vision, Fionn could hear Finnegas, weeping.

'Goldilocks and the Free Pancakes' by Donna M Day

It all went wrong when Goldilocks broke into the three bears’ house six months early.

She wasn’t supposed to break in until after their New Year’s resolution to eat porridge every day, but because she broke in early, there was no porridge cooling on the counter, only pancake batter waiting to be fried up when they got back from their morning walk.

Goldilocks had never made pancakes before, but she was sure it couldn’t be too hard.

When the three bears returned home, they found someone had been cooking in their kitchen.

Goldilocks was sitting in a pile of rubble that was too hot and the flames that had been eating their house had in fact, eaten it all up. 

'Give Peas a Chance" by Lucienne Cummings

‘That’s the last time I let you go to the market,’ said Jack’s mother, once upon a time.

‘I can’t believe you’ve gave away our cow!’

Jack looked down at the full bowl of mangetout he’d collected from their kitchen garden. ‘That was weeks ago Mum. There are hundreds more pea plants out there. These will feed us for weeks to come, and we can sell the rest. If we keep some, we can even re-plant next year and branch out.’

‘I don’t want your new-fangled peas,’ cried his mother. ‘I want milk for my coffee!’

‘You know you should be going vegan anyway, for the sake of the planet,’ said Jack.

‘I stopped eating meat and eating dairy months ago.’ He paused, and looked at her, ‘It might even make you hap-pea.’

‘Smart-arse,’ replied his mother, rolling her eyes.

Shortly afterwards, Jack left home to start a new organic veg-growing business, which kept his mother in the style to which she’d always wanted to become accustomed.

'Purity' by Jennifer Mungham

Snow White cried as blood the colour of her lips dripped down the side of her face diluted in salty tears and dropped into the leaves below. Snow’s maid gently dabbed at the long, jagged cut with a handkerchief. Snow was shivering. The huntsman stood over her holding the broken, bloody shaft of a crossbow bolt in one hand as the other reached forward to the Princess helping her back up. He wrapped her up in his own cloak and gently lifted her onto her pony.

Later, questions would be asked of him, how an experienced hunter could make such a grievous mistake. It might even cost him his life. Or the Queen may see how Snow could now never grow up to be the unblemished beauty she envied. And everyone could live.

Snow White quietly sobbed all the way back to the castle, her maid helped her dismount the white pony and hurried her still shivering form to the fire in the great hall. The Queen was generous and poured honey over the wound, binding it with sweet words and soft smiles. The wound scarred horribly, defying every doctor in the land who tried to cleanse it. Princes stopped sending their tokens of affection, kings stopped asking for Snow White’s delicate hand and Snow White stopped attending the Queen’s lavish parties. Hiding away instead to watch, jealously.

Wandering through the frosty stone hallways whilst her step-mother entertained the great and beautiful, Snow White discovered an old mirror. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” She asked wistfully swaying to the distant music.

'The Further Adventures of the Three Little Pigs' by Jane Jackson

Several years of cohabitation, the Three
Little Pigs' arguments increased. The
brick-house had been built for one. None
of them were inclined to extend. First-
Little-Pig was too lazy to start bricklaying
and Second-Little-Pig had abandoned
his apprenticeship with his brother,
himself too busy constructing brick-
houses around the neighbourhood for a
healthy profit. He also didn't think he
should build an extension for his brothers
when he'd been comfortable before
they'd invaded.

First-Little-Pig's best friend, French-Hen,
who he'd helped with her straw-nests,
listened to him complaining yet again
about his brothers' snoring. She was
preoccupied with her latest clutch of
chicks, surveying in case they wandered
off and crossed paths with the Big-Bad-
Wolf. She chattered incessantly about
her ancestors' idyllic lives in the French
countryside. First-Little-Pig resolved to
leave and take a ferry to France, where
he could build another straw-house and
live peacefully.

When a travelling circus came to town,
Second-Little-Pig was fascinated by the
Indian elephants, with their tales of
temples and exotic spices. It sounded so
zen that he longed to travel to India and
build a new stick-house.

Third-Little-Pig was so relieved to see his
brothers moving out, he waved them off
without warning them of possible
dangers.

First-Little-Pig barely finished weaving a
straw-door for his straw-house than the
Wolf of Gevaudin called on him. With
lungs twice the size of the Big-Bad-
Wolf's, he blew the straw-house down in
one single puff and feasted on First-
Little-Pig, trotters and all. 

Second-Little-Pig suffered a similar fate
when a tiger surprised him collecting
sticks in the Indian forest. There was no
escaping those sharp claws.

Third-Little-Pig sometimes wondered
why he'd never received so much as a
postcard from his brothers and forever
imagined them living happily in their 
chosen countries.

'Let Down Your Fettucine' by Athena Law

This story begins with the reassurance that they all live happily ever after. When I say

‘they’ I of course mean Rapunzel, her husband and their seven plump children.
But for a while there, it didn’t look like our girl Punzie was going to ever leave her
turret…

Day 36,251

Dear Diary, I am bored out of my skull. Since I ran out of embroidery projects I’ve
made literally hundreds of mosaics from my toenail clippings and stuffed cushions
with my belly-button lint, but it’s all so cringe.

Day 36,297

Dear Diary, today a hot knight on a white horse totally came to rescue me! I heard
him crashing through the forest and there he was - big blonde hair and a smile whiter
than my mosaics. He’s coming back tomorrow with a ladder.

Day 36,298

Dear Diary, fully devastated. His ladder was way too short, he shouted to me that no
one has ever said his ladder was short before, then told me to let down my hair. So I
did but he took one look at it and ran off into the trees. No sign since.

Day 36,525

Dear Diary, something special happened today, which I totally knew it would because
it’s been one hundred years since I was trapped in this bloody turret. A man came
through the forest, so quiet I nearly didn’t hear him. Average looking (maybe a six)
and his ancient horse was a drab brown. His accent was strange, he said he was
from a floating city where one travels by boat. I let down my hair, which he admired
and then climbed to my window. He kissed my hand and told me he loves pasta.

Day 36,586

Dear Diary, I was wrong. My husband, Prince Antonio from Venice is a TEN.

'The Princess and the Peanut' by Luann Castle

'Stop being so sensitive!' Spittle accompanied the Queen’s words as she hurled a disgusted look at her daughter. 'One needs a thick skin to lead a nation. If you don’t grow one soon, I’ll be passing my crown down to your brother, the amateur clown.' The princess knew it was true that she had too much sympathy. She had just given her favorite sweater to a peasant shivering outside the palace. But she didn’t like being called names constantly by her family, so that night she planned to prove that the Queen herself could be very hypersensitive. Nobody was ever allowed to criticize her, for instance. The princess planted a tiny pea—well, in truth, it was a shelled peanut—under the Queen’s forty fur duvets. Next morning the Queen woke up purple with bruises and ordered the Princess to the dungeon. However, the people who had reaped the benefit of the kindnesses of the Princess rioted, placing the Queen in the dungeon with a can of peanuts and one cotton blanket. They placed the crown upon the head of the Princess. Of course, the Princess being the Princess began to feel so sorry for the Queen that she commanded her release. That’s when the Queen locked the Princess in the tower that spiraled high into the air and put the key in the peanut can.

'Little Red and the Wolf' by Lisa Williams

A rush of wings marked the start of her journey. Black. Dark, as crows rose from the field past Grandma’s house. Trepidation. Would he even be there? She held her basket a little tighter. 

A comforting hush hugged the forest; roosting birds quiet now. The trees almost sighing as she entered the glade. He was there by a moss laden tree stump. A long tongue snaked over sharp bright teeth. 

The snap and crack of branches breaking disturbed him. His head raised; snout sniffed the air and his hackles rose as he saw her hold her father’s hunting knife aloft.

NFFD 2024 Prompt #1: Castles in the Air

 

Prompt #1: Castles in the Air
AIR prompt A

Welcome to The Write-In!  This year, we're celebrating the 2024 National Flash Fiction Day Anthology theme of The Classical Elements - Air, Earth, Water and Fire. Throughout National Flash Fiction Day, we'll be posting one time-related prompt on the hour every hour from 00:00 until midnight (BST), for a total of 25 prompts in all.  You have until midnight on Sunday (BST) to submit your responses for possible publication here at the Write-In.  We'll start posting responses on Sunday, 16 June 2024....

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Pick a fairy tale, fable or folk story.  Write a version of it where you change at least one very important element.  Maybe Sleeping Beauty has insomnia.  Maybe it's Little Red Riding Hood's Grandmother who eats the Wolf.  Maybe Pinocchio's nose grows but he's actually telling the truth....  

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If you’re submitting this to us, make sure to note that this is a response to Prompt 1: Castles in the Air.

You can submit responses until 23:59 BST on Sunday, 16 June 2024 for a chance to be published here at The Write-In.

You can claim the badge for this prompt by visiting the badgifier here (hosted by the NFFD website).

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