The only person that understands how much I abhor fancy dress parties at the castle is Cinderella. She is so kind to me. I know she wants to go so badly, but mother won’t let her. Mother has no feelings for Cinderella. Sometimes I think mother is too narcissistic to find another man that will please her. Her first husband died of mysterious circumstances and her second husband died of overwork. She has no feelings for anyone except herself.
The true reason I don’t want to go is that the party makes me feel different. I’m not like the other girls in my town. I want more to life than being my husband’s wife. I love thinking about music and growing things. Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of being a wife and mother, but under my terms. When I’m in my room, I’m thinking about a project where I can make some money and get out of my mother’s house and out from under her thumb.
I want to be the first woman farmer that owns her own farm without a man. Well… maybe at first then share the responsibility together. Women can do and have done things just to live, to feed their children, to better their homes. I want to prove to myself that I’m strong and capable. Patience is the key, just like growing plants. I don’t mind working hard if I feel satisfied at the end of the day. My mother laughs at my dreams. She thinks there is one way to be happy in life.
I have never gone on about men like my older sister, Anastasia. She is crazy for the attention of the men. She lives for the moment; she is like my mother. Live for the moment, enjoy the emotional ride, feeling like you own the world, take what you want and leave. My God, so heartless.
Heartless is what all the men say eventually after mother is through with them. Anastasia and I have a stepsister from my mother’s second husband. Cinderella, that is what my mother calls her, because she is afraid of her. Cinderella is beautiful and perfect. Mom married him because she always needs a man to make her feel beautiful. She used to light up when he came into the room. She laughed at all of his dumb jokes. He gave her a hug every time he came home from work.
One night he did not come home. Mother thinks he ran off with another woman, but I know he did not because he was so smitten by her. She is still upset. She was not heartless at that moment when she realized he was gone, but later mother cried. There was no finality, no words, no yelling, just gone. I went looking for him in town, out in the fields, in his favorite haunts, but no. I did not want to go to the pit. The pit is where they put the dead.
I ran and kept running until I reached the smelly, bug infested, sad — so sad — pit. I recognized his clothing first. An old shirt Cinderella said her mother made for him. He wore it to the farm because my mother wanted to throw it out. His head was bashed in.
He was working on the farm and something happened. Mom wanted more stuff and he was trying to take an extra job. It did not go well. The animals knew Dad was tired and they kicked him in the sweet spot. He was just another itinerant worker from somewhere else: ugly, middle-aged and poor. He ended up with the other unknown workers in the pit outside of town. Mother did not think to look in the open grave. She was so convinced of his adultery. I knew he was true to her. He always had an ear when I needed him to talk about my problems. I looked. I miss him so much. Mother did not want to know the truth.
The city is so hard for me to feel comfortable. It's filled with smoke from the kitchen fires which makes the air hard to breathe. Like my stepfather, working in the fields is where I feel quenched in spirit. The outdoors is where I feel calm among the growing plants. It's my escape. I met my mentor at school, a teacher visiting my school who invited anyone to come to his farm to learn how to grow edible plants in large fields. I was the only one to take up on his offer. Every time I was at the farm he taught me something new and I shared with him my plan. He laughed. That was five years ago. He doesn’t laugh at me anymore. I’m always in the fields. Someday, he says, he will give me my own field. Someday. I feel grateful for his friendship.
Finally, the prince’s birthday party is over. Oh my God! Mother is beside herself. All of her energy was to show off Anastasia and I. The shocker was Cinderella was at the party and swept the prince off his feet. Mother was right! Cinderella is a beautiful woman. She made a beautiful princess.
I’m lucky to have a wonderful stepsister. She helped me start my farm. I now have a table at the farmer’s market and I’m known for my flavorful, fresh tomatoes. Mother is hoping Anastasia will be her key to happiness. I think Mother needs to know just how beautiful she is and not depend on others to make her feel happy.
A Kingdom for a Shoe
by Sunny Lanning
Once upon a time…
The world had become dark and grey. With the sun blotted out by permanent radioactive cloud cover, all life forms were condemned to a life indoors.
Mostly, this was not so bad. Cities had become an intricate web of covered bridges and tunnels, much like the charming yellow hamster tubes of yesteryear.
Hamsters were, of course, extinct now, just like all other domestic pets and all of the wildlife that needed an outdoor environment in which to thrive.
Except for cats. The occasional feral cat could still sometimes be seen, an urban legend slinking around the corners of toxic buildings without a care for the bone-melting gamma rays soaking through fur and tissue with every step.
Every morning, Kara paused on the J Street pedestrian overpass to scan the deserted streets, half-hoping she would see such a mythical creature. Yet the barren cityscape that met her eye remained the same — a child’s doll abandoned on the center stripe, a compact car with the door left wide open, an overflowing trashcan, all of it dusted a deep, metallic greenish-gray color. For much of humanity, the warnings had come too late. There were other streets, usually inaccessible due to government intervention, where there were skeletal remains in agonizing death poses, propped up against doorways with entreating hands wrapped around locked doorknobs.
The world had changed since the failure of the proposed Great Peace Treaty of 2025. The new reality was a shadowy oligarchy that controlled the buildings, the tunnels, even the precious clean air. Orders were given and received; that was how society functioned smoothly, without question or rancor.
After all, there was work to do.
At precisely 8:00 bright and early on Montag morning Kara reported to her cubicle, feeling pleasantly blank and ready for the long day ahead. Logging into her terminal with practiced speed, Kara began the necessary computations that comprised the bulk of her ordinary work. She, and dozens of others like her, moderated and modified real-time gaming simulations sponsored by the government. It was not yet mandatory to participate, although the majority of the population played relentlessly by choice, trying to be the One to break the system.
In two hundred and three years, this had not happened, purely because people like Kara existed to ensure that it did not happen. Therefore, everyone stayed obsessively engaged within the game, when not productively employed elsewhere.
It was government control at its finest.
At 5:00 Kara stood up and stretched, flexing her fingers. Slowly reality came back into focus as the lines of code faded from the screen. Pushing in her chair and neatly squaring her keyboard to align with the edge of her desk, she left her station and began the three-tunnel commute home. The elevators were crowded, as usual, with each individual very careful not to touch one another. Marked silhouettes on the floor indicated where one’s feet should go and determined the exact number of persons who could board, as well as regulating a polite distance between passengers.
Kara could think of no other time that this was not normal.
And yet… She pushed the idea away; it was too private a thought for a public place.
At 5:55 she swiped the key card to her assigned compartment, 400 square feet called “home”. There was a sink, a tiny refrigerator, a bed, and not much else. It was neither good nor bad, for there was nothing else to compare it to. As far back as she could remember Kara had always been in a room like this one.
Staring at the ancient analog clock, Kara waited out the countdown. In fifteen minutes she would be required to report in to the common hall cafeteria, but after that she would have time of her own.
At last.
Because Kara had a secret.
Kara could… dream.
Like no other before her, Kara wandered far, far afield while she slept. She dreamt of wide blue skies and lying on green grass, watching white clouds morphing into the shapes of dragons and unicorns. She could taste the soft wheat bread and savory roast beef of an overflowing sandwich; crunching a red apple between her teeth, she wandered into a forest with twenty shades of green, all dappled in warm yellow sunlight.
Every night, Kara re-discovered the world that had been, a world full of forbidden memories she was too young to possess, a world she had never known.
Nevertheless… she dreamt them anyway and knew them all by name, words long outlawed and then forgotten, her mind exploring and assimilating at a supercomputer rate a history of man that no one knew anymore.
Freitag was the last required unit of the work-week cycle. Between after-dinner and bedtime curfew, Kara was free to indulge in extracurricular activities. What she most wanted was access to the Library, but that required nearly the highest government clearance. So instead Kara visited a friend whose room was directly opposite those imposing locked gates. One glimpse, once a week as she turned smartly to rap on Pala’s door at precisely 7:30 was all she had.
Sometimes at night Kara would try to dream herself inside, but she was too new to remember books and the purpose of fairy tales. There could be dragons! Golden treasures! The idea of what could be hidden there was seductively attractive.
“Kara!” Pala exclaimed, opening the door to an identical compartment. The two friends exchanged the ritual greeting handshake and then settled into an exciting evening of chess.
The next morning began with the comforting sameness instilled by standardized routine. Kara awoke, showered in the community lavatory down the hall, and consumed two protein units in the cafeteria. She regularly rotated who she associated with in order to broaden her social circle, and this time she sat with a bright, brown-eyed girl named Tolya. Tolya worked in the Undersphere, the darkest and deepest tunnels that housed all of the machinery that kept the city running. Still, Tolya was immaculately neat and lively, her conversation soothingly bland and civilized. They agreed to meet again midweek at dinner.
I wonder if Tolya dreams? Kara considered as she walked down the hall. She shook her head. It was simply too dangerous to ask.
Back in her room, Kara sat on the edge of her mattress and waited. It was only 7:58. Her itinerary for the remainder of Samstag would appear on a ticket from the machine embedded like a black wart in the wall at exactly 8:00.
And so it did… but it was a ticket unlike any other she had ever received, in all her years of service.
“9:00: Report to the Grand Library for a ball.”
“A… ball?” The word was foreign and unnatural in her mouth. She could not immediately access an image to associate with such a term.
Perplexed, she frowned at the small slip of paper.
It was otherwise entirely blank.
No sports? No racquetball or backgammon or tennis on any of the indoor courts from 9:00 to 10:30?
No required community service from 11:00 to 1:00?
No mandatory social etiquette training from 2:00 to 3:00?
A sharp knock startled Kara even more. What next, she wondered as she answered the door.
An anonymous trooper dressed in the usual grimy white fatigues with a black visor shielding his face stood smartly at attention. Kara blinked, twice, as he began to speak by rote.
“Each individual is required to dress in accordance with the formality of this great occasion, the first Government Gala of its kind in over a century. Costumes will be made available to you, and all other eligible maidens, in Building C2 Quarter 3 Room 15 from 9:00 to 11:00 after which time if you have not selected the proper equipment, you will be out of compliance. Do you have any questions?”
There were many things Kara wanted to know, but she gave the standard response: “Understood. Thank you.”
Curiouser and curiouser — the strange words swirled through her mind like an old-fashioned fantasy. Quickly she gathered her requisite ID badge and slung a small bag over her shoulder, should the “equipment” be cumbersome to carry.
Who knew there could be such an adventure, she thought to herself as she stepped into the hall.
Up ahead the elevator’s orange light blinked, indicating only ten seconds left before the metal doors would slide shut. It would not return until exactly fifteen minutes later.
For the first time in her twenty-four years, Kara began to run.
◆◆◆
“They are all the same,” the young man grumbled, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot in his very shiny black boots.
“Of course, m’lord,” his senior advisor replied, surprised. “There are some factors that are altered to provide variety, such as height and hair color, but for the most part they are all products of the same mold with identical circuitry.”
“I know, I know.” The King’s son rubbed his jaw, tired before the evening had even begun.
“May I remind His Highness that this is the tradition of your family, passed down from father to son these many generations?” The older gentleman raised a black eyebrow at the heir apparent, who straightened up automatically.
“No, Alfred, you may not. I know my duty.” His Excellency Charles Munn turned on one heel and began the long descent down the curved staircase. The Duke of Quarter Four watched him with the slightest frown creasing his broad forehead. There were no real flesh and blood women left in the world, but technology had thankfully been preserved and refined to the point where these impersonators were as close as man could make them.
Better, really, the Duke mused, following a few paces behind His Excellency. The consorts provided stress-relief in multiple methods with invariably perfect technique, as well as providing the right degree of companionship to alleviate depression. They would not age, nor question authority. They provided a sense of normalcy in a male-dominated society, allowing most people to forget that the world had changed.
It was all scientific, right down to each and every detail.
◆◆◆
The Great Library is nothing but a boring old room! Kara bit back her disappointment, craning to see around the crush of guests. Slipping under a gold rope, she took two steps, then three up an endless flight of stairs, trying to peer into the shadows of the tall shelves towering on the far side.
“Oof!” Kara collided into a large, bulky someone and slipped dangerously, arms pinwheeling for balance.
“Watch out, there,” a husky voice advised, catching her elbow and pulling her back with another hand around her waist.
“I do apologize, I am so… embarrassed,” Kara whispered. The unusual word tasted strange on her tongue, like a flavor without a name.
Like… strawberries — the thought came unbidden and went just as quickly.
Smoothing her elegant dress, she turned to the stranger, looking up into his blue eyes as her ingrained manner programming took over.
“Hello, may I introduce myself?” she asked. Then, for reasons entirely unknown, she laughed and shrugged her shoulders, dipping her chin down and then peeping up at him through her eyelashes.
The man looked quite stunned, which indicated a high success rate of said behavior. With a shrug of her white shoulders, she tucked her arm through his.
“My name is Kara. Would you please escort me to the floor? It is my first time in these tiny shoes,” she continued.
“Yes, indeed. Er, yes, you may —” the flustered young man took a deep breath, staring at her intently. “My name is — Charles. You may call me Charles.”
“Well, Charles, I do declare,” Kara said, tapping him on the forearm. An image of a dark-haired woman
in a green and white dress layered with flounces and frills materialized in her mind’s eye, improbably sitting outside and discussing barbeque with many well-dressed suitors crowding about.
Yes, that is correct — the thought was hazily indistinct.
Charles conducted her to the bottom of the stairs where waves of people stepped aside, following the impeccable propriety protocols.
“Do you —” Charles bit his lip, his expression abruptly bitter. Kara watched this transformation with concern, before he roughly grabbed her hand and swept her out to the center of the floor.
Somewhere, recorded music began to play, the same melody used in the required etiquette trainings.
“Charles?” she asked after a few moments of strained silence. “Are there any secrets in the Library? I used to — I used to think there might be dragons in here.”
Jerking his head around to look straight into her blue eyes, her partner stopped and nearly tangled them both into a heap in front of everyone before resuming the waltz.
“What did you say?” he asked, and she looked down at her toes before remembering, again, the pretty brunette with the vivacious sparkle in her eye.
“I said I thought there were dragons, behind these locked doors,” she replied airily, “and maybe hobbits and a hoard of golden treasure.”
Unlike all the men to be decanted from a test tube before him, Charles was the sole governmental heir to harbor a deep love of reading. At the age of sixteen he had formally annexed the Great Library as part of his bedroom suite, and thus this extravagant party was actually being hosted within the grand chambers of his living room.
“What would we even do with treasure,” Charles murmured, relaxing for the first time as he felt the shape of her back under his palm, the nearness of her heart-shaped face. “I don’t…” He paused, suddenly hesitant to disappoint her.
In twenty-six years, he had never felt this welter of emotions — confusion, wonder, delight, accompanied by an accelerated heart rate and an increasing awareness of the female form swathed in icy-blue silk before him. Other couples, select officials chosen to provide partners to the hundred plus guests, swirled around them in a riot of color and precision.
Cinderella Reimagined Page 5