Once Upon A Dystopia: An Anthology of Twisted Fairy Tales and Fractured Folklore

by Heather Carson

  Once Upon a Dystopia:

  An Anthology of Twisted Fairy Tales and Fractured Folklore

  Table of Contents

  Caught in the Siren’s Wake - Copyright © 2021 Audrey M. Stevens

  Glass - Copyright © 2021 Kathryn Jacques

  Big Bad Wolfe and the Three Little P.I.G.G.s - Copyright © 2021 Jared K. Chapman

  Twisted - Copyright © 2021 K.R.S. McEntire

  While They Sleep - Copyright © 2021 Heather Carson

  The Fairest Blade - Copyright © 2021 L. B. Winters

  Heterochromia - Copyright © 2021 Mikhaeyla Kopievsky

  Wings - Copyright © 2021 Emily Pirrello

  The Bridge - Copyright © 2021 Ginny Young

  The Frozen Eye - Copyright © 2021 Harry Carpenter

  Goldie Bear - Copyright © 2021 Emily VanOverloop

  Atlas: The Tale of Hanna and Greta - Copyright © 2021 A.K. Harris

  My Own Skin - Copyright © 2021 Sherri Cook Woosley

  Lieutenant Red Hood - Copyright © 2021 Jordyn Kieft

  Forever Young - Copyright © 2021 Haleigh Diann

  HOOD: A Grindhouse Robin Hood Tale - Copyright © 2021 Jared K. Chapman

  Jack, the Clock, and the Beanstalk- Copyright © 2021 J. Lynn Hicks

  The Piper - Copyright © 2021 Christine French

  The Seven Kids - Copyright @ 2021 Audrey M. Stevens

  Spinner’s Song - Copyright @ 2021 Heather Carson

  Caught in the Siren’s Wake

  By Audrey M. Stevens

  “Veya! Oh my! Wake up!” my mother says excitingly, shaking me awake. This summer has been hot, and my skin sticks to the thin sheets made of plant fibers and wool.

  “What?” I ask my mother in a groggy voice as I wipe a few strands of my thick, black hair off my face.

  “Look!” she says, pointing her finger at my leaf-stuffed mattress. I slowly sit up on my elbows and look to where she is pointing. Even though my eyes are blurry and adjusting to the rising sun, I can still see the red-soaked stain on my sheet below my abdomen.

  I immediately sit up and pull the sheet off my body. More blood sits on my nightgown. I quickly stand next to my mother and see the blood has seeped into the fibers of the mattress. My heart sinks and my stomach ties itself in knots.

  “You have become a woman today! I must go fetch Charon!” She turns to leave me.

  “Mother!” I call in a frightened voice, making her stop. When she sees my worried expression, she comes back to embrace me.

  “Today is a cause for celebration, not remorse,” she says, kissing my forehead. “The weather is good and the sea will bless you with good travels.” She releases me and quickly leaves my room.

  I look back to my ruined mattress and sheet. I stare at the gore and feel a sudden hatred for my body. I don’t want to be a woman. Not now, not ever. I strike one fist on the mattress, and then my other, and then hit it again, over and over until I am completely exhausted.

  I slowly fall to the dirt floor and lean against my mattress. Tears well in my eyes as I watch the loose particles float in the sunlight. Their happy dancing makes me want to catch each one and bury them deep in the ground. My mother has been preparing me for this day for my entire life, but it won’t make today any better.

  Through my tears, I see my father enter the room. He stands in the doorway, inspecting the sight from a distance. His body is stiff and he doesn’t say a word. I wish he would say something, anything, so that I may speak. Today I’m a woman and I’m no longer permitted to speak to a man unless he interacts with me first. It’s almost as if he is testing me now as he stares at me in my most fragile state. I want to break the rules, but being beaten before I’m forced to board Charon’s boat will do me no good. I will need my good health and strength.

  My mother appears behind my father and waits for him to move. He stands for a few more moments before leaving us to tend to our womanly needs. Once he is gone, my mother enters the room and squats down beside me. “Veya, my dear, what did I say?” She wipes the tears from my face. “It is an honor to become a woman. Today is not for remorse. If you must cry, get out all your tears now. Your father will not tolerate the embarrassment of your emotions outside of our hut.” Anger fills my body, but I nod my head in understanding.

  “I had your brother fetch a pail of water from the sea. You must bath in it while I dye your gown.” She speaks to me as if I don’t already know what is expected of me today. She stands and sticks out her hand, offering to help me up. I look to her hand and then to her, not wanting to leave this spot. She sighs. “Causing a delay will not prevent today's events from occurring.”

  I wonder, for a moment, if she remembers the emotions that went through her head on the day she became a woman. Was she angry and scared like I am, or was she proud and confident like she says she was? I don’t know how any woman could willingly want to leave the island. If death wasn’t the other option, I would be more defiant.

  Not wanting today to be my last, and not wanting to bring shame on my family, I grab my mother’s hand and stand beside her. “I need your gown dear.” My mother gestures at my stained garment. I lift the thinned wool over my head and give it to my mother. “I’ll be back soon,” she smiles. “Please be ready when I return,” she adds before leaving me again.

  As I stand alone in my room, I look down at my cursed body. My flat chest and square hips give me a clear view of my bare pelvis that is stained red between my thighs. Over the next few years I will develop my body hair and breasts, making me worthy enough to rejoin my islanders. Until then, I will wait on the isolated island of Wahine Pono.

  I hear my brother in the next room sloshing around my two buckets of seawater. I take in a deep breath and walk toward the sound. When I enter the tub room, I see my ten-year-old brother, Frey, finish dumping the second bucket into the wooden basin. He looks at me, but only sees the stain on my inner thighs. I look at him and envy him. Frey will never know the pain of leaving the island or the family. He will get to stay here once he becomes a man. Once Frey’s voice deepens and his body hair grows in, he will gain the respect due a man and will be eligible to wed a woman that has returned from Wahine Pono. His innocent eyes meet my anger filled face for only a moment before he darts out of the room.

  I take in a deep breath and step into the saltwater bath. I watch as the blood slowly disappears as if it were never there, causing the water to gain a light hue of pink. I wish the blood wasn’t there. I push the wishful thinking aside and submerge my head in the water drowning out all the noises of the village. Is this what it sounds like on Wahine Pono? Like nothing?

  Other girls have been sent to the island just like I will be, but are they still there? Will I be sentenced to years in solitude? Or are the other women who have gone before me still waiting for their opportunity to come back?

  I can’t hold my breath anymore and I’m not brave enough to allow the water to fill my lungs so I quickly sit up, gasping for air. When I have caught my breath, I slowly sink back down, into the tub and rest my head on the edge of the basin. A feeling of hopelessness slowly envelops me as anxiety creeps though my body.

  “Did you scrub your hair dear?” my mother asks from the hallway. I don’t look up to meet her gaze or answer her as she enters the room. “Here, let me,” she says, squatting behind me and running her nails along my scalp. “It’s imp
ortant to lather in the salt,” she explains.

  “I collected the seaweed for your crown and have Vada braiding it now. Your dress is drying on the line.” She stops scrubbing my scalp and kisses me on the forehead. “Everything is ready once you are finished cleaning up.” She stands and leaves the room.

  I stay until I can no longer bear the chill of the water. My hair has almost completely dried and my fingers and toes are wrinkled. I step out of the bath and slowly make my way back to my room. The sun has risen to the point that its warmth fills the house, but the bumps on my skin and the chill in my back don’t go away.

  When I enter my room, I see that my stained mattress has already been removed. Instead, on top of the worn, wooden frame, my crown and dyed gown lay, waiting for me. The stain of my blood on my gown has been hidden with the red dye of the berries. Our neighbor, Vada, has taken it upon herself to add palm leaves amongst the woven seaweed. I stare at the pair of them, willing them to disappear, but they stay, taunting me.

  I lift the dress and catch a whiff of the soured berries as the gown slides over my head and onto my body. I place the entwined fibers securely on my head. I still feel naked, but I am now ready to be presented to the village as a woman. My feet must remain bare and my hair in its natural state. That’s how it is meant to be.

  I take a deep breath and enter into the main living area of my father’s hut. My entire family is pacing the room, waiting for me. I clear my throat, and all at once their eyes fall on me. My mother looks elated, my brother sad, and my father disappointed.

  “Everyone is waiting,” he says in an annoyed tone. I nod my head and bite my tongue, not wanting today to become worse than it already is. He gestures for me to exit the house.

  I hold my head high and enter into the sunlight. The entire village has lined up, forming a path from my house to the ocean. My stomach feels as if it has twisted in on itself. I swallow down the bile that feels like it may spill out of my mouth and begin my walk to the sea.

  As I walk, my family stays close behind, escorting me away from our home. No one speaks, but they all watch. I see the excited looks from the young girls who do not yet understand the curse we are under. Men stare at me, wondering that if I return, if I will be their wife. I try not to meet the eyes of anyone and keep my gaze on the water.

  I walk past the muffled cries of my friend, Eva, but I can’t stand to look at her. I must stay strong. I’m one of the oldest in our generation, and I have to set an example. We all knew this day would come, but it was impossible to know when. Since it has been five years since a woman was sent to Wahine Pono, I guess we all just stayed ignorant to the fact that my time was getting closer and closer.

  We have made our way to the center of the village and I am forced to walk by the statue of the woman who made this tradition possible. I want to spit on it, but know it will bring shame on my family and me. Her presence on this island over a hundred years ago has wasted the lives of many innocent girls.

  We’ve been told the story of the woman of the sea. Before her arrival, women didn’t have to prove themselves worthy of living. Men and women married and had children based on mutual agreements or love. Our way of life was simple, but that all changed when she came to our shores.

  A large storm had been brewing over the sea and our village was preparing itself for a brutal night. Just before sunset, a beautiful woman came rising out of the sea. She wore nothing except a crown of seaweed on her head. The villagers wondered where she came from and how she had survived, alone in the sea. They asked her many questions, but she didn’t utter a single word.

  She seemed unaffected by the raging water behind her. The naked woman walked along our beaches, all the while gaining the affection of every man in the village. Her poise, beauty, and silence emphasized all the flaws in the women residing on the island.

  Once she had turned the hearts of all the men with her perfection, she returned back into the sea. The storm that was developing suddenly faded as she entered the water. The story says that several men even tried to follow her back into the sea, never to be seen again. The last thing the men saw of the woman was a large fish-like tail following close behind her perfect bust.

  Even after the mysterious woman left, the men still yearned for her presence. They despised that their wives weren’t like her. In their hatred, many of the men killed their spouses in a fit of rage, finding it better to have no wife at all.

  Many of the young girls became afraid of their fathers, worried that they would not live up to the men’s new standards. In order to prove that they deserved a husband and a life in our village, the young girls were forced into the sea like the mysterious woman. If the young girls could prove that they could survive on their own, against the strength of the ocean, they would be allowed to return.

  Not knowing where the woman came from, the men placed the young girls on a small, deserted island within sight of their own island. The men decided that once a girl became a woman, she would be sent to the island and could not return until her body was developed and ready for a man. The women would not be given any supplies nor help from the islanders. They had to do it all on their own.

  Since then, all young girls have been taken to the island. In the five years since the last girl was sent away, only two have returned. It has been said that the journey on the boat to the island takes many hours and that the trek back without a boat can take days.

  I keep my body stiff for the rest of the walk, resisting the urge to turn around and run back into my room. Well, what used to be my room. I no longer live there. Even if I do return, my father will immediately pair me with a suitor and I will go live with him. I will never return to my father’s hut. For me, love has become a thing of the past. All that is left are standards that must be met.

  Charon has a small grin on his face as he watches me inch closer and closer to him. His facial expression resembles that of a proud father, but he is far from it. I already know that if the sea or island doesn’t kill me, Charon will. He will kill me if I run now and he will kill me if today I exit the boat too soon. If I don’t attempt to return to the island within seven years, he will come to Wahine Pono to hunt me down for shaming my gender.

  He is the only man allowed on the island. His role is one of enforcement and is highly respected by the leaders of our island. He is tasked with the delivery of every girl along with the death of every woman who refuses to participate in our traditions. Charon will never marry nor have children. He is a eunuch with the life altering power of a god and the smirk of a demon.

  I grind my teeth and purse my lips as we approach him. My eyebrows are furrowed and my fists are clenched as anger rises up within me. I have to force my bare feet onto the hot sand, but I don’t show my discomfort from the heat on my soles. Instead, I keep a steady pace, straight for Charon’s boat.

  When I reach the wooden frame of his vessel, I don’t stop to look at him. I lift up my leg, ready to board until my mother grasps my hand. My aggravated expression falls from my face when I feel her touch.

  I turn to her and notice her bottom lip quivering. She quickly looks me over, studying each of my features as if she will never see me again. She may not. I may never see anyone on this island again.

  “Come back soon, Veya,” she whispers to me as she releases her grip. I glance at my brother who has stayed by my father’s side. His eyes are glued to the ground, not wanting to upset me further. I suddenly wish I hadn’t been so rude to him this morning. This is as much his fault as it is mine; none of us get a say in our future. I want to run to him and embrace him one last time, but I am a woman now and he is a man. I no longer have the right to do as I wish.

  Before I step into the boat, I look to my father who seems unimpressed and bored. He doesn’t utter a word and looks at me like I mean nothing. My anger boils again under my skin. I sit myself down forcefully, ready for Charon to row us out to his large boat so I may leave this life of unachievable perfection behind me.

 
***

  The water was rough and choppy, but after a few hours of silence, Charon and I finally made it into the reef of Wahine Pono. It is my first time on a boat and I hope it is my last. The rocking and sudden movements made my head ache, my stomach uneasy, and my muscles spasm.

  “This is as far as I take you,” Charon says as he quickly throws down the heavy anchor and the boat leans to one side. The sharp turn takes me off guard and I almost fall into the water. I have only just regained my balance when he throws a small sack into my crossed arms.

  “Basic provisions,” he explains when I give him a puzzled look. I peek into the bag and catch a glimpse of a hook, fishing line, sharpened knife, and a small piece of flint.

  My jaw hangs low as I shake the bag, looking for more. I’m astonished by the lack of provisions he has provided. “Get on your way. I’m expected back before nightfall,” he says, shooing me like a feral animal.

  “But…” I begin, gesturing to the island that is still at least a mile away. Charon rears back his hand, ready to strike me for speaking, but stops the motion when I don’t continue to argue. I lean over the side of the boat and look into the crystal-clear water far below. I can see the bottom, but know I won’t be able to reach it. I will have to swim.

  I take in a deep breath and jump into the cool water, clinging tight to my only belongings as I refrain from screaming during my fall. Bubbles dance around me as I bounce back up to the surface. When I open my eyes, I see the boat has already begun its trek back, swaying from side to side as if waving goodbye. My fiber crown floats beside me.

  ***

  The weight of my gown and my one occupied hand makes my swim to shore more difficult. When I can finally stand on the ocean’s floor, I catch my breath and curse Charon for not bringing me in closer with his rowboat. It’s midday and I haven’t had anything to eat or drink. My body is beginning to feel the fatigue of my journey.

  The shoreline is now in view. This island resembles my home. The white sand stretches up the beach, following the flow of the rising and falling tides. The sand quickly blurs into rocks and shrubbery before allowing trees to grow tall on the horizon. I catch a glimpse of a few silhouettes on the beach and just within the tree line. I’m not sure if they have yet to notice my presence, or they just don’t care.