Twisted Ever After

by Celeste Thrower

  With the toe of her boot, she nudged Hook’s body over the edge. He fell unceremoniously into the pit, and the crocodiles pounced, hauling the body under the water to feast.

  “Come, I have something you need to see.”

  Wendy pulled Peter by the hand through the towering smokestack. Engines chugged and pushed sooty smoke up through a hole in the roof. The machine’s mechanisms dripped gooey black oil, and the air was heavy with the stench of exhaust.

  He coughed as the fumes stung the back of his throat.

  “There are six of them,” she said, tugging him to a door at the back.

  She rested her hand on the door handle and waited.

  “Six of what?”

  Aware of the lubricant dripping from the gash and the glow of the blue neural fibers under his skin, he yanked down his sleeve.

  Wendy’s eyes softened, and she thrust open the door.

  Inside, their legs shackled by heavy iron chains, were half a dozen small boys.

  “Peter, these are the lost boys. Orphans who have been stolen from different colonies in the wastelands to work here in the machine rooms. There were more, but over time they disappeared.”

  “Where?”

  “No one seems to know for sure, but the boys think they grew too big to crawl into the cogs and rotors to clean them, making them worthless. The spaces are small, and the little ones are a better fit.”

  Peter’s brow knit as he scanned the small scared faces of the children in front of him. Growing up in the wastelands was not easy, but for the smaller boys it was a matter of life and death. He had no doubt those missing boys were dead because they dared to grow up.

  His mind wandered back to the crocodile pit, and he shivered—they get rid of the trash.

  “Peter, they need you,” Wendy said, snapping him out of his disturbing thoughts.

  He looked down at his little sister and thought about all the times he had protected her over the years. It was true these boys needed somebody, but it certainly wasn’t him. They required someone they could trust, and he didn’t even trust himself anymore.

  He thought about the words Tinker had whispered to him not long ago—sometimes death is the only way out of this hell. Optimism had never been one of her strong suits, but Peter wondered if maybe she was right. Maybe there was no way to bring back the world of his parents or build the one Wendy craved.

  Maybe this was all there would ever be until death pulled you into its sweet oblivion. And if this was the truth, then power was the one thing that mattered, and the only way to survive.

  And now, because of Hook’s death, he had it.

  Peter stood on the quarter deck of the airship.

  The gasbags hissed as they filled, and the rickety craft rose skyward. Laden with food and water, it shuddered and struggled to stay aloft. With a creaking groan, it ascended into the winds that swirled in the upper atmosphere and sailed effortlessly toward their destination.

  At the helm, Tinker turned the ship’s wheel with her mechanical hand, steering it toward the first outpost. Wendy had climbed to the end of the bowsprit where a wooden chair was mounted. There she sat, an unbroken spyglass to her eye, surveying the landscape.

  The iron fortress rose up behind them. A black metal monstrosity with capabilities to sustain survivors for years to come.

  Neverland was his now.

  Killing Hook meant taking his place as the most powerful Machinist in this unrelenting, wasted world.

  Twilight beckoned and the stars began to twinkle above them, a solitude one could only find in the sky.

  Peter thought about his father—Dr. Darling. In his attempt to save mankind from certain extinction, he’d inadvertently created a world of machines and monsters, of which Peter was both.

  “You will never grow up or grow old.” Hook’s words floated through his mind, and he grinned, a mischievous turn of his lips that matched the devious spark flashing in his eyes.

  Faint blue streams of electrical currents glistened under his skin.

  Maybe he didn’t want to.

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  A TALE OF SOULS AND GOLD

  BY MARCIA SOLIGO

  A RETELLING OF RUMPELSTILTSKIN WITH A WITTY TWIST.

  Once upon a time, long, long ago—or not so long after all—a kingdom was divided, filled with corruption and lacking in kindness. Prejudice, anger, and greed hid between the tall trees and wildflowers of the small village that was once inviting and colorful.

  And color—or the lack thereof—meant so much there. The elders of the village, the ones who could still speak and reminisce, would talk about colors. They would talk about how life used to gleam in yellow, red, and blue around these parts. How there were flowers everywhere, laughter, and kindness, and how the green of the trees was once so electric. But now the city seemed to have become a somber shade of gray.

  Everywhere one would look, there was a frown, there was brown, and there was gray. And it all started when King Eberhard came to power many moons ago.

  When King Eberhard ascended, he was young and sought gold above all things. And as the elders would say, gold alone wasn’t a problem. It could bring light and blessings. The problem lay when one forgot that there was more to gold than gold alone and started on a quest to only gain more and more.

  Time passed, and as King Eberhard grew older, he also grew worse, more indifferent to people’s needs and matters of the heart. And having acquired riches as the sole purpose in his life, he brought disaster to the village, but he didn’t seem to see it. Because true sight is not for everybody. The purest truth is not seen through the eyes. It’s only seen through one’s heart.

  And that’s where our story begins.

  The tall trees hid the sun, which shone bright but pale in the morning sky. The sunshine’s rays came through the leaves and touched Minna’s body as she lay on the forest floor, weighing on the ground under her and sensing the strong smell of rosemary.

  “Rosemary, elderberry, truth be told I’ll never get married,” she said jokingly to no one, a smile on her face. “Oh, life… Will I ever leave this place?”

  The fields around Mistletown were full of fragrant herbs and flowers. The village elders used to say that nature found a way to compensate when everything around turned kind of gray. One would find no trouble in foraging tasty herbs in the woods; it wouldn’t take a lot of effort or even the help of an expert to follow the enticing smells of thyme, basil or mint. However, appearances would be quite deceiving. From the strong smell, one would think that they would encounter beautiful, colorful plants, bursting with life and chlorophyll. But around Mistletown, every single leaf had a grayish tone, as color seemed to have left the place for good.

  Minna was born in a little house just outside Mistletown not that many springs ago. Her parents’ hut was right in between the town and the forest, in a place that could easily be nowhere, for it had no name; it appeared on no map. So that was how she became Minna of Nowhere. She didn’t truly belong or really fit in, except in her own little head.

  She was young and wild-hearted, and her body would ache for a life bigger and with more color than the one she dealt with. She’d run through the woods faster than her legs could bear in the hopes of escaping to the whimsical worlds she created in her mind. And that was how she spent most of her idle hours, lying in nature and creating stories. Stories that were sometimes too big for her tiny body and would burst out of her in the shape of adventure tales that would brighten up her parents’ day for a little while.

  They were tales about faraway lands, fair kings and queens, love conquering all, hope and noble warriors. Minna would talk and talk until her parents fell asleep in the most sound and safe sleep they ever had. And they would dream of fantastic places and a colorful life.

  Minna’s stories were, in more ways than one, the only escape people had from that place, because there were no boo
ks in the village; nobody even knew what those were. There was no high entertainment, only dark and mischievous laughs, the kind found in suspicious corners and dirty taverns around town.

  “Minna, it’s almost time. Hurry up!”

  A voice came from inside the hut, and Minna moved for the first time in a while, waking up from some kind of meditation, her head spinning and her eyes adapting to the gloomy reality of her surroundings.

  She hurried inside to find her mother doing the same thing she did every day: getting ready for all that she had to do every single day.

  “I’ll need you to get some bread and butter. And some berries if you find them on your way home,” said her mother, barely looking at Minna.

  “Yes, ma’am. Do you need anything else?”

  “No. Just come straight home afterward. These times are unsafe, and you mustn’t get lost or be late.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” answered Minna, walking out the door.

  Ever since Minna could remember, the town was unsafe. The safest place around this kingdom seemed to be the forest, with its protecting trees and shielded bushes. The truth was that there was no appealing reason to stay late in a town like this. No reason to get lost in these gray somber alleys and delay her arrival at home. Every time she strolled through the village, an unsettling ache would take over her heart, followed by a desire to run away.

  The path from her house to the village was, at first, surrounded by trees. Tall and twisted ones that followed her to the closest main road. Everything around was dark and misty, even though it was quite early in the morning and there was a faint sun in the sky. In Mistletown, every single season of the year was like winter, but damp and heavy as summer, as though the seasons had forgotten how they were supposed to work. Time in Mistletown seemed frozen in darkness.

  Minna walked through the woods and up to the main road until she arrived at the village. People passed her by, doing their things, and their sad, low eyes seemed to avoid hers, as if she represented something they would much like to forget. To her, they seemed to have lost their souls, being now mere empty bodies walking around. They could be just waiting for something that could awake them from this miserable dream they called life.

  The road was made of stones, and there were puddles on the ground. The houses on the street were well made, tall, and they all carried the king’s flag by the front door: a pompous circle in burgundy and white, with a black falcon in the middle, and they were all very pale and worn.

  Finally, Minna got to the bakery. The building had a huge glass window in the front showing some pies, pieces of bread, and rolls. She took a deep breath and smelled the overpowering scent of the baked goods. She stepped inside and found a small wrinkled woman wearing a dull apron.

  “What do you want today?” said the woman unpleasantly.

  “Just some bread and butter, please.”

  The lady disappeared through the back doors and returned with the bread and butter. Minna got them and left. She walked through the dreary streets once more and found her way into the forest, looking for wild blueberries and strawberries.

  The fog was dense and quite high, and everything she touched was wet. The wind blew softly, making the branches swing and the leaves fall from the trees. And from the darkness of the woods, a scent became stronger and stronger.

  “The blood of the berries is tainting your hands, my dear,” said a coarse voice hiding behind a hood, appearing out of nowhere and finding a ray of light amidst the fog.

  Minna was startled. There weren’t a lot of people who would venture into the woods like she did. They never had the time and never saw the point of spending their precious hours in nature.

  “This isn’t blood. This is life,” said Minna.

  “Yes, but what is life if not blood?”

  “Excuse me, but who are you?” asked Minna, studying the woman in front of her and looking for her face, still hiding under the dark brown cloak.

  “I’m just a messenger. You like telling stories, so I hear.”

  “Yes.”

  “But are you prepared for where they will take you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m just a messenger. I don’t mean much.”

  Minna frowned. The woods around her seemed to have become darker, and the foul scent that the lady had brought with her was getting stronger by the minute, making Minna a bit dizzy and fogging her brain.

  “And what’s your message about, dare I ask?”

  “Your life will change today.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your life will change today.” The woman paused briefly. “You may live, you may die. That’s not up to me to decide, but the blood or lack thereof will lie in your hands. Measure your words, create your worlds, and maybe a way out you will find.” She removed her hood, and her eyes found Minna’s for the first time. They were wide and bright purple, and she stared at Minna with a faint, excited smile. Her large face was full of wrinkles.

  Minna took a minute. The unexpected vision and the strange message took her breath away. She kept looking into the woman’s eyes, completely paralyzed.

  The woman blinked, cutting the connection between the two of them. She then stepped back and smiled, putting back her hood and walking away at that pace that is very common to old age.

  “H…h…hey! Don’t go yet. I want to know more,” said Minna, but she had no answer. The woman just kept walking away until she disappeared into the dark mist that covered the forest.

  Minna spent some time weighing all she had just learned, even though nothing had made a lot of sense. Her hands were tainted dark from the berries, but in the gloomy colors of the forest, the sight gave her goosebumps.

  Her walk home from that moment on was uneventful. She got to the hut and kept up with her chores. And once in a while, she would remember the sight of that strange woman and her odd message, and that would make her anxious until she got distracted with something else.

  Night thickened, and it was almost time for bed. Nights in Mistletown were extremely dark, for the moon never shone, and there were never any stars guiding travelers or adventurers, or even lovers. And on this particular night, there was still no sign of Minna’s father.

  He would sometimes stay out until late, either working or drinking. There wasn’t much to do around these parts except that. But today he was remarkably late. The night was high in the forest, and Minna’s mother was already nervous, pacing, making the flames in the fireplace dance to her motions.

  But in the dark, they could see a point of light getting closer and closer to the house until they could make out Minna’s father. He was walking fast, almost running, and he closed the door behind him with a loud slam.

  “HIDE!” he yelled. His eyes almost jumped out of his face, and his cheeks and ears were quite red. “HIDE! DO AS I SAY NOW, MINNA. HIDE!”

  Her mother got up and followed her father’s lead, both of them pushing Minna around and looking for a place where she could fit and disappear. Everything happened too fast, and Minna had so many questions running through her mind, but no time to make them come to life.

  “Father, Father… STOP! What’s happening?”

  “They’re coming. We have no time to lose!” said her father, trying to squeeze Minna into a small closet in the kitchen.

  “Who is coming?” asked Minna.

  “The guards! The king’s guards!”

  Her mother suddenly stopped and let out a scream.

  “The king’s guards? But why on earth are they after me?”

  The father looked around and, for the first time, everybody stopped.

  “Oh Lord, what have you done?” Minna’s mother asked, sitting down on a chair.

  “You see… I had some drink, and so did my friends. They were bragging about their sons and how strong they were, and I bragged about you,” he said, looking in Minna’s direction. His eyes looked sad and proud at the same time, but soon shifted into despair. “I told them that you were a
ble to spin things into gold. Everything and anything into the most valuable gold.”

  “Why’d you do that, Father?”

  “Well… you do. You’ve been telling these stories made out of nowhere and they make us feel so happy. But the king’s guards were there at the tavern, and someone overheard us. Now, they’re after you. You should hide and let me and your mother deal with them. Hide and be quiet.” Her father pushed her inside the small closet and went to the living room. Her mother was silent, afraid of even making a sound.

  The king’s guards were known for being ruthless, and Minna wasn’t sure what to expect once they got inside. She knew that when they discovered the misunderstanding, they would have to find someone to blame, and there probably wouldn’t be much time to explain.

  The sound of horses galloping got closer and closer until the little cottage trembled. The king’s army didn’t knock; they just burst the door open and stepped inside, like they owned the place.

  “Where’s the girl?” asked the general. His voice was strong and confident, and Minna could hear him even from inside the kitchen closet.

  “There’s no girl. I was just... I was just bragging.”

  “I know you have a daughter. Where is she?”

  “She left,” said Minna’s mother. “She’s now far away, and you should just leave.”

  And then there was the clanging of swords, and Minna’s mother screamed. Minna burst out of the closet and ran into the living room, yelling, “I’m here! There’s no need to kill them. I’m here.”

  The guards stepped back and lowered their weapons, and the tall, ugly general talked once more:

  “Where’s the gold?”

  The air in the hut was cold, even though the fire was lit and strong. Minna’s breath rose into a mist before her, and she was shivering, but quite unsure if it was due to her nerves or the low temperature inside. Right now, Minna’s mind was working as fast as it ever did.