the morning after the ball
Where are those glass slippers? Have you seen them?
No, I remember you were the one drinking grog from the left one, not me. Oh! Here it is. A bit sticky, but none the worse for wear. But where did you put the other one? Oh, wait, there it is, on top of the armoire. How did it get up there?
What time is it? Doesn’t this castle have a sundial? Saints above! I’ll be late to light the fire. And then my step-mother will really tan my hide.
No, you can’t tan if for her. But you can help me lace up this infernal corset. A girl needs a fairy godmother to get into one of these things!
My smile? No matter. Just wait until my nasty step-sisters hear about this. No, I won’t kiss and tell, but they did see you dance with me all night…and then, when I didn’t come home… Well, it could be worse. One of them lost it to a troll. No, really, an actual troll. I don’t know, some kind of fetish she has.
No, I can’t stay for breakfast. I’ll have my Earl Grey when I get home. Besides, I really don’t want to meet your parents looking like this.
There. Not as good as when I arrived, but acceptable. Say, do you know of any good Pumpkin Carriage companies? I think mine split.
What? Announce our engagement? Woah! Take it easy Princely! Why would I want to settle down now? I’ve got everything I want; looks, wardrobe, a few sheckles in my beaded purse, and these kick-ass dancing shoes. But feel free to send a carrier pigeon round to me, if you like. Address it to ‘Cindy’.
Tonight? Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking about calling on Beauty. See if she wants a night away from that horribly stuffy Beast.
So, yeah…maybe I’ll see you at the next Grande Ball. Take care of yourself Prince Charming. Good luck with that whole finding-a-Princess thing. Send me an invite to the wedding.
posted by Elvira Berezowsky @ 9:05 AM
1 Comments:
He's right you know. Your writing is brilliant and in multiple genres too. True, he may be biased, and I may be just some random writing snob, but agreement is still agreement.
agreement greeting the dark unstillness of the night, twitching, why can't they shut the city off? Why can't the culture of globalization be tied to anything other than consumerism? Snow falls innocently, big flakes flying by the window, unprepared to meet morning bicycle tyres. Globalization is irrelevant to my other mother in Lao. She doesn't sell coca-cola at her front yard store. Sounds from snowplows echo off dark apartment buildings. Radiator creaks. It feels like the kind of night where it should be hot and steamy, raining. (Feeling has no place in consumerism. Pass the glue.)
Post a Comment
<< Home