Micro Fiction Monday: Curse

They said he was cursed. I didn’t believe them; I just thought he was scarred, burned alive and still around to tell the tale. That’s what all the newspapers had said. So why wouldn’t I believe it?

I was the one who found him collapsed on the floor, a wilted rose in his hand, the thorn drawing blood from his palm. The paramedic said cardiac arrest, but that didn’t make any sense—he was only twenty-one.

It was his birthday.

Even as his pulse flatlined, the staff in and around the room cried “curse”. Like magic had been the cause of this tragedy, like they couldn’t face reality for once in their sorry lives and deal with the trauma as normal people would.

I whispered my secrets to him, the things I had always wanted to say but never had the chance. I knew he couldn’t hear, couldn’t open his eyes to see my tears and respond. But I said them anyway.

His body began to shift. Scars were replaced by flawless skin, a full head of hair returned to his scalp. His heart awoke, his eyes fluttered open; my secrets had not fallen on deaf ears.

The staff rejoiced, proclaiming that the curse had been broken, that I had saved the day, like some kind of hero. Somehow, I didn’t feel like one. I didn’t want to be one.

But if it meant having him back, I would be.

Micro Fiction Monday: Nightmare

She knew of the palace chef before she met him. To eat what he made was like a dream come true—he was famous around the world for his wonderful pies. She didn't ask a single question, didn't think to wonder what the ingredients might be, before gracefully shoving a forkful into her mouth.

It was apple.

Immediately, she was back in that cottage, being tempted by everything she had ever hoped for. She could taste the bittersweet juice, that vague twinge of pain at the back of her throat, before the poison took control and sent her tumbling to the ground. Her last thought was of him—her wish, her dream, her biggest desire.

She awoke to the soft brush of his lips against hers. He gave her his breath, renewed her life, brought her back from the dead. In the end, she had gotten all she had ever wanted. The apple, it seems, had done everything the witch said it would.

But that twinge remained every time she took a bite, and that fear of eternal sleep kept her awake for far longer than it should have. Her new life, her dream, was now a living nightmare.

Death was not the witch’s punishment—it was waking up after.

Micro Fiction Monday: The Other Girl

I watched the prince dance from afar. He moved so gracefully, and why wouldn’t he? He was born into this life, full of balls and princesses and royalty. This was second nature to him.

I shifted my focus to the grandly decorated walls, the marble columns, the high ceilings and brightly lit chandeliers. I grew up within the shadow of the palace, but this was my first time being inside. I suppose I should have considered myself lucky; lucky to be the same age as the prince, lucky to be given this opportunity to attend the annual ball. But maybe I would have been better off not knowing what the inside looked like.

My eyes drifted back down to the prince, my heart filled with the same longing I had felt the first day I saw him. He came to my family’s bakery, once; he made eye contact with me, thanked me sincerely for my pastries. My heart had fluttered, my stomach filled with butterflies, mind filled with dreams of what could be. In another life, maybe, but not this one. I could tell from the way he looked at the girl he danced with.

Days later, guards came from the palace with a proclamation. The girl who could fit the slipper would marry the prince, and my heart fluttered once again, my mind daring to dream a second time. It was a masquerade ball, after all—as long as my feet were small enough, who could possibly tell the difference? This could be the other life I was dreaming of.

But the shoe didn’t fit. Of course it didn’t fit.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne