Author’s note: This is a Twisted Fairytale from my fifth short story compilation, Ugly: Twisted fairytales. It is a twisted version of the original Grimm’s fairytale, Rapunzel.
For somebody who had spent her entire life on the top of a tower, this entire fiasco is nothing short of earth‑shattering. I only had a few dreams…a little grass beneath my feet and the freedom to walk away. Mother had never allowed me to set a foot outside this sad place. There was no one but occasional birds for company. She said she was afraid I would leave her. She was probably right.
I would often sit at the single open window, singing to myself. One day, when this man came calling and said, “Lady! You have an angel’s voice,” I wondered who this ‘Angel’ is. So, I asked him to come in…the usual way, of course—grab the hair; I pull up! He seemed impressed. He said he never saw a woman with such long hair and unbelievable upper‑arm strength.
Then, of course, I was curious what a ‘Woman’ is? At first, he was amused by my questions. And then, he told me about women and men…and babies that look like angels. And then, of course he told me what a ‘Baby’ is. Being stuck inside the tower forever, my knowledge of outside world is quite inadequate.
He was patient with me. He showed me how babies were made—seems like lots of jostling and biting is involved, but the nice kind that makes you look forward to making babies all the time.
He kept getting tangled up with my hair, which was kind of funny to see. He asked whether I would mind if he cut them short. I told him Mother might not appreciate having to wait outside until I grow them back. He was curious about her—what she did, where she went during the day and why she lived in a tower without stairs. He went snooping around the floor. I’m sure, he would have loved to check the lower floors too but there was no door.
He was rather suspicious of our broom that stood solemnly in a corner. He asked me what it was for. Seriously! Didn’t he know what brooms did? They flew, of course. How else did Mother manage to bring me up here in the first place before my hair grew long? And of course, they cleaned the floor if you asked nicely and swatted the occasional rats and spiders that infested the place. This one, however, was a piece of scrap now—too old and out of juice.
The way he looked at the cauldron, I wondered if he is expecting something to jump out at him. I told him it wasn’t happening. Mother quit all such endeavours ever since the last undead experiment—nothing freaks you out more than a half‑built, recently‑dead man running out of the cauldron, deluded that you are his still‑alive wife. The moaning, groping of hands, chasing around to declare undying love, the smell of hot flesh still fresh from the fire…He didn’t quit howling and asking for forgiveness until he timed out at dawn. Mother decided against ‘building’ anyone out of the cauldron after that.
Somehow, that lead him to believe that I was a ‘captive’ of a ‘witch’. I told him she was my Mother but, still, he insisted on leaving before she arrived. He also made me promise not to rat him out. In turn, I made him promise to return the next day and teach me more about other good stuff. So, he came.
For many days, we tried but I didn’t see any baby arrive. Realizing that he was getting the process wrong somehow, I suggested that we try throwing some herbs in the cauldron like Mother did the other day to create a baby. But he insisted to continue trying his way.
So, we kept up to it until the day Mother came home quite earlier than usual.
She soared in right through the open window on a cool broom with a pretty pink handle, a fitted double‑seater pink seat and pink dyed twigs at the other end. She was super‑excited when she called me to get on the backseat, so I could fly with her outside everyday.
Then, she saw him…and me…together…
Something snapped inside her. She started hollering about not trusting kids ever again; nowhere being safe enough to raise a pretty daughter; and of men who deceived innocent girls into giving up their chastity (whatever that means). And then, she started shouting swear words. Most didn’t any make sense, but when she called the prince a ‘son of a bitch’, he turned into one (at least that is what Mother says).
When Mother cooled down enough, I asked if I should turn him back into a human. But, apparently, swear‑magic cannot be undone. So, I just kept him as a pet. He is cuddly and sweet. Sometimes he sulks around the tower looking for exits but he is mostly quiet and only barks to intimidate the occasional princes that happen to visit.
Honestly, he is a much better company this way.
END
Author’s note: If you would rather read it all together in the book, Ugly: Twisted fairytales is available for free download here: Link
Photo by Karsten Würth on Unsplash
Short Stories 