Author’s note: I wrote this story within 5 minutes for a Talent Show at my office. I hope it lives up to your expectations.
A quiet house at the end of the driveway;
Too quiet…
Windows shuttered;
No one mutters inside;
No life stirs within.
Long forgotten—clean but stale;
A house no one loves.
Author’s note: This is the third and final installment of a Twisted Fairytale from my fifth short-story compilation, Ugly: Twisted fairytales. It is a spinoff of the old Grimm’s tale, The Sleeping Beauty.
It is almost dawn when we finally find the princess in an antechamber. The room is immaculate, clearly magical.
The princess is breathtaking. She sleeps with both her hands on her heart and a peaceful smile on her face, oblivious of the century she has left behind. Her face is alight with the glow of the dawn, her long golden hair braided with fresh flowers, looking as if she has been frozen in time since the day she turned sixteen.
All that is left to be done is to kiss her. I feel blood leave my face as I consider what I am supposed to do.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Reese is concerned but his heart is drumming louder than mine, and I hear a hint of jealousy again. Does he want to kiss her? Should I let him?
The thought pushes a dagger through my heart. I straighten my back and walk up to the sleeping princess and kiss her, first tentatively, then anxiously, over and over again. I shake her, desperate for her to wake up. But nothing happens! The princess stays fast asleep blissfully unaware of my existence.
Reese lets out a breath of relief and says meaningfully, “She needs true love’s kiss!”
It’s no use pretending anymore. I slump down on the floor next to the bed in defeat, “I just needed to try. If the world’s most beautiful woman can’t make me fall in love with her…”
“It’s alright!” Hesitating, he adds, “We can report back to the king that the princess is already dead. Nobody would know.”
“I would know,” I wish the ground would swallow me!
Reese looks concerned as he offers me his hand, “Come, we must get out before the dragon comes looking for breakfast.”
“And go back where? To my parents who sent me on the quest to become dragon fodder? They know I can never marry her.”
Twenty‑eight years of walls I had built carefully around me are crumbling. I hate myself for not being strong enough. Once I return, the world would know for sure. The whispers would become louder and clearer, shaming my parents even further. “They’ll never love me. I have failed them yet again by failing to die.”
Reese’s face is a mask of pain mirroring mine, as if someone has stabbed him in the heart. He is opening and closing his fists like he wants to punch a wall or kill someone. But when he finally looks at me, his eyes are not angry—they hold strength. He offers hesitatingly, “If you don’t want to go back, nobody needs to know we survived the quest. The soldiers have their orders to leave for home if we don’t return in three days.”
He sits down next to me and holds my hand tenderly, erasing the past eleven years in one touch, “We can go away together; sell the armour to buy a farm; run it together like my parents did. It will be a difficult life though—one with a lot of hard work and sparce meals.”
As I look at our joined hands, I can finally breathe again, “I don’t care about luxury. I will have you.”
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 Sean Thomas on Unsplash
Author’s note: This is first installment of a Twisted Fairytale from my fifth short-story compilation, Ugly: Twisted fairytales. It is a spinoff of the old Grimm’s tale, The Sleeping Beauty.
Even now Rese is risking his life yet again, standing outside the castle grounds with me without the army. I had proposed to come alone but Reese wouldn’t hear of it. The dragon’s smoke is thicker here. I survey the scene quietly, trying to hide my emotions. Of course, I am having second thoughts. Reese’s face is a kaleidoscope of emotions, and I wonder what he is thinking when he finally speaks, “Your Majesty! This whole thing is an exercise in futility.”
“Are you questioning my plan?”
“No! I think the plan is excellent. Since there is no way to kill the dragon, there is no point bringing all the men to the castle. Their noise would inform the dragon of our presence, and its fire can melt their armour easily. So why risk their lives? Only you need to kiss the princess to wake her up while I watch your back. What I am questioning is the worth of this quest—the folklore is at least a century old, which means that the princess is either already dead of old age or at least 116 years old. Do you think, you would like to kiss someone who is the age of your great‑grandmother?”
It is nice to see his sense of humour returning. Smiling, I counter, “You are forgetting the last part of the folklore—that the princess is sixteen and she’ll wake with a prince’s kiss. Since the part of the lore about the dragon and silver castle is true, she must still be alive and young enough to be kissed.”
Reese’s face falls for a second but he persists, “Come on! She may not even be beautiful. I mean, these folklores tend to exaggerate things. She could be any commonplace princess who was glorified in stories. Not to forget, she has been sleeping for a hundred years—she could be smelly and drooling over herself; her hair and dress could be in cobwebs. She may not even be your true love, you know.”
He is trying hard to sound objective, but I hear the tiniest hint of jealousy. Who is he jealous of? It’s not like I am going to come out of it a hero. I am just a sacrificial lamb. Gah! These princesses have it so easy. They just have to wait in their castle for their true love to arrive while princes die fighting dragons.
Honestly, Reese is reflecting the same thoughts that I have had since the beginning of the quest. But why now—after two years? Not that it changes anything.
“Father’s orders were clear enough—I have to marry her or die trying.”
“He is just trying to get rid of you—sending you on a quest that could mean a lifetime of search and failure. He didn’t even know if the princess existed. It was just an easy way to exile you.”
Is Reese reading my mind? And where is his loyalty to the king? “Reese! You are overstepping.”
“Please don’t try to shut me out. I have maintained my silence so far. But this may be the last day of our lives—our last day together. You know I’d walk on hot coals for you. You can at least hear me. Your father makes no secret that he detests your decision to stay a celibate. But you are his eldest son and the heir to the throne by birthright. So, he just wants you out of the way for an excuse to hand over the kingdom to one of your younger brothers.”
Though I had known it forever, the truth cut deeply, “I don’t care about the throne anyway.”
“True, but that doesn’t change the fact that your parents have sent you here to die. Dying for them won’t make them love you.”
“You are crossing the line!”
“I care for you. I don’t want you to die for someone who doesn’t love you alive.”
“Silence, Squire! We are going in now.”
*****
We have hidden the bulky armour outside the castle walls since it makes a lot of noise and dragon fire can melt armour anyway. Together, we scale the walls easily—there are too many footholds in the stones cracking by exposure to the elements—and enter undetected in the castle backyard.
A massive dragon sleeps fretfully at a distance in front of the main gate. A cloud of smoke rises from its nostrils. It looks weak from hunger—skin stretched over bones—after a century of imprisonment in this forsaken place. No wonder it is irritable and inhospitable to any armies that venture in.
The massive wooden gates on the door leading to the hall are hanging open on their hinges, but we enter through a broken window on the side wall, giving the dragon a wide berth. The place reeks of death. Walls are charred in places and broken human bones litter the place. The castle feels haunted. The hallways glimmer eerily in the low light wherever the metal armour of countless soldiers has melted and become one with the stone path. We avoid stepping on it for the fear of making a noise. We take a torch from a metal bracket and light it up with a flint—it will take all night.
Author’s note: To be continued…
If you would rather read it all together in the book, Ugly: Twisted fairytales is available for free download here: Link
Photo by Sean Thomas on Unsplash
Author’s note: This is first installment of a Twisted Fairytale from my fifth short story compilation, Ugly: Twisted fairytales. It is a spinoff of the old Grimm’s tale, The Sleeping Beauty.
The King’s orders were clear, “Marry the princess or die trying.” By ‘the princess’, the King was referring to an old folklore that said:
“There lays a princess of sixteen,
Fair as the winter sun and hair made of gold,
Cursed by a witch to sleep for years untold,
In a silver castle guarded by a dragon.
When the century sets in the horizon,
Her prince shall arrive then,
To wake her with true love’s first kiss
And rule the world with her as his.”
Why the king wanted me, his eldest son and crown prince, to lay down my life for a princess who was at least a century older than me was anybody’s guess. But I am not the one to fight back my father’s whims. So, I had set off instantly on the quest along with two hundred soldiers. My men and I had searched the world for the elusive silver castle hiding the cursed princess, knowing too well that magic and dragons were creatures of myths. The folklore had come ‘somewhere from the north’, so we had started towards north and searched through many kingdoms and fought many unwanted battles to find this very old and, apparently, very desirable princess.
*****
After two years of constant walking and fighting and half of my men dying for nobody’s cause, I have finally found the place.
On the top of a hill, the ominous grey castle shines like silver and casts long shadows in the dying winter sun. The cloud of smoke that rises from the castle grounds is visible from the valley. I wish it is a huge bonfire, even if it means that the castle is now inhabited by an army of bandits or even a cannibal tribe. Anything is better than facing a dragon that can create smoke of that size without trying. But the villagers have spotted the dragon fly above the castle in circles too many times in the past century. Its roar is heart‑stopping even from such a distance. But it never leaves the castle to hunt, which meant that we are about to face a very hungry and frustrated dragon itching for a fight. The villagers have also told us of the many princes—fair, brave and strong—who came to rescue the princess in the past century. They all entered the castle accompanied with their entire armies and never returned—nobody ever did.
There is no way to kill a dragon—you can only avoid it. I am about to face it though. But do my men need to die as well?
*****
I embarked on this journey to die trying—to prove myself to my father and to the world that does not consider me man enough. I am a skilled warrior with a hulking frame and body sculpted from many years of rough living in constant battles that plague our kingdom’s borders. I have put my life on the line too many times for my king. But I’m the next in line to the throne and my lack of interest in women and marriage at 28 years of age is a cause of whispered suspicions across the kingdom and my father’s shame. My younger brothers make fun of my ‘chaste’ ways. Many wannabe‑princesses have tried to seduce me, and when they failed, they crushed my dignity underfoot by moving to my younger brothers’ bed chambers. My mother has even gone farther and found a woman who is ready to marry me ‘without expecting a child’. But how can I take the vows knowing they are lies?
I have tried to love someone…anyone…but failed. And with that, I have failed my parents, crushed their expectations and earned this banishment. Because no matter the excuse my father has used, it is banishment. They know well that no woman will ever wake from my kiss.
May be if I die trying, they would finally be proud of me. Not that anyone would care if I died, except Reese.
*****
Reese is my constant companion for twenty‑two years—playmate, best friend, sparring partner and now my Squire. Earlier, we had spent many years together planning pranks, facing my father’s backlash, fighting with wooden swords and dreaming of the day I would become the king, and Reese would be my general. He knew my moods and made me laugh. He cared.
But, at seventeen, my father had raised concerns about the closeness of our friendship. Soon after, Reese was sent with a battalion stationed at the far end of the kingdom and I was left alone in a world that did not care. It took me a long time to put my pieces together and become the ‘strong royal’ my father expected me to be. When Reese finally returned after two years, I realised it was better to stay aloof rather than face another separation. Now Reese is just my Squire, a subordinate who does as he is asked to. Reese still knows my moods and makes me laugh. He still cares. He has always stuck by my side during fights, never more than a few feet apart, watching my back and saving my neck too many times to count.
Author’s note: To be continued…
If you would rather read it all together in the book, Ugly: Twisted fairytales is available for free download here: Link
Photo by Sean Thomas on Unsplash
Sara jahaan jab gard me lipta hua lagne lage,
Sheeshe khidkiyo ke saaf kar lena durust hai.
Translation (Not word-by-word):
When bleak, bleary, blurred world
is blanketing in dirt
(one friend at a time),
high time someone
cleaned the windows.
Author’s note: An Urdu Sher is a couplet that deep dives into a single topic within two lines. A conventional Sher must be rhymed with specific word weight (this one is not) but it is not necessary. The theme can vary from society to love to faith and everything else under the sun.
I lay there alone sighing, hearing the two of them in the next room showing off their newest bed cover–chatting around obnoxiously happy. Unfortunately, that particular cover comes only for double beds. I, however, am still single.
I hate being single! Being the only one in the room sucks!
Well, to be honest, I am not exactly alone here…
There is this metal almirah who is really cold. Her nose is so high up in the air, I wonder if she lives on Ozone rather than Oxygen. She thinks of us wood-forms as far beneath her status. It doesn’t even creak when you ask a question. Just the swish of the key and click of the lock when the humans open and close it–not even an opening groan that steel almirah’s are so famous of making.
Not that I am prejudiced against all metal-forms–the chair is nice enough. It must be the soft seat and comfy backrest that put her at ease.
The study table is friendly–all wooden, nice and warm. He often bumps into me since he is my immediate neighbour.
But they are both together–the table and the chair. And I really can’t deal with how they behave all lovey-dovey and keep trying to touch each other every now and then.
Then there is this tiny side-table who sits on my other side and keeps chattering all day. The number of times it opens its drawers! I’ve never seen such a chatter-box–stating random facts about the pigeons and butterflies out of the window and singing nursery rhymes with birds. Sounds cute for a short time. But, admit it, it does get a little over much after a couple of hours, at least for a bachelor like me.
Sigh! So, well, I am not really alone, but it is not the same thing as having someone who is with you. Being single sucks!
Wo shaakh sooni hai jis par bulbul gaati thi.
Tanha musafir ka koi ab sahara nhi.
Translation:
The branch sits empty–the Nightingale now gone.
No saviour now for the traveller forlorn.
I open mail and I see
my bank trying to reach me
offering a loan I didn’t ask for.
Then there are recruiters
mailing me
on a 10 year-old resume
offering me a job
that I needed when
I was still growing teeth.
People are begging me
to take half of their bank account
to get them out of their country.
I have won competitions
I didn’t enter,
and I have won enough lotteries
to make jealous the Arab emporer.
And then, there are
WordPress notices,
and subscription mails from world over…
What I sought and didn’t find
was a single mail
seeking me as a person
(not as a user or a bank account).
No one misses me…
Sun rains down not kindly.
I plough through life as not me
‘Cause you love not me.
Authors note: A Haiku is a three-line Japanese poetry with 5,7,5 syllables. It contains a reference to nature.
Author’s note: This is short story based on the first line suggested by Beetleypete.
It was so hot there, much hotter than I could ever have imagined it would be. I had always expected it to be cool below the surface since the desert sun couldn’t get to you. But apparently, I was wrong.
It was stifling hot and suffocating, even though, I didn’t need to breath anymore. The casket I was lying in was rather stuffy. May be a walk in the tomb would help.
It was just as dark outside. There was no way of knowing whether it was day or night. Who would want to live for eternity stuck in a hole where you could see neither the sun, nor the moon and stars. Not that I needed light to see. My eyes adjusted to the dark just fine but it didn’t take away the claustrophobia, reminding of the one time I had been foolish enough to hide in a closet.
The paintings on the walls depicted my life in the world outside–my wife, sons and daughters, my territory and the time of my glorious reign. As if I needed a reminder of that now! I already thought of it all the time. The other paintings were decorative and I had already memorised every single line from the countless lonely walks in the past years.
The bandages on my body were making me itchy. I wished I had my wife to scratch out that itch on my back but she was still out there, alive. Sigh! I will have to wait until she is done with her time on the surface until she is lowered here with me. If she chooses to sleep in the same tomb as me…Not sure she would. I wasn’t a model husband–too many mistresses to make her jealous.
She wasn’t allowed to have another husband to get even with me but what if she took a slave? Did she do that while I was still alive? With the dark one with the tall soldier-like build–the one she had chosen to keep when we were sifting through the war prisoners? In my mind, I could see the longing in her eyes for the tall monstrosity who became her personal guard and the knowing smirk on the guard’s face when he had leaned on one knee and kissed her knuckles.
I wanted to throw my fists through the walls. If I had a heart anymore, it would have burst with the pain. You would think that, with an eternity to brood, I would accept fate but, with an eternity to brood, the thoughts kept coming back. Like the day our last child was born–the child was darker than usual. The pain of deception had cut me through. It was one thing for me to sleep with another woman but to find out that my wife was doing another man…
When I had voiced my doubt, she had cried her heart out, reminding me of my own many indiscretions and fainted in her bed. I was aghast. I knew what she had done. I should have ordered their beheading right then. But here I was sitting in her bed, holding her hand, feeling guilty, waiting for her to wake up. Not sure when I fell asleep too. The choking sensation had had me reeling.
I wondered if he helped her or she did it on her own…
I wondered if she cried for me at all…
I woke up inside the casket in the tomb. It was so hot there, much hotter than I could ever imagine. I had always expected it to be cool below the surface since the desert sun couldn’t get to you. But apparently, I was wrong. The bandages were itchy and I wished I had my wife…
Short Stories 