Tag: short-story

Posted in Fiction

At Sea: Part 1 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the first instalments of my latest short-story.

She is shivering violently and blabbering, “I am flying to Switzerland tonight.”

“You mean if we are rescued?” I try a gentle tone. I am scared stiff too, so I can understand her denial.

She manages a smile, though the strain of the effort is clearly visible on her face. “No. If they rescue me, I have a crap job to go back to in three days and a mean manager to hate. But if they don’t find us in time, well, I am no mermaid. It is all well to see one sunset at the sea. An eternity of sunset view is too much! If I die, I am going to travel—there are so many places I want to see—”

If she is trying to make light of our impending demise to avoid a meltdown, two could play at this game. “Aren’t ghosts supposed to stay and haunt a single place?” I shiver at my own ill-timed joke. If only I could turn back time a couple of hours.

*****

It was a bad idea to seek out a stranded place on the shore to sleep in when I had never been to the sea before. All I wanted was a couple of hours of peace from the continuous phone calls—people offering sympathies or advice to move on. I didn’t want to switch-off my phone. It felt wrong to turn my back on my well-wishers. Going out of network coverage area for a bit had seemed like a good excuse at that time. So, I had walked until the network bars had stopped showing.

Then I saw a road sign of what seemed like sun setting in the sea and found this large rock rising gradually from the sand. The highest point was nearly two-metres high providing an amazing view of the sea ahead. It seemed like an ideal spot to sit down and settle my thoughts. There was enough room for me and one other person here on the other side of the rock, sleeping in the sun. I had walked up on the slowly rising rock to this highest point. Then, exhausted after three sleepless nights, I had closed my eyes to rest them for a few moments…

An urgent voice woke me up, “Hey, do you know how to swim?”

My eyes wanted to stay glued together but the fear in the voice made me sit up, “Why? What happened?”

The stranger’s face looked scared, “If you can swim, I think you should leave now. My travel agent told me this rock gets submerged during high tide.”

The high tide was in. The rock that had been so far away from the sea earlier during the day was now almost-submerged. The lower part from where I had walked up here were now under at least five feet of water. Waves were rolling in and there was half a mile of sea in the direction I had come from.

There was no way we could walk back.

“I don’t know how to swim. Do you?”

“No.” She sighed, “I have called my travel agent. He said he will contact the local rescue team. Let’s hope they find us real soon. He said locals usually avoid this rock since the area is lower than others. He said there is a danger sign on the main road, but tourists seem to be ignoring it.”

“Danger sign? So that sign showed the rock getting submerged?”

“You saw the sign too? It looks so much like the sun setting in the sea.” She shook her head in a mocking way, but her voice was shaky.

I sent a quick prayer to the skies. Yes, I was heart-broken, but I wasn’t ready to die yet.

*****

Returning to this moment, I can see she is considering how to answer my ‘haunting the place’ question without having a meltdown, “I think it depends on personal preferences, whether a ghost wants to stay put or drift. I want to travel. What about you? Are you planning to haunt this rock?”

“Well, I haven’t decided yet. Do you want company on your journey to Switzerland?” I smile, joining in this crazy one-on-one. I am tired of fuming for the past three days.

I want to cry but I was raised being told that guys don’t. My eyes are hurting from the effort of keeping tears at bay and I don’t remember the last time I ate. I think it was three days back during my Tilak ceremony. The thought of the happiness of that moment makes my eyes tear up.

I look away at the rising water around us.

She seems to have sensed my mood, “Naah, I’m good. I don’t want to give my shoulder to a drunk guy to cry on.”

The salt spray from a high wave hits me on the face and I stagger, “Seriously? I don’t think ghosts can drink. Moreover, you don’t even know if I do drink at all! You only met me five minutes ago.”

“Well, you are a man, and men take to drinking when they need to tell their wives on their honeymoon that they are into men? How else would they gather enough courage?”

“Into men? Who said that?”

“Really? What are you doing alone, sleeping on random rocks, in the country’s most hyped honeymoon spot while on honeymoon (gesturing at the mehendi tattoos on my palm)? Why did you agree to go to Switzerland with me? Why aren’t you calling your wife to tell her you are dying and that you love her?”

“May be because I don’t have a wife to call? May be because I never got around to getting married!” Some of the higher waves have started to push at our ankles. My nerves are getting at me and I am cranky.

“So, is it because you’re gay?”

“No. Why would you presume so?” She is getting on my nerves worse than the waves.

“If I had presumed, I wouldn’t have asked!” She is smiling. Now, I can see she is trying to make light of my non-existent marriage as well as our impending demise, while trying not to freak out by the water being so close.

I challenge her back, “Well, what if I am. Do you have a problem with me?”

“No. I will still not be the shoulder you cry on, and I will still not carry you when you are drunk.”

“Fine. I promise not to cry or drink once I am dead. By the way, why aren’t you calling your husband to tell him you are into girls, huh? From what I remember, you are also alone in the country’s most hyped honeymoon spot and sleeping on the same random rock as I.”

“I am not parading around with mehendi tattoos on my palms, am I? And may be, I am not calling him because I killed him, cut him into pieces and threw them in a landfill? May be, I came here to hide from the Police?”

The reply makes me do a once over.

Is she telling the truth? Or is she trying to scare me so I wouldn’t try anything funny while we are alone?

To be continued

Photo by Kush Dwivedi on Unsplash

Posted in Random Thoughts

My Neighbours: The Wrestlers

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Coco and Dora move towards their individual corners glaring at each other.

My brother-in-law (pet-parent-in-chief) had just run in shouting and pulled them apart yet again.

The fact that they are currently sharing the same food and water bowls willingly seems to have diminished in the light of their obsession over the same pink kitty toy. Earlier today they had been touching noses and kneeding each other like dough, but it seems silly to remember such cute little things right now.

Coco sits in front of the bedroom door, blocking the entrance, while Dora sits in the money plant, claiming her throne. This is a battle of dominance. Their chests heave as my daughter gives each of them individual pep-talk before the next round.

Mentally, I can hear the gong and can almost see my daughter walk around with a board of round 9.

Suddenly, Dora spurts into a sprint, tags Coco full in face and launches herself in the bedroom behind her.

Coco lunges after her. They dole out punches after punches, kangaroo-style. Dora is only three months against Coco’s five. But she is not ready to back down. The room is completely devoid of any sound, save our breathing as the two cats take turns to jump on eachother from corners, pinning eachother.

One of them let’s out some kind of screech. Pet-parent-in-chief comes running back in, pulling them apart.

And forgets to remove the toy from vicinity. Sigh!

Author’s note: Our previous princess, Coco, had recently come home for a 4-day-and-night foster-visit and there was several battles of dominance in our house with our reigning princess, Dora. I was lucky to witness some, though missed filming them. May be I will get CCTV installed and start something like “Big Brother”.

What do you say?

Posted in Fiction

The Predator

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I knew she was a predator the moment I saw her.

How I could tell, I can’t explain—it was just the way her whole being swayed in the wind, leaving behind the alluring fragrance that had me following her every move with my eyes. Her smooth skin glistened in the rain, calling to my mesmerized brain as I moved closer to touch her. Her full lips—red and enticing—were clamped shut and stretched into a wide, inviting smile as I reached forward to hold her face in my extended palm.

She let me get close…close enough to not allow any space to back off…

Her fingers entwined around my torso slowly, but I couldn’t find it in me to break off the tightening grip. She looked at me straight in the eyes and opened her mouth—I half-expected it to be full of incisors.

She kissed me senseless instead, as always. And then she went for the kill, “The chapel is available this Sunday. You will be able to arrange everything else by then, right?”

Of course, she knew I would nod dazedly. She was a practiced hunter—I was her prey.

Author’s note: This is a 5-minute word-prompt story. I started with “Carnivorous plant: Venus flytrap” and ended up into a “bride”. Who could have thought there was so much in common?

Thanks to Jessie McCall for the awesome photo (via Unsplash).

Posted in Fiction, Nature stories

My Neighbour: The Exasperated Princess

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Is our cat weird?

Or is it because she is ours?

Author’s note: All incidents in this story are real and told with the least possible artistic liberty as possible.

Why do they have to change the bowl again? The water tastes all wrong! I don’t understand all this craze about different coloured water bowls.

First, it was shiny silver. I hated it. It tasted too sparkly clean.

Then it was white and red. It didn’t taste anything like red, just plain white!

So, I drank from Dadi‘s foot tub. It tasted amazing with a green undertone! But then Dadi stopped leaving water in it. What is wrong with these humans?

That is when I moved to the bathroom floor. It has such an earthy smell, and the roughened tiles tickle my tongue. Initially, the humans tried to keep the doors closed. But I refused to drink anything at all.

Finally, a couple of them started letting me drink from the bathroom floor, throwing fresh water on the floor for me to drink when no one else was looking. The best part was that the water tasted different, based on the soap and shampoo they were using. They tried to scrub out the fragrance but couldn’t do it entirely. I was so happy!

But then, I think I went a bit too far.

You see, mom (my real mom who taught me all things worth knowing) once told us of the time she drank from the toilet–the devine taste, sense of adventure, the rush of adrenaline at having to drink upside down… Well, I thought the toilet was right there for the taking, so I did what any cat worth her mice would do–I tried to drink too.

Honestly, I only managed to get on the rim of the commode. I was peeking in, looking for a way to get to the water without getting soaked, but that dratted Tai Ammi caught me before I could reach the water. Didn’t even get a sip!

Now they have started locking up the bathroom door all the time! They also called me “Bad Kitty” for drinking from the toilet! I don’t call them “Bad Kitty” when they drink all the black and orange sparkly water that makes your tongue go all tingly! (Well, I had to try it, so I licked a couple of drops from the floor. Ugh!)

Well, why can’t they give me the same space!

Sigh! I don’t understand humans. There is water lying around everywhere, fragrant and calling, but they have to drink tasteless stuff from bottles!

Next, they got me a food tray with a large and flat water area (since I was drinking from the floor). As if I care about a bunch stupid cockroach-sized animals waving at me from my food plate! I couldn’t leave any food around, afraid they would steal it behind my back! So, I declined to drink from it too. They forced me but I was resolute.

And then the neighbours gave them a plant. Since they didn’t have a pot and earth for it ready yet, they planted it in the brown mug with water. God! I love this stuff! The plant makes it taste exotic. I couldn’t stop myself and just had to take another sip and another, until I was always going back for more. When the little one spotted me in the act and started giggling and complaining, I thought this was it–the humans would take away my private heaven. But they all just sighed and went back to work.

So, obviously, I thought I got away with it.

Boy, was I mistaken! A couple of hours later, they bought a red earthen pot for me to drink in. Well, it did recreate the earthy smell well, but it didn’t have the wonderful brown flavor to it like the mug–plant water does taste good. I would have turned vegan, had my constitution allowed. So, I continued sipping from the plant mug to make a point.

So today, they moved the plant into my earthen pot and gave me the mug to drink!

Blasted people! When will they ever learn?!

Psst… About the toilet water, may be, it is an age-restriction thing. I inspected the commode again and the bowl seems to be built deeper, so you have to have a longer neck to drink. May be, I will try again next month. If nothing else, I will jump straight in. I’m not afraid to get my feet wet in the face of an adventure!

Author’s note: There is no greater happiness than seeing your children happy. I asked my daughter–now 9- years old and a fast reader–to be my first audience. The way she guffawed while reading was worth all the effort.

Posted in Fiction, Poetry, Tiny stories

The Hospice

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

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.

Posted in Fiction, Published, Twisted fairytales

Not a Lore: Part 3 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

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.”

“Me too!”

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

Posted in Fiction, Published, Twisted fairytales

Not a Lore: Part 2 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

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

Posted in Fiction, Published, Twisted fairytales

Not a Lore: Part 1 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

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

Posted in Fiction, Published, Twisted fairytales

The Royal Scoop: Part 3 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is third and final installment of a Twisted Fairytale from my fifth short story compilation, Ugly: Twisted fairytales. It is a modern spinoff of the old Grimm’s tale, Cinderella.

News Anchor (with a bandaged nose and a swollen eye): Welcome to News at Six! Earlier yesterday, our Channel had exposed Lady Cinderella—the Fiancée of Prince Charming and the future Queen—confessing that she can see ‘fairies’.

Lady Drizella, her sister, agreed to talk but declined to discuss the possibility of mental instability. She quickly became violent, which is a sure sign of the entire family being unstable.

Now we have the Sheriff of Faraway with us regarding the theft of jewellery, clothes and carriage by Lady Cinderella and the murder of her coachman on the night of the Ball.

Sheriff, has Lady Cinderella admitted the murder yet?

Sheriff: We haven’t framed any charges yet since there hasn’t been any missing person’s report. Also, there is no report of any missing jewellery, dress or carriage.

News Anchor: Seems like she had been quick to cover her tracks or may be the royal family! Has the Police department checked with the adjoining cities and states for missing person’s report? Maybe check her mother’s estate for the body or carriage? At least, take her in custody and ask her questions. I’m sure she will spill the beans with third‑degree questioning!

Sheriff: I assure you the Police department has done all that was required and we don’t need a comedy channel to tell us how to do our job.

News Anchor: This isn’t a comedy channel…

Sheriff: Are you sure? I saw your discussion with Lady Drizella. It was quite entertaining!

News Anchor: That’s just the way we reporters are treated for speaking the truth. At least, we are trying to get to the truth rather than licking royal feet like the Police department.

Sheriff: I can arrest you for misbehaving with a government official!

News Anchor: Let me just marry the prince first. You’ll serve the rest of your tenure licking my shoes!

News Production Manager (trying to cover the screen and the sound of a scuffle): Again, we apologize for the inconvenience caused due to technical difficulties. We will return tomorrow with more information.

*****

News Anchor (sour‑faced with bandaged hand, nose and head, and a black eye): Welcome to News at Six. We are investigating the mental instability of Lady Cinderella. A couple of days earlier, we had shared her recording admitting that she can converse with ‘fairies’. Her family testified her mental instability and confirmed their belief that she murdered her coachman. One of her sisters became violent on screen, which was a proof of mental instability running through the family. Let us now talk to our correspondent, John, who is at the royal palace where the Lady in question is staying to evade Police arrest.

Hi John, what’s happening at the palace?

John: Hi Cassy! We have been waiting outside the Palace for the past half an hour. As you can see, the Palace is decorated with ‘fairy’ lights. We have seen a limousine drive inside and some palace servants going in and out, but nobody is ready to talk. We tried to get in, but the guards stopped us. Oh! I see a gardener at the fence hedges now. Let’s talk to him.

Excuse me! Can you please tell us whether Lady Cinderella is going to surrender to the Police?

Gardener: (Silence)

John: Has she confessed to the murder of her coachman yet?

Gardener: (Silence)

John: Has Police arrested her yet?

Gardener: (Silence)

John: Who was in the Limousine?

Gardener: (Silence)

John: Does using ‘fairy’ lights indicate that the royal family supports the Lady’s claim about ‘fairies’?

(The gardener walks away. The reporter tries to jump the fence, but a guard warns him to stay out.)

John: As you can see, the Palace has been converted into a fortress. Nobody is allowed to go in; those inside are too scared to speak against the future queen. But our channel will continue trying to get to the bottom of the drama unfolding at the royal palace.

Stay tuned for more on News at Six.

*****

News Anchor (with a bandaged hand, nose and head, a black eye and a huge grin): Welcome back to News at Six.

The official Twitter handle of the royal family has finally shared a statement that Lady Cinderella has called off the wedding with Prince Charming. She said that she is unable to deal with the pressure of being in constant spotlight. She openly blames her engagement with the prince for the so‑called media trial.

Also, her fairy godmother had presented herself in the courtroom to prove her fairy connections, ending the speculations about her mental instability. Lady Cinderella is now moving to Fairyland to recover from the trauma. The King has mentioned on his Twitter account that anyone who has a problem being in constant spotlight is not fit for the royal family. He will soon announce the date of the next royal ball to find a bride for the prince.

Every eligible girl without a fairy godmother is welcome!

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 Andrea Guidera on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Published, Twisted fairytales

The Royal Scoop: Part 2 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is second installment of a Twisted Fairytale from my fifth short story compilation, Ugly: Twisted fairytales. It is a modern spinoff of the old Grimm’s tale, Cinderella.

News Anchor: Welcome back after the break. We continue to discuss Lady Cinderella’s deteriorating mental condition. In our studio, we have Lady Anastasia, her older stepsister. My Lady, what do you think about Lady Cinderella’s mental condition?

Anastasia: Well, nothing’s wrong with her mind, if you ask me! She always had a flare for dramatics. I remember, when Mamma fired the household staff of our estate and told her to manage the work, she cried for a whole week while working. And every night, she made such a show of body ache!

And when Mamma wouldn’t let her come to the ball with us, she looked like she was going to cry again! As if her dress was even worth it! Such drama!

News Anchor (hesitating): But your mother said it was Cinderella who fired the staff and declined to come to the ball?

Anastasia (too quickly): Oh, of course! I remember now! Anyway, I believe, Cinderella stole the clothes, jewellery, shoes and carriage and killed that coachman, simply because of her love for theatrics. And when the prince found her, she invented the ‘fairy’ godmother to cover it up.

News Anchor: Thank you, my Lady! (Addressing viewers) As you can all see, Lady Cinderella, apart from her mental instability, has a love for theatrics since childhood, which lead to the multiple thefts and the possible murder. We will further investigate this issue with another close relative.

Stay tuned for more scoop on the royal family drama. We will be back after a short break!

*****

News Anchor: Welcome back. In News at Six, we are discussing Lady Cinderella’s ‘fairy connections’. Her stepmother and older stepsister believe that she is mentally instable, has a love for theatrics and is capable of theft and murder. Next, we have in our studio Lady Drizella, her younger stepsister. My Lady, congratulations on your engagement with the Minister of Information and Media!

Drizella: Oh! Thank you. It was so unexpected. We had just met during Cinderella’s engagement with the prince, and, by the end of the evening, I had an engagement ring. Talk about a whirlwind romance!

News Anchor: That’s great! It is sad how your sister’s mental condition has put a damper on everything…

Drizella: Yes. It’s so embarrassing to be related to a liar like her. It could never have been her at the Ball. I think, she just got lucky with the shoes when the prince came looking for the actual girl. Then, she created the story of the ‘fairy’ to explain her dress and other stuff.

News Anchor: Do you mean to say that the girl at the Ball wasn’t her at all?

Drizella: Absolutely! That girl was stunning…the face…the grace…the way she danced…that girl was a real Princess!

News Anchor: Well, I don’t think she was that good.

Drizella: Oh, come on! Don’t be jealous. I know it was you in that sexy red dress that prince was dancing with when he saw her and dropped you like a rotten tomato.

News Anchor: I’m not jealous! And your face was all red when the prince didn’t even spare you a glance! The Minister proposed to you only because you’re a sister of the future Queen.

Drizella: He didn’t! And you just want Cinderella institutionalised to clear your way to the throne!

News Anchor: And why did your family ask for airtime on our news? Because your fiancé is second‑in‑line to the throne! Once the prince and his wife get discredited…

News Production Manager (trying to cover the screen amidst the sounds of a cat fight): We apologize for the technical issues. We will come back to you tomorrow with more information.

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 Andrea Guidera on Unsplash