Tagged: fairy tale
Goldilocks and the Persimmon of Ambiguity
Flash Fiction Month 2023, Day 30
Once uptown a thyme there livered a little grill named Goldilocks, who was known motocross the lamp forher flowering olden hare. Often she wood wend the bay wondering threw the armrest toe and Frome the louse of her Grond motherlode, and it was on joust suck an occlusion that she net the big bag woof.
“Nice to meat you,” said the big bag woof, in a friendless manor.
“My,” said Goldilocks, “Watt large hears you haven’t.”
“Awl the batter to ear you without,” said the big bag woof, who had leant the English language at Universal Collegiate Uxbridge, where he had bean a model stew dent.
Butt Goldilocks was a cleaver little grill and had encoded something line thus in another storey and was begetting to circumspect that she wood end up been Eton by the woof. Continue reading
The Frog Prince and the Automaton Princess
Flash Fiction Month 2023, Day 22
Challenge #10: Write a story based on criteria set by another participant. These must consist of one event that must occur in the story, the tense it should be written in, and one genre that must be avoided.
My challenge was set by bunnythewriter:
A robot meets a frog.
Present tense.
Cannot be sci-fi.
A prince—changed into a frog—hops across the land. The wicked fairy who so transformed him has said that only the kiss of a true princess can undo the spell, so following close to river and stream he sets out to find one, though he is small and the way is long.
At last—after many months of toil—he comes to a palace, but the lamps are unlit and the hearths are cold. Each room into which he ventures is empty, and thick dust clings to his webbed feet with every step, but still he searches. He has travelled too long to turn back, and is determined to lay eyes even on the highest tower: for this is where princesses are most often said to dwell.
But the chamber in the highest tower seems as empty as any other. There he finds the same unlit lamps, the same cold hearth, and the same dust so thick on the floor that he almost has to wade through it. There is nothing here but fraying tapestries on the walls and a golden mannequin placed by the window. The prince gives a croak of dismay.
“Who’s there?” asks the mannequin, turning suddenly, and the prince sees that this is not merely a mannequin, but an automaton of marvellous design.
“I am a prince,” he answers honestly, “but a prince beset by misfortune. A wicked fairy cursed me, and now my younger brother is heir to the kingdom, to spare it the embarrassment of having a frog for a king. Only the kiss of a true princess can restore me to my true form.”
“Ah,” says the automaton. “Truly you are misfortunate: I myself am a princess, but I fear not a true one. I was crafted for a queen who had no heir of her own, but after her death her subjects abandoned the kingdom rather than crown a machine such as me. Every night I wish upon the first star I see that I might become real so those people might return, but it is not a wish that any star has yet granted.”
“And how many stars have you wished upon?” asks the frog prince.
“Each one that has appeared in this window,” comes the reply.
“Then we must find you new stars,” he announces with confidence. “Then you may be made real, and I may be restored.”
“But I have never set foot outside this palace. How can I find new stars?”
“By taking first one step and then another. I will guide you.”
So the two of them set off together, the automaton carrying the frog, and he finds their progress much faster than before. He shows her the way back along the water course that he previously followed to reach the palace, for he knows that where that river reaches the sea there dwells an astronomer, whose ship full of rock crystal once brought him along the coast and its stinging saltwater to the way they travelled now.
Their unusual appearance attracts attention, and the pair are obliged to tell their tales at every city and town, village and hamlet through which they pass. Many—beggars, mostly, or others with little to hold them to one place—begin to follow, to protect the travellers from bandits or merely to see the outcome of their quest, and by the time they at last reach the astronomer’s tower they are leading quite a procession.
But “Alas!” says the astronomer to the automaton. “It is no wonder that your wishes would not work: ours is an old world, and there are not truly any stars left in the sky! All fell long ago, and now only their light still lingers. I have seen it through my glass.”
“Then it seems that you must find another princess,” says the automaton, sadly, to the frog.
But “Never,” the frog replies. “For it was you who carried me, and you whose plight brings to mind my own: if I cannot rule with you by my side, I will not rule at all.”
So the two of them step outside the astronomer’s tower—happy despite their misfortune—to reveal this unwelcome news to the assembled crowd.
However, before they can do so, a chant rises up: “Our king!” shout their followers. “Our queen!” For through their noble struggle, they have gained a kingdom of their own.
So with their procession once again in tow, the frog king and the automaton queen return to the dusty palace to celebrate. Word spreads quickly, and by the time they reach the throne room their subjects’ numbers have swelled, and the place of jubilation is already swept clean.
However, there is one present for the revelry who does not rejoice, but instead stamps and screams. The loyal subjects part to reveal the wicked fairy, quite purple with rage.
“You should not be happy!” she screeches. She points her wand first at the automaton queen: “You shall never be real!” She points it then at the frog king: “And you shall never be restored!”
“I am as real as I wished to be,” announces the automaton queen.
“And I have forgotten your curse,” says the frog king. “Perhaps you should do the same.”
And the two of them share a kiss. Not to break the spell—for the queen’s lips are but painted enamel, and hold no magic power—but because they are happy and in love.
Seeing this, the wicked fairy stamps so hard upon the freshly swept floor that a board swings up and strikes her dead.
The rest, however, live happily ever after.
If you’ve enjoyed this story, you can find my work from previous Flash Fiction Months collected in these books:
Click any cover to find that book in your choice of format.
The Tyrant and the Willow Rod
Flash Fiction Month 2023, Day 21
Once upon a time there lived a tyrant. Though in his youth he had been hailed as a hero—one who would travel any number of miles to right wrongs and to offer aid where it was needed—life in a palace made him greedy and cruel, and when he stepped outside it was only to revel in his power and to taunt those who once held him in such high regard.
“Who among you would defy me?” he would cry, walking the streets in gilded armour untouched by war. “Who could question the rule of your rightful king?”
And there would come no reply, for in addition to his own swordsmanship the tyrant was protected by a score of crossbowmen who trailed behind him as a retinue.
Perhaps the glory of the tyrant’s youth did still hold some sway, for the one who finally stepped forth to face him was not a warrior, but a child who had not even been born to remember those days. Continue reading
The King and the Merchant’s Jinn
Flash Fiction Month 2023, Day 19
Once, long ago in a land far away, a merchant with a train of camels came to visit a king.
“Your highness,” said the merchant, pressing forehead to floor, “I come bearing a bottle that I found in the quay when my ship came in with cargo. A voice within bade me bring it to you by name—and so I have—but I implore you not to open it. The neck is closed with the Seal of Solomon: I fear a great evil dwells within, and if your highness wills it I shall take it from here and cast it back into the sea, and consider my task complete.”
But the king was curious. He called forth his magician to draw a circle of salt, and his priests to fill the air with incense, and with these precautions in place he ordered the bottle opened.
This was done, and no sooner than it was done a great cloud of smoke issued forth, thicker even than the sweet incense that already filled the throne room.
When the smoke dispersed, all assembled were astounded to see a jinn standing within the circle of salt. Continue reading
The One Little Pig
Flash Fiction Month 2023, Day 7
“I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in!”
“You know what?” shouted the Little Pig, through the door. “I would welcome that. To see a wolf blow a house apart with nothing but lung power would be worth the price of admission.”
The Wolf wasn’t sure what to make of this. “Yours is the straw house, though. It’s the easiest one.”
“Yeah, but the straw is all in bales and the bales are held together with stakes of hazel, and the bottom layer of stakes is anchored to the ground. And there’s a timber frame as well.”
“That sounds like cheating,” said the Wolf.
“That is literally how a straw house is made. What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know.” The Wolf shrugged—not that the Little Pig could see it. “I thought you’d just sort of pile straw up and…live in it?”
“That’s insane! A light breeze would blow that apart! Which, by the way—how are you expecting to blow down any structure that’s been built to withstand even a regular gusty day?”
“Well, I’m the Big Bad Wolf, so I just figured—”
“Oh, you’re the Big Bad Wolf? A wolf’s lung capacity is about a third of a human’s, genius. I’d be three times as worried about Cinderella rocking up outside my door.”
“You know what?” said the Wolf. “Screw this!”
So he huffed.
And he puffed.
And nothing happened whatsoever.
“Did you do the thing?” asked the Little Pig. “Was that you doing it?”
“No,” said the Wolf. Then he had an idea. “I don’t know why you’re so cavalier about all this. I might not be able to blow your house down, but I can still burn it down.”
There was a pause.
“You got a lighter?” asked the Little Pig.
“Yes I do!” announced the Wolf, retrieving it from the pocket of his weird old-timey waistcoat.
There was another, longer pause.
“You got thumbs?” asked the Little Pig.
“Dammit!” yelled the Wolf.
If you’ve enjoyed this story, you can find my work from previous Flash Fiction Months collected in these books:
Click any cover to find that book in your choice of format.
Snow White and the Impractical Law of Succession
Flash Fiction Month 2022, Day 25
Once upon a time there lived an evil queen, known by all as the most beautiful woman in the land. Marked for greatness by her flawless skin and flaxen hair, her ascent to the throne was uncontested and her rule unquestioned. But this queen had yet one more power not granted by her title: she practised witchcraft, and could converse with servile spirits that flitted behind the glass of the grand mirror in her chamber.
“Mirror mirror on the wall,” she entreated the spirits, “who is the fairest of them all?”
“With hair of red and tats of blue,” said the spirits in the mirror, “the fairest is Snow White, not you.”
The queen had feared just such an answer: though she was widely recognised as the most beautiful in the land, the council that had given her the crown lacked her spirit-sight. She had always known that they might have overlooked some rustic of uncommon grace, and so she posed a second question to her spirits in the glass:
“Captive shades whose fate I pity, whose is the bod that’s second most pretty?” Continue reading
The Ogre’s Audience
Flash Fiction Month 2022, Day 17
Once upon a time there was a grand parade. From sunrise on the first day to sunset on the third, a vast procession of peasants and princes, farmhands and florists, jugglers and judges marched from the great capital to the emperor’s country palace to give thanks for another year of peace, and to receive a silver sixpence from the treasury in return.
But though this was a time of great jubilation, it was also a time of great danger, for monsters and brigands alike were drawn to this vast procession. To see off such threats, a guard was posted every furlong, and a watchtower every mile. These preparations were well made: before noon on the first day, an ogre descended from the mountains with a cudgel in his hand and a coat of mail upon his back. He had observed the parade route with a stolen spyglass, and found a tree-sheltered ridge where no guard had been posted. Reaching this ridge, he took out his spyglass once more, observing the jewelled costumes of the nobles, and the succulent children of the common folk. Continue reading
Upon a Once Time
Flash Fiction Month 2022, Day 15
Upon a once time, great dragon a rent the asunder world. Gods pieces the up gathered the, though but great they care took find to one each, disorder in total remained they.
This seeing, laughed dragon the. “Undone never my can be work. Wrought I have evil an remain shall that all throughout ages the time of!”
People the all then wailed, hair at their tearing rending and clothes their. People the all, was that, for but child one.
“Can it read still I,” child said the.
“Did say what you?” eyes dragon’s narrowed the.
“Still it I read can,” repeated child the.
“And stuff nonsense!” snorted dragon the. “Read can nobody this.”
“Can it read I.” Child the shrugged. “Reading else too is now somebody right this. Would else how be happening it?”
People other the around to began look:
“Read can I too it!”
“As I well!”
“I and!”
“Better it actually like I!”
Dragon the around too looked.
Were watching gods the.
“Up shut,” the groused dragon, cave flew and to back its.
If you’ve enjoyed this story, you can find my work from previous Flash Fiction Months collected in these books:
Click any cover to find that book in your choice of format.
The Tale of Pierre LePied
Flash Fiction Month 2022, Day 14
Challenge #6: Write a story containing five words chosen for you by another participant. Optionally, the story can combine words chosen by multiple other people.
- SubjugatedSandwich: cult, charcuterie, caltrops, chardonnay, cherub
- MMBaird: diamond, dinner, dancing, dread, dismal
- bookcrusher: late, lullaby, lexicon, lone, liar
- eV13il: recreate, red, rancid, rope, reaching
- Wearyrains: queen, quiet, name, last, risk
There once lived a giant named Pierre LePied who was born with only one foot. Not one foot instead of two, you understand, but one foot instead of his entire body. From the ground up, there was his foot, and then there was his head, without so much as a neck in between. Pierre was not one to complain, and this misfortune would have done little to hold him back, were it not that that the Circle of Giants declared him an abomination. Though Pierre was as kind as any cherub, this cult thought him the devil. The giants of his village would share neither chardonnay nor charcuterie with him, and some went so far as to scatter caltrops to keep him from their houses.
Justly unsatisfied with this state of affairs, Pierre LePied resolved to hop off to the country where the little people dwelt, there to make a name for himself. For three days and the best part of three nights he bounded through the Alps—over peak and through pass—until he came to the houses of those brave enough to make their homes within three days’ march of the mighty giants. Continue reading
Just Let Sleeping Beauties Lie
Flash Fiction Month 2022, Day 9
Challenge #4: Write a story that flips a classic fairy tale on its head. Optionally, it must rhyme.
Long ago, when dragons flew,
Occur’d events I tell to you,
Of princess fair and knight so brave
(but not of beast inside a cave).
This princess slumbr’d in a tower
Bewitchèd by some evil power,
And so the knight resolved to save
Her from this fate so vile and grave. Continue reading
Damon L. Wakes 