At one point, I was going to make them all decomposing zombies,
and Cinderella was going to lose her foot instead of her shoe. But the dialogue was all "Uuuuungh" and "Aaaaaagh" and that got old fast.
As is, I'm inclined to blame Shoshana for this.
Once upon a time (that time being after the world had started ending, but before it had completely finished), in a land called New Jersey (or what used to be New Jersey before things like “New Jersey” ceased to be relevant), there lived a human analogue girl (humans as you and I know them couldn’t survive the conditions of this harsh new world, and so did not) named Ashes.
Ashes would often set out searching for food with plans of never coming back. If she were on her own, she would never again have to hear her Step-Mother moan in hunger- never again have to hear her Step-Sister whine. But Ashes knows they would not survive without her, so whenever she sets out searching for food, she always comes back.
“I need new shoes,” Ashes announces to no one in particular as she trudges along, leaving one shoe behind to mark the trail that they have traveled through this barren wasteland.
Godmother is silent, as always, her shoes long gone.
Step-Mother will be angry about this, but even angrier that there’s no food, and what little food there is tastes like cinders.
Ashes used to have two Step-Sisters, so the complaints were in triplicate. But Step-Sister Number Two is as long gone as Godmother’s shoes. Ashes decided not to tell the remaining Step-Family what happened. They made it easy for her, and didn’t ask. They complain less when their bellies are full.
Most days (supposing there can be such a thing as “day” without sunlight) are the same: awaken, brush off the layer of soot that has accumulated while sleeping, eat sparingly of what plants have survived, and set out to find more with little success. This day, however, is quite different. On this day, Ashes finds a pumpkin patch. She does not know to call them pumpkins, but she knows that they are big enough that she could hollow one out and sit in it.
She laughs and tells her Godmother, “I might do just that!”
Godmother doesn’t seem to mind the non sequitur. Godmother doesn’t seem to mind much of anything these days.
Ashes stabs her jagged knife deep into the pumpkin’s flesh and nibbles on the rind. She digs further inwards to find the sweet fruit inside. The interior of the giant pumpkin is free of the ash that falls from the sky. She delights in its silky taste. Step-Mother will not moan in hunger today. Nor will Step-Sister whine.
Godmother, as always, remains impassive.
There are many pumpkins growing, their vines entwined. It will be a long time before Ashes and her Step-Family go hungry again.
The next day (such as it is) there is energy and enthusiasm, the lethargy of previous days (such as they are) is gone. Trudging has been replaced by careful dancing footsteps. Ashes passes by her discarded shoe and laughs, loud and bright in the still air.
. . .
Now, it just so happens that upon this same time and (conveniently enough) in the same vicinity of erstwhile New Jersey, there lived a human analogue boy named Prince. His biological parents were the only people he had ever met, so when he finds the remains of Ashes’s shoe sticking out of the dusty ground cover, he is very excited.
“This means there are other people nearby!” Prince exclaims, “Perhaps the shoe belongs to a pretty girl, who will marry me if I return it to her.”
Prince starts walking again, and he is quiet for a time as the fantasies fly through his head. The idea of meeting someone, anyone, is a new experience for Prince, and he is quite content to revel in it.
When Prince stumbles upon the three figures huddled behind a large orange orb, he cannot help but shout out a joyous, “Hello!”
“Shut up!” hisses a girl about his age, one foot in a raggedy shoe, the other bare, “It’s already killed Godmother!”
But it is too late. A massive wave of grey fur bears down on the hiding Step-Family and snatches up Step-Mother in its long teeth.
Prince wails in terror as Ashes drags him out of harm’s way. Step-Mother’s final moan reaches them in their new leafy shelter. It is then that Step-Sister flees the pumpkin patch. The giant mouse (for that is what the “it” that has killed Godmother and Step-Mother alike is) pursues them, leaving Ashes and Prince alone in the pumpkin patch.
. . .
Enough time has passed as they wait, huddled beneath the leafy vine of a pumpkin, that Prince believes it is safe to speak.
“I think this is your shoe,” he whispers as he holds up the tattered remnants he has managed to hang onto and amends, “Or at least what’s left of it.”
The two human analogue children introduce themselves, and discuss the size of their enlarged rodent tormentor (if they knew of such things, they would say the mouse was the size of a horse, but horses are even more long gone than the humans our protagonists are analogue to).
Eventually, they venture out from beneath the leaf they have been huddling under and begin carving into the nearest pumpkin for food with plans of returning to their hiding place to eat. But (of course) the giant mouse chooses this time to return to the pumpkin patch. The creature seems to be taking its time approaching them, so they eye the beast warily as they continue in their quest for nourishment.
It is then that Ashes, in a burst of inspiration, cuts out a rather large chunk of the pumpkin, and throws it to the giant mouse. The mouse stops. Sniffs. Eats.
Ashes cuts another piece. They continue on in this fashion until the mouse is no longer interested and wanders off to sleep.
From that day (or its post-apocalyptic equivalent) onward, Ashes and Prince fed the mouse first, and then ate small pieces of pumpkin for themselves. The arrangement was satisfactory for all three creatures involved (if not so much for the pumpkins), and so…
They all lived happily ever after (at least until the pumpkins died out and the mutant, horse-sized mouse ate them, but the mouse was still pretty happy at that point).
When you're in trouble, you can call DW.
As is, I'm inclined to blame Shoshana for this.
Once upon a time (that time being after the world had started ending, but before it had completely finished), in a land called New Jersey (or what used to be New Jersey before things like “New Jersey” ceased to be relevant), there lived a human analogue girl (humans as you and I know them couldn’t survive the conditions of this harsh new world, and so did not) named Ashes.
Ashes would often set out searching for food with plans of never coming back. If she were on her own, she would never again have to hear her Step-Mother moan in hunger- never again have to hear her Step-Sister whine. But Ashes knows they would not survive without her, so whenever she sets out searching for food, she always comes back.
“I need new shoes,” Ashes announces to no one in particular as she trudges along, leaving one shoe behind to mark the trail that they have traveled through this barren wasteland.
Godmother is silent, as always, her shoes long gone.
Step-Mother will be angry about this, but even angrier that there’s no food, and what little food there is tastes like cinders.
Ashes used to have two Step-Sisters, so the complaints were in triplicate. But Step-Sister Number Two is as long gone as Godmother’s shoes. Ashes decided not to tell the remaining Step-Family what happened. They made it easy for her, and didn’t ask. They complain less when their bellies are full.
Most days (supposing there can be such a thing as “day” without sunlight) are the same: awaken, brush off the layer of soot that has accumulated while sleeping, eat sparingly of what plants have survived, and set out to find more with little success. This day, however, is quite different. On this day, Ashes finds a pumpkin patch. She does not know to call them pumpkins, but she knows that they are big enough that she could hollow one out and sit in it.
She laughs and tells her Godmother, “I might do just that!”
Godmother doesn’t seem to mind the non sequitur. Godmother doesn’t seem to mind much of anything these days.
Ashes stabs her jagged knife deep into the pumpkin’s flesh and nibbles on the rind. She digs further inwards to find the sweet fruit inside. The interior of the giant pumpkin is free of the ash that falls from the sky. She delights in its silky taste. Step-Mother will not moan in hunger today. Nor will Step-Sister whine.
Godmother, as always, remains impassive.
There are many pumpkins growing, their vines entwined. It will be a long time before Ashes and her Step-Family go hungry again.
The next day (such as it is) there is energy and enthusiasm, the lethargy of previous days (such as they are) is gone. Trudging has been replaced by careful dancing footsteps. Ashes passes by her discarded shoe and laughs, loud and bright in the still air.
. . .
Now, it just so happens that upon this same time and (conveniently enough) in the same vicinity of erstwhile New Jersey, there lived a human analogue boy named Prince. His biological parents were the only people he had ever met, so when he finds the remains of Ashes’s shoe sticking out of the dusty ground cover, he is very excited.
“This means there are other people nearby!” Prince exclaims, “Perhaps the shoe belongs to a pretty girl, who will marry me if I return it to her.”
Prince starts walking again, and he is quiet for a time as the fantasies fly through his head. The idea of meeting someone, anyone, is a new experience for Prince, and he is quite content to revel in it.
When Prince stumbles upon the three figures huddled behind a large orange orb, he cannot help but shout out a joyous, “Hello!”
“Shut up!” hisses a girl about his age, one foot in a raggedy shoe, the other bare, “It’s already killed Godmother!”
But it is too late. A massive wave of grey fur bears down on the hiding Step-Family and snatches up Step-Mother in its long teeth.
Prince wails in terror as Ashes drags him out of harm’s way. Step-Mother’s final moan reaches them in their new leafy shelter. It is then that Step-Sister flees the pumpkin patch. The giant mouse (for that is what the “it” that has killed Godmother and Step-Mother alike is) pursues them, leaving Ashes and Prince alone in the pumpkin patch.
. . .
Enough time has passed as they wait, huddled beneath the leafy vine of a pumpkin, that Prince believes it is safe to speak.
“I think this is your shoe,” he whispers as he holds up the tattered remnants he has managed to hang onto and amends, “Or at least what’s left of it.”
The two human analogue children introduce themselves, and discuss the size of their enlarged rodent tormentor (if they knew of such things, they would say the mouse was the size of a horse, but horses are even more long gone than the humans our protagonists are analogue to).
Eventually, they venture out from beneath the leaf they have been huddling under and begin carving into the nearest pumpkin for food with plans of returning to their hiding place to eat. But (of course) the giant mouse chooses this time to return to the pumpkin patch. The creature seems to be taking its time approaching them, so they eye the beast warily as they continue in their quest for nourishment.
It is then that Ashes, in a burst of inspiration, cuts out a rather large chunk of the pumpkin, and throws it to the giant mouse. The mouse stops. Sniffs. Eats.
Ashes cuts another piece. They continue on in this fashion until the mouse is no longer interested and wanders off to sleep.
From that day (or its post-apocalyptic equivalent) onward, Ashes and Prince fed the mouse first, and then ate small pieces of pumpkin for themselves. The arrangement was satisfactory for all three creatures involved (if not so much for the pumpkins), and so…
They all lived happily ever after (at least until the pumpkins died out and the mutant, horse-sized mouse ate them, but the mouse was still pretty happy at that point).
When you're in trouble, you can call DW.