A Father's Failure-- three retold fairy tales in one
Three days in a row! Three days of writing! This is so good. I hope I can keep it up!
I really like how this one turned out. It's an idea I've had at the back of my mind ever since I took that writing class. We discussed my Hansel & Gretel piece, and one of the comments was man's dependency on women, and on sex, in fairy tales. I mean, how many wicked stepmothers do we encounter? (Three famous ones). So this is from the perspective of those three fathers and husbands.
I am the king, in a far-away land, who never appreciated my daughter until I lost her forever.
I am the poor wood-cutter, who went hungry at night but never starved for affection, until the day I left my children in the woods.
I am the wealthy merchant who left my daughter riches at my death, but not a family who loved her.
We wept when their mothers died. We wept when we saw our motherless children. We wept at the thought of them growing up without a woman's influence.
I say I remarried to give my daughter a mother, but it is a lie. My bed was cold at night, and I needed a male heir to the throne.
I say I remarried for love, not just because I loved the woman, but because I loved my children and wanted her to love them too. It is a lie. I could not resist her beauty, and I needed help in the household: someone to cook, to clean, to look after the children.
I say I remarried to give my daughter a sense of normalcy, someone to look after her besides a governess when I traveled for work, but it is a lie. I wanted to consolidate our wealthy households, to strengthen my position in town, and I wanted my daughter never to want for material possessions.
We were weak. We were foolish. How did we not see what we really needed? What our hearts truly wanted?
The stories have forgotten us. They do not speak of us, of our fates. But we have suffered for our grievous errors.
I succumbed to madness.
I lost all powers of speech.
I am a wandering spirit, unable to move on to heaven.
Snow White, now married and queen of two kingdoms, still visits me once a fortnight. I am more lucid when she is near, but I am still but a shadow of my former self.
Hansel is now apprenticed to a blacksmith in town, and Gretel and I see him only on holidays. Our home is quiet. Gretel still chattered away when they first stumbled home, but now she speaks almost as rarely as I do. I have stolen the laughter from our household.
Cinderella still visits my grave each year, as she and I once visited her mother's together. I watch her from a distance, unable to ascend to heaven, where her mother awaits me. My uneasy spirit will haunt this cemetery for eternity.
I really like how this one turned out. It's an idea I've had at the back of my mind ever since I took that writing class. We discussed my Hansel & Gretel piece, and one of the comments was man's dependency on women, and on sex, in fairy tales. I mean, how many wicked stepmothers do we encounter? (Three famous ones). So this is from the perspective of those three fathers and husbands.
I am the king, in a far-away land, who never appreciated my daughter until I lost her forever.
I am the poor wood-cutter, who went hungry at night but never starved for affection, until the day I left my children in the woods.
I am the wealthy merchant who left my daughter riches at my death, but not a family who loved her.
We wept when their mothers died. We wept when we saw our motherless children. We wept at the thought of them growing up without a woman's influence.
I say I remarried to give my daughter a mother, but it is a lie. My bed was cold at night, and I needed a male heir to the throne.
I say I remarried for love, not just because I loved the woman, but because I loved my children and wanted her to love them too. It is a lie. I could not resist her beauty, and I needed help in the household: someone to cook, to clean, to look after the children.
I say I remarried to give my daughter a sense of normalcy, someone to look after her besides a governess when I traveled for work, but it is a lie. I wanted to consolidate our wealthy households, to strengthen my position in town, and I wanted my daughter never to want for material possessions.
We were weak. We were foolish. How did we not see what we really needed? What our hearts truly wanted?
The stories have forgotten us. They do not speak of us, of our fates. But we have suffered for our grievous errors.
I succumbed to madness.
I lost all powers of speech.
I am a wandering spirit, unable to move on to heaven.
Snow White, now married and queen of two kingdoms, still visits me once a fortnight. I am more lucid when she is near, but I am still but a shadow of my former self.
Hansel is now apprenticed to a blacksmith in town, and Gretel and I see him only on holidays. Our home is quiet. Gretel still chattered away when they first stumbled home, but now she speaks almost as rarely as I do. I have stolen the laughter from our household.
Cinderella still visits my grave each year, as she and I once visited her mother's together. I watch her from a distance, unable to ascend to heaven, where her mother awaits me. My uneasy spirit will haunt this cemetery for eternity.