Have you noticed I tend to go one long and one short with these things usually? I have to admit, I wasn’t really feeling it for these prompts at first. Then I came up with something a little moody for the first one.
The second one seemed to take forever, mainly because as much as I love fairy tales, I couldn’t figure out which one to use for my story. And then it got a little long winded, but it is what it is.
Prompt One
Go over to your bookshelf, close your eyes, and pick up the first book you touch. Open the book to a random page, read the first full sentence on that page, and use it as the inspiration for a story or scene. Please include the original line at the beginning or end of your response.
From Bram Stoker’s Dracula: When I got almost to the top I could see the seat and the white figure, for I was now close enough to distinguish it even through the spells of shadow.
It had not been an easy climb and I would have given up halfway had curiosity not taken root in me. No ghost this, but the figure resolved itself into that of a large, white cat, sitting as though it, too, had been carved from the same white marble as the bench below it.
We stared at each other, the cat and I, for the space of several heart beats. I was afraid to move, as it turned its head and became enigmatic and motionless. The air up here was cool with a hint of dampness promising rain. A chill breeze had the dead leaves dancing around the pedestal of the bench, but the cat’s fur remained unruffled.
The clouds chose that moment to part just enough so that a beam of sunlight fell upon the cat, turning the white fur into a blazing nimbus. My breath caught, and two points of living sapphire turned to stare at me once more.
I shut my eyes against the radiant beauty and when I opened them again, the clouds had covered the sun once more and the cat was gone. Was it real? Was it a spirit? Was it all just a dream?
With ponderous steps I went over to the marble bench and sat down. The view was spectacular, the cemetery spread out on all sides below, the checkerboard of light and dark racing with the cloud cover.
There was no sign of the cat. Nor did I ever see it again.
Prompt Two
Write a scene that involves a fairy tale trope turned on its head or otherwise deviating from typical expectations. For example: A princess who’s cruel to her kind stepmother; a golden goose that lays explosive eggs, a big, frightening wolf who really just wants a friend.
It was the girl’s idea. It usually was. Though both children were somewhat greedy and grasping she was the one who generally came up with the plots and plans.
She was the one who started the rumors about their parents being so poor they couldn’t afford to feed her and her brother, and how it was their mother’s idea to take them out into the woods and leave them there.
The first time it happened they were returned home by the constable, who gave their parents a fine and a stern lecture on what would happen to them if they ever tried such a thing again. The boy felt bad for his part in it, but the girl felt a great deal of satisfaction.
“That’ll teach them for trying to make me do chores,” she said to her brother.
The next time they had to go further afield because the constable had started to keep an eye on their farm. There was a rich couple, two villages over, that the girl knew of. She timed it just right and she and her brother stumbled out of the woods right as the couple were returning home. It was easy making the couple believe they’d been abused and abandoned. The boy had always been on the thin side, like his father, while the girl wore her least favorite dress and made sure it was torn and dirty.
For a while it had been great fun. They were dressed in the finest clothes and fed the best food, and had presents heaped upon them. But then the girl overheard the man telling his wife that they needed to let the authorities know about them, so that proper action could be taken against their terrible parents. That night they gathered up what they could carry and slipped away towards home.
Along the way they stumbled across the cottage where an old woman ran a rather successful bakery. In fact, she’d just recently renovated the house to make it look like it was made of gingerbread – a great advertising gimmick. The girl looked thoughtfully at the “Help Wanted” sign in the window and the boy could almost see the wheels turning. He had a feeling this was not going to bode well for him.
They returned home to a lukewarm greeting from their parents and one even less so from the constable.
“Here, now. Where have you two been? And don’t give me no tales about your parents losing you in the woods ‘cause they haven’t left the farm in more ‘n an week.”
“Why of course not, officer,” the girl said sweetly. “We were but visiting friends in another town. So sorry if you were worried.”
The constable harrumphed and went back to his jail where he didn’t have to worry about things like missing children and runaway children and the like.
The girl and her brother took the fine clothes and toys they’d collected to the market, where they sold them for a rather nice profit. Then the boy sat on a hay bale at the edge of the marketplace sipping a mug of apple cider while he watched his sister flit through the crowds dropping a coin here and a rumor there about the old woman being a witch with a predilection for eating children.
“There,” she said with satisfaction as she returned to collect her brother. “That’ll take care of the competition.”
The following day she and her brother presented themselves to the old woman at the gingerbread house.
“Well,” the old woman said, “You’re a little young and you’ve no experience , but seeing as no one else seems to want to work for me, I’ll take you on a trial basis.”
The boy actually quite liked working for the old woman. She was kind and soft spoken and never scolded him if he happened to break something, which sad to say was quite often. His sister pitched in with an uncharacteristic zeal which got him wondering. What was she up to?
He found out more than a week later when his sister took him aside. “The old woman seems to like you,” she whispered. “You need to play it up and get her to tell you the secret ingredient to her gingerbread.”
“Whatever for?”
“Because, you idiot, it’s the only recipe I’m lacking. I’ve figured out all the rest of them and with the gingerbread we can get rid of the old woman and take over her business.”
The boy looked at her askance.
“Don’t just stand there like a big, fat gob. Go get that recipe!”
The girl left on an errand. The boy knew exactly what to do. When the girl returned she looked at him expectantly and he nodded slightly.
“You’re brother and I just finished making up a batch of gingerbread,” the old woman said, “But I can’t seem to get the oven lit. Do you think you could give it a try?”
“Of course,” the girl said with insincere sweetness. She bent over, having to stick her head partway into the oven to get it lit. As she did so, she felt a tremendous shove from behind.
“Get the door!” she heard her brother yell. The iron door clanged shut behind her and in an instant she began to smell smoke.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
“I think this is the best batch of gingerbread yet,” the boy said to his new partner.
“Why thank you, dear,” the old woman said, beaming. “The secret is in the fuel you use for the fire.”
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