Write a Fairytale Set Here – Writespiration #96

fairytale-writespirationFairytale retellings are going through a big come back. They’re the latest trend, with books like Cinders, or the plethora of other books on this Goodreads list. I’ve read Cinders, it’s quite good, I liked the twist on it, although for me, the joy of writing is in creating something entirely new. And sure, no story is completely unique, but lets not bicker about trivialities.

This week your task is to write a fairytale, or a part of one, or a fairytale poem set in the photo. Maybe it’s a nightmare tale, or perhaps a happily ever after ending, or maybe a prince’s love monologue. Write a fairytale in less than 200 words. Leave it in the comments or use a pingback so I find it. Due by 23rd October.


Last week, you’re task was to include the prompt Kaledioscope in your entries.

First in was Ladylee Manila 

Sing me a song that will give me craft
A fair amount of good-natured chaff
Day or night – chicken done right
Lightning that flashes called sprite
A fiery one that will repair my frame
Ladyleemanila – that’s my nickname
Call me back and add a billow of hope
Write a letter and put it in an envelope
Anything nice and sweet so I can cope
Vibrant colours in a range of kaleidoscope
Another chance to say that I still exist
So that I know that I’m being missed

intone me a song
a vibrant kaleidoscope
pondering my thoughts


Next up Gordon

I re-read the passage and wondered, I was pretty sure that the building work had been done in 1808. But this diary claimed it had been done several years later. Which was true? Could both be correct? Or had I made a mistake in my interpretation?
I flicked through the book and then gasped, it couldn’t be true. In an entry for 1810 the author mentioned a Kaleidoscope, but I knew that was impossible.
I looked at the introduction again, the diary had been ‘copied’ in the 1940s, the original had been ‘mislaid’.
I smiled now, the diary was fiction.

This is exactly what happened when I was shown a book called ‘Old Portland’. It had been published as the diary of a young woman living in the early nineteenth century. I couldn’t make out why the dates in the book didn’t match what was I knew from other sources, until I saw the mention of a Kaleidoscope in 1810. The device, and the name, were invented in 1816, so the diary was clearly fiction.


Allie P up next

The room spun. A kaleidoscope of faces assaulted my eyes, and all of them laughing, as I fought to maintain my bearings. My plate crashed to the ground, sending bits of uneaten sloppy joe in every direction. I could now see bits of whatever had been used to spike my meal. Too late now. Laughter turned to gasps as my legs gave out, granting me only a moment’s satisfaction that at least a few now regretted their prank before my face landed in a puddle of my own making.


Next in Ritu, with a story I can relate to

“Quick Cap’n! They be gaining on us!”

Captain John Bird hurriedly fished his spyglass out of his pocket to see what this vessel was that chasing them.

“It looks like they’re preparing the cannon, and, that be a pirate flag on their mast!”

Focussing the glass, Captain Bird looked out, but all he could see was a rainbow of colours, no ship.

“Damn this thing!” he thought, pulling his handkerchief out to clean the lens.

It was only then that he realised, in the hurry to board his ship, he’d picked up his son’s kaleidoscope instead of his spyglass…


Annette in next,

Look But Don’t Touch

The “boys” could look at but not touch the kaleidoscope collection without her supervision. Nancy had been collecting the tubes of wonder for decades. So naturally, when she wasn’t looking, they’d take sneak-a -peak at the forbidden worlds a few twists and turns revealed.
After she died, the girls were busy packing up antiques for the dealer to sell. They kept asking the “boys” if there was anything they wanted and all they could do was to shrug their shoulders. They had taken what they wanted, when no one was looking.


Next in Prajakty:

Like a kaleidoscope, the images flashed through my eyes.

Where memory plucked a piece of time to cherish,

From past travels and adventures and journeys.

An autumn leaf, a blooming cherry blossom and a fresh snowflake,

Shaded with hues left behind by a piece of myself.

.

Slowly chipped away to nothing as I meandered far and wide,

But shaped back whole by the memory capsules I carried back home.

Fixed with mementos, an imperfect solved jigsaw was I.

Ever resolving. Ever evolving.

Ever travelling.


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August welcome

36 comments

  1. It’s funny, I remember when the novel Wicked did really well, and then the author went on to do retellings of Cinderella and Snow White. Must have been about 10 years ago! I think the appetite for fairytales never really goes away because they’re so universal.

    And I can’t condemn them. The Sorcerer’s Apprentice isn’t a fairytale but I used it as the basis for The Necromancer’s Apprentice!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. That’s true – a bit like vampire stories, they are cyclical and come round every ten years or so, Anne Rices says she’s made money of her books three times since she wrote them because of that very cycle!!

      I do think they are having a bit of a boom at the moment though particularly. How about an excerpt from the necromancer’s apprentice?

      Like

  2. Great responses to kaleidoscope. Such talent out there, Sacha. The remakes of fairytales are everywhere and I’m not sure how I feel about them. I’m sort of attached to the originals. That said, the new prompt is fun and I’m looking forward to the creative reads. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Full disclosure – I went over your limit – but this is a short story I am working on so *shrugs* I’m interested to hear if you know what story this is based on.

    Miranda blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the city in the world above. She’d never seen such color. A blaring horn sent her scrambling back into the shadows where her people had lived for generations. Her father would kill her if he knew how far she had strayed. But she couldn’t help linger awhile and soak in the wonders of the world she’d never known.

    The ground shook as the sound of yet another horn blared. Lights flashed. Then metal screamed as a monstrous screaming beast of a machine suddenly rose off its railings, landing on the platform below. Smoke filled the room as figures darted around the wrecked. Miranda’s eyes locked on to a broad-shouldered man in particular. Unlike the others, he was running into the wreckage, not out of it.

    The man disappeared for several heartbeats only to reemerge with a small child in his arms. The child immediately ran off no sooner than he’d set him or her down. Miranda watched as the man’s body shook. He’s choking on the smoke, she realized. The man had saved that child, but who would save him? She wondered. She looked back into the tunnels toward her home. You just need to help him reach fresh air, that’s all. Decision made, she ran out, supporting the man’s weight with her shoulders. His body went limp, but she felt him still breathing. As she lay him down at the top of the stairs, she couldn’t help lingering for one more moment. He was beautiful. His eyes started to open. Sirens wailed. Miranda jumped back into the shadows. The man hadn’t seen her or at least he should be able forget her. She might never be able to say the same.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Whiter Fairy Tales?
    The usual fairy story has a princess kissing a frog and both living happily ever after; sadly today it seems that the frog can force himself on the princess and still have a shot at being President. Ha! Does that mean the fairy tale is dead?

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Looking up at the only glint of sun in the deep forest, she wondered if her prince would ever come. She got up and dusted herself off.

    “I don’t need a prince. I can find my way out of this magical forest all by my self,” she declared to no one in particular.

    A nearby squirrel overheard her and asked, “Hi, there lovely lady. Are you looking for the way out of the forest?”

    “Hummm, yes, but I’ve never talked to a squirrel before,” she replied.

    “Well, you’ve never been in a place like this before either,” he said, “Come on, follow me.”

    He ran off and she sprinted after him.

    That squirrel is fast, she thought. She was nearly out of breath.

    Then, she was in the meadow in the bright day light and the forest lay behind her. She was out!

    “Oh, thank you, dear little squirrel,” she said between heavy breaths.

    The squirrel was nowhere to be seen. She looked this way and that, but nothing, no one.

    Then, a deep voice came from behind her, “Well, there you are my lovely princess. I’ve been wondering when I would meet you.”

    She turned and there was the most handsome man she handsome man she had ever seen. Now, she was breathless, but for a totally different reason!

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Pink princess, lost in the dark woods of your own mind.
    No animals to sing to you or even moonlight to kiss your face, as you despair at the state of your orange jumpsuit, the one that hardly conceals the shy squirrel on your wrist.
    Your first tattoo, at aged 15, how you had sat still, defying the tattooist to do his worst.
    To hurt you more than life itself; that had birthed you, beat you, raped you and tossed you to the street dogs.
    Prince charming? More like Pierced charming. With his long Goth hair, his spiked collar-he was basically begging to be tamed.
    So you twirled those pink locks, flicked those mascara-ladened lashes, soon the spell was cast and he was yours.
    After closing, in neon-drenched alleyways, he became your first.
    The first time you thrilled from the feel of the smooth glass bottle, smashed by someone else’s hand, as he groped at the top, barely clinging to those budding breasts.
    The way it resisted, but not too much, as it found its purchase in his neck.
    You kissed him, as he lay there dying, but you couldn’t save him. Maybe he wasn’t the right prince after all?

    Liked by 2 people

      1. Thanks! I’m glad you enjoyed it. A bit gritty but your ideas about villains got me to thinking about the ones that are not so clear cut? It’s an idea that appeals because I like to develop multi-dimensional characters. Hard going in flash fiction.
        Look forward to reading your book!

        Like

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