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Some quick blurbs
Robbie
He continued his hike, around the loch and up the craggy green hills to the witch’s cottage. Rosie the witch was not
a crone or evil, as many thought of a witch. She was old, around her fiftieth year, but her eyes were merry, her step lively,
and her love for her daughter without bounds. She did no evil spells, but was kind, healing and helping those who came to
her. She delivered babes and comforted the dying. The people of her clan loved and trusted her. As Robbie approached her hut,
she came out to greet him. On this day her blue eyes were clouded with concern and pain.
“Rosie, what’s wrong?” he asked filled with concern for her, unused to seeing her so worried.
“‘Tis nothing, my boy,” she replied, forcing a smile. “I am just having a bit of an off day. Come
in, Robbie, and have a glass of ale with me.”
“I will nae turn that down.” Robbie smiled as he entered her small hut.
Robbie sat at her small table. Rosie had two tankards of ale already poured and put one in front of him reluctantly, with
a great sadness in her soft blue eyes. Vaguely he wondered why she already had his ale poured. How had she known he was coming?
“I am sorry, Robbie,” she said as he began to drink, “truly sorry.”
Soon, Robbie’s head began to swim. “What? Did ye do something to me? I thought ye were my friend.”
“I am, Robbie,” she said before he started losing consciousness. “I am but I had no choice. Dauid kidnapped
my daughter and told me that to get her back, I had to kill ye, else she would die.” “So I am dying then?”
He fought to hold on to consciousness.
“No, Robbie, I could not do that, I love ye too much.” She had tears in her eyes. “Ye will look dead, seem
to be dead, and your body will be buried but ye will not die. Ye will remain in dreams, and ye can emerge from those dreams
into real life again.”
“How?” he managed, he was fading fast.
“Ye will need to find love, real love, in the dreams.”
Cynthia
“That was Lewis.” He said after he hung up. “He has learned that Gertrude is indeed connected to David
Fulsom,” he paused. “In fact, she is his mother. She is his son from her second marriage.”
“Oh, my God.” Cyn was caught off guard, whatever had made her suspicious, it was not that.
“It seems they have worked together to con and cheat people. I believe she is worse. I believe she is a murderer, and
it seems he is just a con man. So far, he’s shown no taste for real violence. I also know they’ve had several
explosive fights. She’s put him in the hospital a couple of times, so it’s a real love-hate relationship, but
when they’re not fighting, they work together.”
Cyn went pale. She looked as though she might faint, and she sat still, almost frozen.
“How are you doing?” he asked with genuine concern.
“Cheryl,” he hit his intercom, “please bring me a cola for Cyn.”
“I know you’re shocked,” his voice was tender, “but this could very well be the evidence we need
to get Gertrude arrested.”
She sipped the cola and slowly relaxed. “I know, Glenn, but I feel like I’m living in a fairy tale.” “What
do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, I have the wicked stepmother and two stepsisters just like Cinderella; and the seven boys remind me of the seven
dwarfs as in Snow White. Of course, it’s practically impossible to get Gertrude away from her mirror.” She grinned.
“All I’m missing is Prince Charming. I really need Prince Charming.”
“Your name even fits, Cynthia Wright Snowden. Cynthia for Cinderella, and Wright Snowden for Snow White.” Cyn
laughed in spite of herself. “Let’s just hope it all ends with happily ever after.” “If I have anything
to say about it, it will.” He grinned and rose to walk her out.
She shook his hand and left, walking down the city street to find a shop for some gifts for the boys. She was distracted,
her mind racing as she stood at the corner waiting for the signal to turn. She caught a whiff of cologne that unpleasantly
reminded her of David, then felt a quick push on her back and fell . . .
Limbo
Cyn became aware of herself, her consciousness, but not of her body. She felt no pain, no fear, just a sensation as if she
were floating. Soon she became aware of another presence. Someone was with her.
“Where am I?” she thought, “and who are you?”
“Ye are in what I call the land of shadows and dreams, lass.” She could hear the answer in her head as if she
were reading someone’s mind. “And I am Robbie McDougal.”
“I am Cynthia Wright Snowden but they call me Cyn. Am I dead?” she asked in her mind.
“No, lass, not yet,” came the answer, the words sounding in her head once more, and this time she noted the Scottish
accent. “They call ye sin? Are ye wicked?”
“Not sin like the church sees it,” she laughed, “but C Y N, as in a short version of my name. Am I dying
then?” She felt no fear.
“Ye may well be, I dinnae know,” came the answer. “All the lasses that have been here with me have died.”
“How did you come to be here?” she wondered, thinking the question.
“‘Twas a spell put on me by a witch. I am to find a true love ere I can leave.” The explanation floated
into her mind, surprising her.
“A witch?” She was puzzled. “No one believes in witches anymore.”
“Then how did you come to be here, lass?” he queried.
“I was hit by a bus,” she said bluntly.
“A what? What is a bus?” He was puzzled.
“What is. . . How long have you been here?” She had a bit of a giggle in her mind
“I do not know.” He said softly. “Here, there is no time, only now.”
“What year did you come to be here? Do you know that?” her curiosity knew no bounds.
“'Twas in the year of our Lord 1584.”
Cinderella
Cinderella, as she always did, had climbed the hill and thrown the ashes and waste off the bluff a short distance from her
house. It was something she did without thought, something she did every day, something she thoroughly hated having to do.
She closed her mind and strove to close off her sense of smell. She just blindly threw the contents of the pots into the breeze
off the cliff. There were several things happening that day that Cinderella didn't know. How could she know? How could she
know that today would be different? That today, doing the detested chore, would lead to personal disaster? To a fateful meeting
that could deflect her anger towards her family and even change her life? How could she know that anyone was riding along
the road just below the steep bluff?
She certainly didn't know that the cliff she emptied the buckets from was within range of the road far below when the
wind conditions were just right. And how could she know that of all the people who might be riding there as she emptied out
the waste and ashes, it would be young Prince Robert out riding on his great warhorse? How could she know that he was in a
fierce mood already? She did not know that the Prince and two of his guards ever rode along that road, let alone that they
were there that very day. She did not know that the Prince had a notoriously quick temper, especially when he felt slighted
in front of any of his men. And she certainly did not know that some of the ashes and even a few drops of the other waste
had landed on him.
Nothing that happened that day was her fault in any way. She just wanted to get to the pond in time for her swim before
she had to return to start the evening chores. Humming to herself, she followed the path and the stream down to a small, clear
pond, surrounded by lush grass and shaded by tall leafy trees. Looking around quickly, she could see no one. She quickly disrobed,
hung her grubby dress on a nearby branch, pulled off her shift and hung it next to her dress, and leapt into the pond. The
water felt cool and wonderful on her naked skin. Her long black hair flowed in the water as she floated on her back, relaxing.
She felt so relaxed and free. She began to swim lazily. Swimming was only one of the many pleasures Cinderella's stepmother,
Gertrude, denied her. The denial was not from any concern or love of Cinderella but from fear that if Cinderella were to drown,
she and her two daughters would actually have to do the chores themselves. Still, it seemed that the world was so beautiful
and peaceful that she felt she could truly relax and enjoy the pleasant interlude. She was wrong. Very, very wrong. So Cinderella
swam, relaxed and tranquil, not knowing that her idyll was about to come to an abrupt and painful end
Snow White
When she woke once again she was in a place where there were no modern conveniences. Once again she was stuck with only a
chamber pot. When, she wondered, would she find herself in a place where there were things like telephones, central heating,
and even a working toilet? Even as she thought these things, her memories of them faded until they seemed only a crazy myth.
What exactly was a working toilet? She shook her head in curiosity, deciding to get up and dressed before she went out in
search of some very important answers.
She left the bed and dropped her nightgown to the floor. She walked over to the tub, noting the rose petals and other flowers
floating on the water. How had they known when she would awaken, she wondered, and how had they managed to fill the tub without
waking her? She put those questions aside and sank into the hot water. She reveled in the bath, scrubbing herself clean with
soap that seemed crude but was scented with flowers. With a sigh, she decided it was time to get out. Just as she rose from
the tub and reached for a towel there was a knock on the door.
“Snow, dear,” the voice had her stepsister Bridget’s familiar high-pitched whine, “you had best hurry
with your bath and get dressed. Quickly now! Father has a special guest coming today and he is quite insistent that we all
meet him.” Her voice dropped to a loud whisper. “You will never guess who he is.”
“I give up, who is he?” Cynthia asked with little interest in the mystery guest.
Her heart was racing from the news that her beloved father was alive, and apparently well, in this strange reality. In her
dreams, he was dead! She realized she was in an ancient era. Was it medieval, she wondered? She used the chamber pot with
disgust. As Bridget spoke, the name she had called her, Snow, began to register. Snow White? She barely remembered being
Cynthia, but the name acted as a trigger and she forgot Cynthia as she began to understand more and more of the pieces of
Snow White’s life.
“His name is Prince Robert, and he is rumored to be young, single, rich, and very handsome.” Bridget sighed in
delight as she continued to talk softly to Cynthia through the door. “He is even richer than Father, I mean, his kingdom
is. I think Father wants to match him to one of us. He would make a terrific husband.”
The Ending?
Just read the book. Since I've used two different fairy tales, the words Happy ever after may appear. Maybe.
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