Already read Part 1? Check out Part 2 here
This could go great, this could go terribly... but for better or worse, this is the first part of my 'Cracked Glass Slipper' posts.
So, here it is, part 1 of Cinderella. I hope I manage to make you laugh (or at least chuckle, please?)
Cinderella, Part 1
"Whoah,
whoah, whoah! You have got
to be kidding me."
The
old woman didn't answer. Just smiled genially... like she was Julie
Andrews or something. Sin
hoped that she wouldn't start
singing – that was the last
thing she needed.
"Seriously
– who spiked my drink?" Sin's head was spinning; this was not
normal.
Because
that sports car? Right next
to where they stood on the kerb?
In front of her modest front
door? - It hadn't been there
a minute ago. It had been a pumpkin
– an honest-to-God, ever-loving, pumpkin!
Who the hell makes luxury
vehicles out of vegetables?!
"Am
I having a breakdown? Or a stroke? A psychotic episode? Is that
what this is?"
The old
lady shrugged, "Possibly. I'm not judging. You taking the car or
not?"
"Well...no!"
The
woman looked genuinely confused, "No?"
"Ten
minutes ago that thing was a prototype Jack-o-Lantern; I doubt it's
gonna be up to safety regs. Or, you know, the laws of physics... and
reality, and stuff."
"Oh,"
she looked kind of pensive, "no-one's ever made that point
before."
"Well,
what do people normally
do? Just take the
car?!?" Sin's
face twisted in disbelief.
"Well...
yes. Of course in the old days it was a carriage, but, yes – they
always take the car,"
if anything, the old lady
was starting to look a little offended.
Sin
didn't know how to respond. This whole thing was just... there
weren't words. Not repeatable ones anyway.
"Look,
dear," the woman said, and the innocent-little-old-lady
act was getting old fast,
as far as Sin was concerned, "you have
to get to that boy's house! And the best way to do that is to take
this car – after we've got you some appropriate clothing, of
course."
"And
why do I have to go to
Tom's house? And how do you
even know about Tom?"
Sin crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently: she
wanted answers – now.
***
Ah, the
day had started so well. True, she'd found Effie drooling on the
sofa, again. And Abbie had taken her car without permission, again.
But, you know, that was normal. Expected, even.
Abbie
was always taking her car. Effie was always crashing on
the sofa after one too many vodka shots. Just the hazards of sharing
a flat with your step-sisters. Simple as. Especially with Effie still
in uni... student life and all that.
And of
course she loved them... they just drove her completely around
the bend. They wouldn't bug her so much if she didn't love
them, after all. That's just the way it goes with family sometimes.
True,
she'd had to clean up the cereal massacre someone (Abbie?
Probably Abbie.) had left in the kitchen. Then she'd had to make way
for Effie's hungover sprint to the bathroom and ask the usual 'Are
you ok?' style questions while pretending that she couldn't
hear the icky noises her sis was making (yuck, yuck, double-yuck!)
But hell, it was Saturday, and Sin honestly didn't care about
anything beyond lazing around in her PJ's. Nope, no dark
clouds – not today!
***
"It's
how it's supposed to go!" man, little-old-lady was
pissed; and she still hadn't answered Sin's questions.
Sin
wasn't really a 'supposed' to kind of girl. Call it a flaw. Call it a
strength. She didn't really care.
"Bite
me," she snapped, and turned to go back into the flat; she was
done with this.
The old
chick grabbed her arm. Hard. Sheesh, was grandma on 'roids?
Sin
turned back to glare at her... and stopped. Her heart fluttered. Oh
man, she must've drunk something really bad. Because no way
was this real.
The old
woman was... crackling. No other word sprang to mind (to be
fair, her mind was a bit occupied right now.) The old lady's
white hair stood on end, flying out behind her. Her eyes were angry.
Sparks flew around her – actual, honest-to-God, sparks
– green and blue and purple.
"Holy
crap!" Ok, not the most eloquent thing Sin could've said – but
give her a break, it was kind of a unique situation.
"Sorry
girl," the old woman snarled, "we're on a deadline...
Bloody millenials"
***
When the
first text had come through, Sin had been happily tucking into toast
on the sofa. She didn't answer. The second text came ten minutes
later. She didn't answer that one either. Nor did she answer the
phonecall that came twenty minutes after
that.
She was
completely sure that her care-free, dark-cloud-less-Saturday, did not
involve a conversation with Tom.
Nope. Not going there.
Nope. Not going to answer the phone Tom, no matter how many times you
call.
She
answered the fifth time he called. The conversation went pretty much
as she expected – much swearing (her,) some begging (him,) and an
invitation to the birthday bash he was having tonight. She told him
she'd rather stick her head in a blender. He asked her to give it a
shot. She said she'd think about it. They hung up.
Pretty
much how all their conversations seemed to go lately.
***
"Am
I in a dress?"
"Well,
how else would you go to the party?"
"I
look like a six-year-old's princess fantasy threw up on me."
The old
woman shook her head, "Some people are just impossible to
please."
What do you think? (Please couch criticism in politeness and courtesy - I bruise easily.)
Hey, I've had another slow fic-reading week, so this one is uber-uber-uber short and to the point.
