et's start over. Once upon a time there was a forest filled with the strangest of creatures, the kind unbeknownst to most suburban adolescents, contemporary urbanites and protected convent girls. (Now remember kids, we are telling a post-modern story, princesses in cadillacs are common occurrences. The misinformed wear uggs. Balenciaga boots are the new glass slipper.) But we digress.
One day, walking into that forest was a little girl with pink boots and a sly grin. By little, we mean in size. Her steps were rather loud, and her voice was a harder match. Her curls were large, however- she was not to be confused with Goldilocks. “Dark brown,” she would tell you, upon the question of her hair colour. “Really dark brown.” If you said black, your face would be met with quick fists and a slap on the nape of your neck. Expect red skin from small hands. But you would laugh.
Now this little girl, in her houndstooth coat would march right through this forest despite all hours of day. When the lights would lower, she would continue like she was six feet tall and two hundred pounds heavier. When the sun was high, she would look the creatures in the eye, and shake hands. They were confused by her outlandish style and effusive nature.
It wasn’t long before various fairytale creatures, princes and beggars alike began to flock to her side without her even knowing. It was a fate she only would have to accept later. But this girl was no princess and she was not locked in any castle, awaiting a kiss. Had she lost her shoe, she never would have simply left it as what girl could leave an oh-so-expensive pair of shoes behind? No, she wasn’t waiting for prince charming. She wasn’t waiting for her suitors.
Imagine to her surprise when one day as she was sitting by herself in that very forest, by a tree, when she was approached by a suitor. And then another. And another. She began to wonder if she was sitting by an enchanted tree, or perhaps there was a jestor around playing a joke on her. This little girl would then swallow back her doubts, and smile back at them politely in hopes they would disappear. She would not notice the crowd of perturbed female creatures behind her, until they would begin to dig their claws into her back. Who’s scared of the big bad wolf now? She could hear them piercingly, their howls implanting themselves into her veins, in her skin. Especially the witch. Her wickness hated her, and cast a spell upon the beasts to do her bidding. They too, would attack. In temporary fright, she would grasp all around her, reaching for her ipod (in hopes of listening to music, to tune out the world. This is modern day, remember.) and then run. Run until her heart would fall out of her chest, until she was safe, until she was remembering to breathe.
She would find herself at either a cross road or dead end, as either there was no turning back or she could turn around, grab a sword and fight for her very life. She cringed at the latter, as literally she could hear the beasts gnashing their teeth behind her just waiting to dig their teeth into her bones. This idea did not sound fathomable. Her mind was unwavering, however, in that she did not see herself to be a coward. But she was no princess. There was no fairy godmother waiting with an overly ripe pumpkin, or a flash forward mouse turned horse. There were no easy answers, as princes would only make matters worse. There were no magic potions, no overdrawn kisses and fairy powder. There were only ogres and lies and stepmothers and Ursulas.