When the Clock Struck Twelve

Once upon a time, in a land of thunderstorms and mountains, there lived a girl. She was known by the name of Cinderella, and was considered to be as humble as she was beautiful.

Cinderella lived in a palace with her father, step-mother and, her stepbrother.  Cinderella’s father was a Sailor and would often leave Cinderella behind, despite the amount of times she would beg for him to take her along. It was now time for Cinderella’s father to leave, on yet another quest. “But, father please?”, she cried, “No, my dear Cinderella, it is not safe out there!” exclaimed her father. Disappointed, Cinderella went into her room, without bidding her father farewell.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months, but there was no sign of Cinderella’s father. It soon came to the family’s attention that the father had been killed by pirates. Cinderella weeped and spent long hours in her bedroom, while her stepmother and stepbrother carried on with life as usual.

Months after the passage of Cinderella’s father she began to busy herself. She would read to the children of the village, and help at the local market. Cinderella had grown accustomed to this new life, little did she know the clock was soon to strike twelve.

It was a normal day, Cinderella was in her bedroom knitting a sweater for herself when there was a knock on the door. A knock so loud, it made Cinderella shudder. “Yes?”, she nervously said. And in walked a tall man, with a shaggy beard and broken teeth. He had several piercings and a massive scar across his face. Cinderella was transfixed. The large man approached Cinderella, he grabbed her by her arms and threw her across the bed. Cinderella rummaged across her bed and made her way to the door. Stood there was her stepbrother. Cinderella began to cry as she was pushed back into her room. Her stepbrother was in hysterics as he heard Cinderella wail in agony.

The large strange man left Cinderella in her bloody bed, teary eyed and naked. Cinderella was thoroughly shocked and in much pain to move. Cinderella eyed the man as he shook hands with Cinderella’s stepbrother.

Days passed, and Cinderella was faced with a different man everyday. Many a times men would create different shapes on her body using their cigarette butts, and heated iron rods. She was bruised, and longed for death.

Although Cinderella bared the torture of these brute men, her patience broke the day the man to walk through the door was her stepbrother. She sat in bed that night, defeating her conscience and devised a plan.

Late into the night, Cinderella crawled out of her bedroom and made her way to the kitchen. She silently gathered all the sharp objects she could get her hands on. She slipped these tools into her pocket and made for her bedroom once again. With the thought of attacking the following night, Cinderella rested peacefully.

To her expectation, the first attacker arrived at the crack of noon. He was short and fat, Cinderella felt disgusted as his naked body thrust upon her now, fragile and wounded body. Men came and went, and so another day had passed.

At midnight Cinderella made her way to her stepmother’s room. Here, she held the vase that her father had once gifted this woman and smacked it upon the woman’s face. She let out a sharp cry as blood gushed across her silk pillow case. Cinderella held her skinny hand upon her stepmother’s mouth, and begun stabbing her several times. Her stepmother lay lifeless before her, and Cinderella couldn’t help but smile.

The next victim would be her evil stepbrother. She quietly crept up into his bedroom, he looked so harmless in his sleep, thought Cinderella. Cinderella stared blankly at him, and slowly drew back. She tiptoed to her bedroom, and grabbed her bed sheets  She had wanted him to feel pain identical to hers, and so she made her way back to her stepbrothers bedroom. Using her bed sheet as a rope, she tied up her stepbrother with grave difficulty. Upon her success  Cinderella switched the lights on and shook her stepbrother till he woke up. “What are you doing?” he shot at her, struggling to move. “Save it!” whispered Cinderella. “Revenge, my dear brother, is sweet”. Cinderella lit up a cigarette, took a drag and abruptly broke out into a cough. “Pathetic!”,  she shouted gasping for breath. She stood by her stepbrother’s bedside who had now begun to shuffle across the bed. She took the cigarette and put it out on his neck. She then reached for the knife she had used to kill her stepmother just moments ago, and reached for his pajama bottoms. “No!”, threatened her stepbrother, “don’t you dare!”. Cinderella was terrified, and yet she stripped him off his bottoms.

With his bottom bare, Cinderella’s stepbrother tugged at the bed sheets on his hands. Cinderella had left the room, and soon returned with kitchen mitts on. “You filthy bastard!” said Cinderella as fresh tears rolled down her sullen face. She shut her eyes as she grabbed her stepbrother’s penis, through his cries of her to stop, and her memory being diverted to the hundreds of men that had  made her this way, she snipped it off. Her stepbrother now cried louder than ever, and Cinderella stared blankly at him. She threw the body part at her stepbrother, and left him to suffer.

Cinderella left her palace, for the first time since the clock struck twelve. She made no sound, or showed no emotion. She ran and she ran and she ran. From her past, from her gruesome crime and from herself. Cinderella ran until there was nowhere to go. She collapsed to the ground, and the rain began to pour.

The rain fell upon Cinderella’s frail body, and Cinderella faded with the rain.

Dear World,

I do things the way I do them because that is who I am, and will always be.

I am not very social and I don’t have a massive amount of friends because it is who I am, and I am content with the people I have in my life. I choose to spend most of my time indoors, because being outdoors is not something I fancy too much. I dwell in Literature and T.V. shows because they give me ample amounts of happiness, and fill the dark void of loneliness.  I write a journal so I can remember everyday of my life, good or bad. I repeat my meals because they leave me with a filled up stomach, and a reason to smile. I know squat about my religion, yet I pray each morning, so the ray of hope remains lit up in me. I cry often because it makes me feel less miserable. I wear zero make up and often have an awfully mismatched outfit, because clothes don’t matter a single bit to me. I tell silly jokes and don’t mind being the subject of people’s jokes, because it makes the people around me happy. I have done things I am not particularly proud of, and they’ve taught me to be a better person, friend, daughter and sibling. I’ve defeated expectations, and I’ve been defeated by expectations. I’ve been called names and I’ve called people names, because our world is a judgmental labyrinth. I have an unrealistic list of aspirations so I have something to work towards. 

I am my parents’ 20 year old, my siblings’ Oompa Loompa, and my friends’ Pat, Meers and Meera. 

I am only human, so give me a break.

Yours truly, 

A thinker, a dreamer and a listener.