On Sleeping Beauties: A Foible

On Sleeping Beauties: A Foible

Susan Skylark

Copyright 2015 Susan Skylark

Smashwords Edition

Revised 2019

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This is a foible, not a fable, fables are by definition useful and educational, this story is merely enjoyable, or so thinks the author.

Table of Contents:

The Story

Other Books by this Author, website, etc.

Sample Chapters

On Sleeping Beauties: A Foible

No, no, no! rang the irate fairy’s strident voice as she perused the text before her, this will never do, not in the least! That’s not how it happened at all!

What’s wrong with it? gasped her journalistic companion in surprise, I thought you were a Reformed Evil Fairy or some such?

Her glare froze him in his seat, as she replied icily, that does not mean I will swoon and sigh over this pathetic drivel you have the audacity to call literature. Not even my goody-goody sister is that insipid.

But what is wrong with it? said the flummoxed, and rather nervous, writer in growing despair.

The better question, said the fairy wryly, is what is right with it? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! She frowned slightly and added, that, and it is utterly dull.

Dull?! said he, his ire suddenly replacing his fear and surprise, It is the consummate fairy tale!

That’s the problem, said she with a heavy sigh, I’ve had to give up the genre entirely in these latter years; it probably isn’t your fault, the world isn’t what it used to be. I suppose you don’t even believe in dragons?

Of course not, said the man with a sneer, why should I? Nor unicorns either, for that matter.

So you can put a rider on your home insurance policy, of course said the fairy with a laughing smirk, what happens if a dragon should happen to fly over your house and sneeze? He paled at this, wondering if his disbelief were so wise and trendy after all. She continued, as for unicorns, there’s not really any practical reason to believe in them, but it’s to your own loss if you don’t. He frowned at her, not catching her meaning but she was not about to enlighten him further.

Said he, after a long and awkward silence, very well, madam, I suppose since I importuned you for this very reason. You had best tell me how to improve my manuscript.

Much better, said the Reformed Fairy of Blackfen, with something almost resembling a genuine smile. She took up the paper again and scanned the text, muttering under her breath as she read, big party...angry fairy...the girl will die...irritating cousin mitigates the curse...pricks her finger on a spindle...long nap...smooch from a handsome prince...happily ever after. She looked up at him and said solemnly, if you must know, it is very tedious indeed. His mouth fell open in astonishment but she charged on before he could utter anything he might afterwards regret, as he was in the presence of a magical person who did not suffer fools gladly, said she, your characters have no personality, your plot has no depth, there isn’t even a sprinkling of humor in it, the danger and suspense is nonexistent, as we all know the prince will come eventually. That and it’s historically inaccurate.

Fine, grumped the journalist, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed, and the look of a sulking toddler on his face, enlighten me.

Oh, that I will, said the fairy in true delight as she tossed the paper aside, laughed she, "and it doesn’t even begin with ‘Once upon a time:’

I need a baby, said the noble lady to her husband as he entered their extensive and fashionable house. He stared at her blankly for a moment, as if wondering why she just did not go out and procure one like she did her dresses and shoes, rather than bothering him with such trifling little details, but before he could fathom the full import of her words, she plunged ahead, I was just over at the Jones’s and they have the cutest little boy! Oh, darling! I want one; I must have one! Wouldn’t a little girl be just the thing to liven up this rather dreary old house? Think of the adorable little clothes and the accessories I could buy! The congratulations and adulation that would flow in!

He was about to protest that babies were theoretically expensive, and from what he had heard, they were quite noisy and dreadfully messy, not to mention rather inconvenient, but then that is what one had staff for, was it not? And as money was no object in that particular household, why not? Very well darling, said he, if it makes you happy, nothing could please me more.

But it seems infants are slightly harder to procure than shoes of a particular size and shade, which is hard enough, most especially when you are impatient for the fulfillment thereof. So it was that little Midas Jones was walking and beginning to babble almost recognizable verbiage, which his mother insisted were words, whilst our esteemed lady’s frustrations mounted over her inability to produce such an adorable creature of her own, but more importantly, she was unable to reap the social excitement and congratulations that would undoubtedly flow unceasingly from such a fount. She consulted every known sorcerer, apothecary, physician, and herbalist she could find who specialized in such matters, but all to no avail.

But just as the baby craze seemed to be fading in that particular neighborhood, though exotic poultry were becoming quite fashionable, our lady found herself the mother of a beautiful little girl, in celebration of which, they threw a fantastic party, inviting everyone who was anyone in the entire Kingdom and beyond. The happy couple stood at the door greeting their guests as carriage after carriage rolled up and disgorged one fabulously clad celebrant after another, all obviously bored silly and there out of duty rather than any fondness for children in general or this couple in particular. The proud parents had just turned to follow the last invited guest into the house, when a rather irritated throat cleared behind them, drawing their attention.

Yes? said the perplexed lady of the house to the rather curiously dressed individual loitering upon her expensive and stately steps.

I fear my invitation must have been mislaid or lost by the carrier, for I never received it, said the interesting personage.

Invitation?! said the lady, quite aghast that this odd person could even think that she would ever extend an invitation to such a peculiar and shabbily clad being.

It is the only explanation, said the creature, quite indifferent to the hostess’ shock, for who would dare not invite me?

Who or what are you, madam? said the astounded lady.

What? said the disturbing vision, with a certain dangerous edge in her voice that even the flabbergasted lady could not miss, I am not a what but a whom, madam! I am the Fairy of Blackfen.

Ah! said the relieved host, coming to his lady’s rescue, That explains it then. For you see, we don’t happen to believe in fairies, it is quite unfashionable and therefore unthinkable, and since we do not believe in your existence, well, you can’t expect an invitation when you don’t exist now, can you? No hard feelings I hope? Ta ta! He stared at her expectantly for a moment, as if he expected her to immediately tip over dead, and then seemed rather crestfallen when she failed to do anything half so obliging.

The fairy frowned at him, why are you standing there gaping?

I would think you of all people would have read that particular story? said he in wonder, When I said, ‘we don’t believe in fairies,’ aren’t you supposed to drop dead or something?

The fairy said with a longsuffering sigh, but could not entirely hide her wry smirk, I am afraid that particular story is not this particular story, thus the rules are quite different. So sorry to disoblige you, now what about my invitation?

I am afraid not, said the lady of the house with a firm shake of her head, it would never do! Your attire alone is five hundred years out of fashion, not to mention what my neighbors would think if I actually let a fairy in the house! It would be utterly ridiculous and I could never again show my face in fashionable society. Now if you were a leprechaun or some other well-to-do, and currently in-vogue, pixie-type person, I might make an exception, but it is completely unthinkable in this instance! I bid you good day, madam; I have a party to host!

The fairy laughed darkly and said in her most sinister voice, which was impressively creepy, what if I threatened to curse your child else?

Oh, would you! said the lady in sudden delight. At the astonished and confused looks she received not only from the fairy but also from her husband, she added by way of explanation, little Midas Jones was hexed after calling the new teacher at his Montessori, ‘an ugly old hag,’ when she pinched him and said he looked good enough to eat. It was only the truth after all, but still she sued the Montessori and won enough money to pay cash for that homely old gingerbread mansion down the street. Who builds with carbs nowadays? Anyway, then she went and cursed him besides. Now everything he touches turns to gold! I had thought about asking if we could babysit now and again, but this would be even better. Her husband still looked rather perplexed, though the fairy now seemed to understand far more about this particular couple than they knew about themselves. The lady rolled her eyes and sighed, what is it dear? What was unclear about what I just said?

The man shook his head, what’s a Montessori? Some sort of fancy sandwich shop?

With another sigh, his wife expounded, it is an elite and expensive school for very young children, I had one picked out even before our daughter was born; you can’t start too early, you know. She eyed the fairy eagerly, what do you think?

Said the fairy dryly, I don’t think there’s a worse curse I could lay on you people than the existence you already lead.

What is that supposed to mean? snapped the lady in vexation, The Jones have a child with a curse, how am I to be content without one too?

The fairy wore a mocking smile, you continue to prove my point, madam. But I won’t be cursing your wretched whelp with anything half so interesting as the golden touch. I suppose I could destine her to prick her finger on a spindle and fall into a wakeless sleep, or even to die; it’s trite, but effective. She frowned, but then there’s always the matter of some pesky prince showing up and ruining everything; I can’t abide a ‘happily ever after.’ No, I’ll leave things as they are, I’ll let you stew in your insipidness and go vainly about your pathetic lives, but I will not forget this and one day, I will have my revenge on the entire neighborhood. It used to be an actually respectable part of the Kingdom, except maybe for that troll under the bridge, but I’d take him over any of your ilk, drat those goats! At least he kept the riffraff out.

The lady looked rather baffled after this expostulation and asked for clarification upon the most important point, at least to her thinking, "what exactly