Sleep

Jeanne

I wake up sore, as if I had been sleeping on a wooden plank the whole night. Oh yeah, I have been. I stretch and walk up to my reflection. I brush my blonde hair smooth and tie it back with a blue ribbon. After finishing up my morning routine, I head down stairs to prepare breakfast- scrambled eggs with biscuits and tea. I balance the 3 plates and begin to walk up the stairs, dodging the cat who gives me an evil smirk. I knock on my sister, well, step-sister's bedroom door. With a scratchy squeal, she tells me come in. Over the years I've learned to not look up at her face, so I can avoid the careless glance of disapproval.

"Is that really what your going to wear? Ew! I wouldn't be caught dead in something as ugly as that," she yells pointing to my blouse, which I look at insecurely.

"That. Coming from you? Wow, I wouldn't say that when you dress like a court jester every day," I mentally pat myself on the back. " well, here's your breakfast," I plop the plate down in front of her. As soon as the plate touches base on her blanket, she inspects the egg, as if she expected a rotting corpse to come out of it. "Goodbye Anastasia," I say.

" yeah whatever."

I head to the next room over, dreading Druzella, she's even worse in the morning. I creak open the door to find a bed, sunken with pillows, bombarded by a figure with a head of brown locks. She's sound asleep, with deep snores that sound like a wind tunnel. After arousing her, and ignoring her complaints and insults, I set down her breakfast and follow her orders of washing her laundry, which over flowed her hamper.

Time for my least favorite chore, waking up my step- mother. Her evil eyes are colder than the cat's, colder than absolute zero. I get out as soon as I can, holding the long list of grueling chores I have to now do. Back and fourth, doing this chore and that, the day is like suicides between tasks, like always. Suddenly, a break in the typical pattern occurs as I'm serving them lunch.

"The royal highness, prince Carmen, is throwing a ball to get to know the many poised ladies in the kingdom, and find a wife to carry up to the throne with him. And we're invited!" Anastasia chatters excitedly, holding up the crisp envelop. "I know the perfect dress, but Cinderella-" she giggles at the taunting nickname- " will have to patch it up."

"Oh," Druzella begins, "I have nothing to wear. Maybe, Cinderella can make a dress out of scratch. Yeah," she said, seeming to like the idea of putting more chores on my shoulders, "Cinderella can make me a new dress out of scratch."

"Can, uh, may I go to the ball?" I pipe.

They all glance at me, starting to stifle laughs tearing through the seams of their mouths. The small stifles turn to full out snorts of laughter. Druzella pounds her fist on her lap loudly to emphasize her point. Red embarrassment crawls across my cheeks. Stupid I think punishing myself, clenching my fists, which seem to be getting hotter and hotter. Next thing I know, the table is on fire.

*****************************
Good news: I get to go to the ball. Bad news: my step-mother now has a new form of blackmail. Anastasia claims the fire sprouted from my hand, but I know it couldn't have. Ever since that incident, they say they'll assure I end up in a cell for the insane or something, if I step out of line. I've had to work triple times the amount lately. My fingers are pruned from mopping, splintered from sweeping, my left arm has a burn mark on it from grease, my hair looks like a tornado touched down on it. Now I look and feel like a freak, even more so.

The only good thing I get to look forward to is the ball, which is sounding less and less worth it. Working on my gown soothes me a little, it seems to pull me out of my life once in a while. Sometimes I even find myself fantasizing what would happen if I met the prince and he chose me, the better life I could have. I thought about rejecting my step- mother and sisters' request to live at the palace, and leading a happy life. Hating to admit it sometimes I even thought about throwing them in a cell, or banishing them. Thinking about this subject, I realized I could take all their money they had. Because it wasn't really their money, it was my money, it used to be my father's money. Wouldn't it be rightfully mine?

I know I shouldn't think these thoughts. The put down of reality would be even greater. But what if, I think as I drift off to sleep, fully unaware of a plot right under my nose. Fully unaware of how evil my step-mother was.