Fuck Fairytales

Beggars can't be choosers

We all know how the fairy tale goes. There is the good old damsel in distress waiting to be rescued by her Prince Charming while all hell breaks loose as the withered, wrinkly witch pounds the shit out of her like a punching bag. But all the misery is attained with endless streams of money and colossal castles where she lives her happily ever after. Well, my life's pretty similar in the sense that I was gifted with countless misfortunes from an early age. And not one, not two but my own personal gang of witches who pound the shit out of me like a punching bag...literally. But then again in real life there is no such thing as a fairy tale.

Wiping away the remnants of the dripping beads of blood from my temple with the flat of my hand, I crouch onto the cracked toilet seat.

Plop.

The frosty touch of the water droplet slides down my hair onto my bare skin as I tilt my head upwards to check the origins of my uninvited guest maneuvering its path on my back.

Plop.

Another hits bullseye and drops straight into my right eye and I jerk forward, rubbing my eyes to no avail, the sting only intensifying. I told Hank to fix that cursed pipe. Lovely, now I have shit water in my eyes. With little steps, I try to blindly navigate my way to the sink when a crunch simmers softly underneath my feet and a sharp pain surges through my body like a current. With a muffled shriek, I yank out the piece of broken glass from the heel of my foot and quickly cover my mouth at the sight of blood oozing into the grouts filled with grime.

Plop.

With great effort I somehow manage to reach the sink and desperately maintain my balance as I wash away my eyes, wishing that this pain would also magically wash away. My vision clears and settles against the green gloom of the bathroom light, as my eyes focus onto the broken mirror in front of me. Through the fragments of whatever remained of the glass I peer onto the distorted creature standing in front of me, slathered in blood and a mixture of sweat and ashy dirt.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I divert my attention towards the door, if you can even call it that now, with the bottom half ripped off its hinges and the other half hanging on for dear life.

"Why bother knocking?" I utter a low remark.

"Did. You. Shut. The. Lid. When. You. Flushed?" comes a broken response from the other side.

Plop.

I swiftly open the door, grab her hand, lead her towards the toilet and position her directly under the leaking sewage line.

"See for yourself." I mutter.

The mouth of the toilet gaped blankly at Eli...wide open. In an attempt to throw a fit just as she opened her mouth to scream at me, I pointed her chin upwards towards the low roof ceiling.

Plop.

A moment of sheer silence dawned upon the both of us as the light of the situation sank in Eli's mind and the droplet in her stomach.