Unfairy Tales: A Look At The Other Side

"And they all lived happily ever after. The End." I throw the remote at the TV. Happily ever after my ass, I think bitterly, whatever happened to the sisters, Disney? Are they included in the happily ever after? Tell me that. I get up from the couch, and slam my knee against something hard. Dammit. A crowbar.

"Driana! Get your butt down here and clean up your toys." I stomp up the stairs, and wince as streaks of pain run up and down my legs. Dammit, dammit, dammit. "Driana!" I hear a thump. "Get your lazy ass off the floor!" A bleary-eyed blonde comes out of a room and stares at me. "It's twelve already. Get your stupid toys off the floor," I snap.

"They're not toys, they're tools." Driana insists haughtily. As if one could be haughty about mechanical "tools." Please. "And what put you into such a horrible mood?"

"Cindy," I spit. Dri's eyes expand, and her mouth falls slightly open. And when I say slightly, I mean slightly, none of that comical "mouth in a rectangle" business they so casually portray us as in their stupid Hollywood movies.

"You...You...met her?" Dri asks shakily, shivering with awe. At twelve, she views our sister as a goddess. Ha. Total, utter bullshit. Only Drizella and I know of Cindy's true nature. Of her betrayal.... I shake myself back into the real world. 

"If you mean watching a cartoon version of Cindy on TV, then...yes. If you mean, real blood and flesh and self-absorbedness, then no." Dri sighs.

"I don't think she's that bad. I mean, doesn't everyone adore her?" She tries to argue with me, knowing how I've, time after time, insisted on and provided examples of her selfishness. 

"If everyone adored Adolf Hitler, does that make him right?" I counter.

"Why would someone adore Adolf Hitler? He was a psycho." Dri's innocence smacks me in the face with that one line, and I mentally wince at her ignorance and nine-year old logic.

"Nevermind, Dri. Just clean up your toys." I grumble and stomp up the rest of the stairs. I enter my room, leaving the door slightly ajar, and stare at the mirror hopelessly. Am I the bad guy? Do I have to be the bad guy in Cindy's story? What about my story? What about me? As bitter thoughts flash in and out of my head, a misunderstood girl stared back at me, a girl known to millions of seven-year olds as Cinderella's wicked step-sister.

"Hello, Anastasia." My blood turns cold.