Struck Twelve (a one shot)

Struck Twelve

In this world, I was Cinderella. . . . But this Cinderella had no evil stepsisters or whatsoever. Instead, this Cinderella was thrown out of the palace and exiled from the kingdom. This Cinderella had no fairy godmother. . . . This Cinderella is alone.

It was colorless and gray and the loud boom of the thunder angered the clouds. The sky extended its sympathies to me as the heavy rainfall soaked my entirety. There weren't a single villager in the streets to help me or empathize with me—even if there was, they can't because the king won't allow it. It's fine with me. . .at least there's no one to see my shame. I am no Princess Cindy anymore—just the sadness I was ruling.

I still feel the weight of everyone's stare back in the palace—one I called home. The servants and the maids pitied me with their heads down low, the palace guards awkwardly dragged me out of the palace, while the Queen did nothing but cry silently. I had hoped she would've at least said something but her lips was pursed the whole time. The King, was heartless, and saw nothing in me but a nuisance. He stripped me of everything—even my identity as their child.

I sighed. With one last look, I bid goodbye to the mighty and golden palace. It was boastful of its beauty and wealthy of nature. The memories, however, remains in there. . . .

The ballgown was heavy and wet due to the rain. It was picking up the mud at its ends and I feel like the corset was slowly suffocating me. The heels are killing my feet but walking barefoot would make it worse due to rocks and small sediments. I mustered up my strength and walked. . .knowing nothing of where I was going or if I can even last 'til the night. I was just letting my feet guide me as my thoughts fall into the void.

I just needed shelter. . .even for the night.

I had reached the kingdom's outskirts after hours of walking in the cold and rain. This neighborhood was much busier than the palace's surroundings. I was getting weird looks from people. Some of them recognized me but they were too busy making a living even in this weather. The news had probably reached them and knew of the decree that I was exiled—a mere peasant. I was thirsty and famished, but I have not a single cent with me.

From afar, I saw an abandoned house. It was the only house with the lights turned off. . . . The people were avoiding it and there were no one in that part. With my remaining strength, I dragged myself there and inspected the property. I figured it was abandoned due to the growth of random vines and cracked windows. I neared the house to see if it was unlocked. . .and it was! I was so relieved.

It was humble with dusty furniture inside—the servants' chamber in the palace was bigger in a sense but it didn't bother me. It's not like I have anywhere else to go. I was thankful for it at least can shelter me from the rain and provide a little bit of warmth. There's a fireplace too. . .but I have no idea how to light a fire myself. I sighed.

I stripped the huge and heavy ballgown off my body as it will do nothing to warm me up anyways. All was left is the slip dress I wore underneath the gown; I got rid of the tight corset too as it was of no use anymore. At least the slip dress is only damp and can easily dry because of its thin material. I fumbled inside to look for blankets and I am lucky to find one inside one of the cabinets. I wrapped myself in the thickness of the blanket although it wasn't that thick and lay on the carpet near the unlit fireplace and slept of tiredness.

I awoke to the sound of loud engine. My heart started thumping and I felt afraid of what's about to happen next.

The wooden door sprung open with a slight creak and a man I think is around my age came in. He felt very familiar and wore a leather jacket that looked worn in. He smelt of musk and sandalwood but for some reason. . .his face was blurry.

I stood up in shock and bowed apologetically to him. "I'm sorry, Sir. I—I didn't know this house had an owner," I said in a low and gentle voice. It was weird for I no longer feel like in danger. I was expecting the man to throw a hand at me or drag me out like the palace guards did but I was shocked of what he did next. . . .

He—he had kissed me.

He moved his lips as if he had been longing for it. It was gentle and sweet, yet hungry. A tear fell from my eye and my body recognized his lips. . . . He was someone I know but can't recall.

I feel his hand caress my left cheek and the other closing the distance between our body. As if my fingertips had a mind of its own, I cupped his cheeks and inhaled his scent. Our lips parted but the distance between us had remained close. I tried to look at his face but I somehow can't see it as if I were blind only to that part.

"My Cindy. . ." he whispered. He knew my name and I swear I knew his too. . .but my lips couldn't slip it off my tongue and speak it. Instead, I had asked him, "Who are you?"

I felt him smile bitterly and instead made me wear his leather jacket. He held my hand for a moment and his thumb made tiny circles at the back of my hand. Somehow, that comforted me and brought me warmth.

The next thing I know, we were riding his motorcycle and I was hugging him from behind. The wind blew on my face and I feel my hair swaying in its rhythm. I had noticed that the sky was no longer sad and gray; instead, it was clear, navy, and illuminated by millions of stars. It was serene and peaceful—the ride. It lasted for minutes until we reached a breathtaking lake with thousands—if not millions of fireflies flying around. There are also different flower species with varied colors.

It was picture-perfect. . .ethereal.

I beamed at him as I hugged his arm out of joy. I knew he was smiling too. . .I just know. I heard him chuckle—even that was manly. "You like it?" he asked.

To be honest, like would be an understatement. Love would be a much fitting word for this sanctuary in front of me. If I am to compare it to the ones at the palace, this would be a tenfold more worthwhile and memorable. "I love it," whispered I. A smile crept onto my face when a purple butterfly sat on my palm and flew.

But then. . . . I felt dizzy and stumbled a little. His strong arms caught me and helped me back up. He walked closer to me and hugged me tight. . . . There I can feel his sadness from within. "Don't leave me. . .please." His voice was hoarse and melancholic. I pushed him enough to see his face as my sight clears up. A tear fell as flashbacks started gushing in. I shook my head in pain and his hands held mine strongly but not painfully.

"It's time, Cindy." He frowned and I held onto his hand tighter than ever. I bit my lip. . . . I wanted to stay. . . .

A content smile yet bittersweet was present on my lips. I had finally seen his blue eyes but it was filled with pain. . .just like the last time I saw it. We failed this time again. I felt the time stopped and he looked like a statue staring into the void: lifeless. Just like I always did, I wrapped my arms around him while it lasted, and his name finally slipped off my tongue.

The time started ticking in an instant and if this was anything like Cinderella's story, the magic had worn off and it was time to go before the carriage go back to being a pumpkin. This time, instead of a glass slipper and a prince charming looking for Cinderella; it was I, the princess, left to fend for myself and look for my prince. . .by kiss.

The air suddenly became suffocating and the wind swept me off my feet. . . . He was holding on. "Our love will bring us back," I spoke and I inhaled for air before being consumed by the darkness.

Gasping, I jumped out of bed. My head is killing me and I feel nauseous. It's that dream again.

I glanced at the bedside table and it was, as always, 12 AM. I don't even remember the dream but it felt like something big was missing and my heart was heavy. If this phenomenon wasn't weird enough, my eyes was wet with tears and my heart beating like crazy. The only thing I recall though, every night, is the image of a beautiful lake which I don't know where to find.

Anyways, I need to keep going before my drunkard dad starts to get crazy again. I sighed. Naming me Cinderella brought us no good because the only similarity I had with her was poverty and crazy people surrounding her. In my case, it was dad. My mom had never fought for me and left me alone with a dad who knew nothing but to gamble, drink, and hurt me.

A godmother would be nice but I learned the hard way that fairytales are nothing but a stretch from reality.

I glanced at the window outside—it was raining. Somehow, that felt familiar. . . .