What If Cinderella Didn't Make It?
Author's note: I am SUCH Disney kid. I luv the Disney movies and Cinderella is in my top five (Mulan, The Little... Show full author's note »
A Dream, A WishTo me, a dream is like a wish – a pleasant wish that saunters through your mind at your most relaxed state in time. So, like a wish, if you tell someone your wish, or if they know your wish, it won’t come true. It’s not even a matter of wishful thinking or being superstitious: it is a fact and my life backs up very well.
“I would like my nails done this year!”
“Where is my drink? I need it now!”
“Hurry up with those dishes!”
I raced from outside, to inside, and back outside again. It was a mission swerving past the many beauty products spread out across the floor, making a trail from my bedroom. I didn’t use any of them, of course; my room was just storage for the useless junk because the rooms of my two stepsisters and stepmother were full of all their other ‘important’ things and huge egos.
My wish was to be free from this ‘lifestyle’. I wasn’t born an overworked servant and I wanted to get out and be free like I was before. Of course, my ‘masters’ know this – my wish, my dream – and so therefore, it won’t come true. It’s sad, it’s unfair, but it’s life, not a dream. There’s a big difference.
In one hand I held a plate of everything I needed to get the perfect nails for my imperfect stepsister, Ella – a brush for her course hands, nail polish remover, lotion, and nail polishes in the newest and pinkest shade of pink.
I ran it over to where Ella was lying lazily on her personalized lawn chair that was sitting on the perfectly cut grass by – none other than – me this morning at 7 a.m. I placed the spa-like platter on the table beside the chair and assured her that I’d be right back.
She simply responded with a scowl and head toss.
Using the very little balance I had, I carried a huge glass of iced tea with extra ice over to Anna, managing to successfully do so without spilling it on her, the grass, or me.
“It took you long enough!” she snapped at me, making a grab for the glass. I noticed that her nails could use some fixing up too, but didn’t say anything – I didn’t need another chore to deal with.
Anna peered into her glass, wrinkled upturned nose, knit her oddly plucked brunette eyebrows, and pursed her pale lips into her signature scowl. “Do you want me to choke on this?”
“Please do,” I muttered, waiting for her to go on complaining.
“A little less ice, and a little more tea!” she ordered, pushing the drink back at me. “Go!”
With a kick to the back of my knees, she sent me in a lurch to the ground. I glared up at her. “Anna!”
“What?” she asked, smirking down at me and creating enormous amounts of sweat to make a wet home on me from the sunlight. “You were going slowly! Get another glass.”
I picked myself up with her spilled glass of iced tea that had too much ice and stomped back to the kitchen. I groaned at the growing pile of dished in the sink that I would have to get finished within the next half hour. Having to refill another glass of perfect juice for Anna along with a manicure for Ella was annoying enough without the dishes added to my burden. Also list of things that I had to do before dinner were the two textbooks that were waiting in my room – I mean, my family’s storage closet – to be cracked open and studied for the upcoming tests this week.
“CINDY!” Ella hollered from the yard. “MY NAILS AREN’T GETTING ANY BETTER!”’
I couldn’t argue with her there.
As quickly and carefully as I could, I whipped up another tall glass of iced tea (with less ice) and carried it out to Anna who was singing and off-key version of Justin Bieber’s ‘Baby’.
“Oh, finally!” she said, stopping in the middle of an ear-murdering chorus. After seven seconds of looking around in her drink and me holding my breath, she took a sip. After a curt nod of satisfaction, I relaxed and was foolish enough to not stay on my guard while I was in public view of the three most critical and judgemental eyes in all of Canada.
“Don’t slouch, Cindy!” snapped Lady Mai, my stepmother.
She seems to always appear out of nowhere, catching me when I was doing the things she hated most – yawning, coughing, sneezing, leaning, breathing heavily…living.
“And how about those dishes???” she practically screeched in my ears. “How many meals do I have to deprive you of before you actually do something around here?”
“Sorry, Lady Mai,” I mumbled, straightening up my back as I walked over to Ella, finally ready to get onto her nails. “I’ll do it as soon as I’m finished with Ella.”
She nodded with her infamous squinty-eyed, stony stare and turned on her heel to head back into the house.
“I swear, Cindy, you’re slower than Chore,” Ella huffed as I started with her fingers. I made a face at the dead skin peeling off her long fingers and swallowed my spit as I continued.
“Chore isn’t slow, he’s just…cautious,” I said, wincing at how stupid that sounded.
Chore was very slow and everyone knew it. He was by far the most delayed, lazy, undisciplined, and inactive out horse we owned – so, with that being said and determined, he was mine. Why we even had him, I did not know. What I do know is that his name is what he is known for – a chore. Taking care of him is horrible because all he does is eat, demand hay for his long sleeps, and trudges through the most mud in our farm field during his daily “run”, making me have a hassle for horse-show cleaning.
Honestly, how books and movies portray having horses seem amazing: you can ride whenever you want and spend time with your best friend, but with Chore – no way. Taking care of Chore and being his owner is about as stressful as running errands for Lady Mai, Ella, and Anna.
“That means be attentive of your surroundings and act carefully,” I said to her as I did my best to fix one of her hangnails. I couldn’t help it! Sometimes Ella honestly didn’t understand the words I used and treating her appropriately – like a slow-learning toddler – was both productive and amusing.
“I know what it means!” she snapped at me.
I gasped mockingly. “Really?”
Ella did not approve. She opened her big mouth wider than I thought was possible and shrieked, “Mother! Cindy called me stupid!”
In an instant, Lady Mai was strutting her way over to us (though I really didn’t know why; she really had nothing to flaunt) with an happy evil smile on her face – now she actually had a good reason to punish me.
“Cindy, Cindy, Cindy,” she said, clicking her tongue and shaking her head, “is it really all that hard to respect you sisters?”
“Stepsisters!” I muttered quietly as she closed her eyes dramatically.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to add cleaning after Lucy when you’re finished with Chore today,” she said, sounding delighted by the idea.
Lucy is our cat with an attitude and pride as big as my stepsisters. He was always walking around the house and barn as if he owned the place, when he was one of the smallest. His huge head balances on his neck, held high up in the air, leading his big body around as if a supermodel – Just. Like. Lady Mai.
Lady Mai inspected my work on two of Ella’s nails. “Beautiful, darling!” she droned to her, completely ignoring the fact that I had suffered and had to touch them. But then again, when had she ever noticed, or at least showed any source of appreciation to me?
Ella snickered as soon as her mother’s back was turned and stuck her tongue out at me. “Serves you right!”
I ignored her complaining and gloating the rest of the half hour it took me to take care of her chipped nails and poorly moisturized hands. Finally, after waiting another five minutes of Ella debating over hot pink or pale pink, I applied the bottle closest to me and was put out of that misery.
“Oh, and Cindy?” she called after me as I hurried away.
It took a lot of my well practiced will power to not whip my head around crazily and shriek, “WHAT?” at Ella like the spoiled brat she was after one of the rare moments when she couldn’t get what she wanted.
“Next time, try not to squeeze my hand to much,” she said, surveying them carefully. Getting her ‘Something-Isn’t-Right’ face on, she pursed her lips and arched her eyebrows. “If I’m not mistaken, it was like you were trying to hurt me…”
I modelled a fake smile that didn’t give away my exact intention. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
Finally, now I can get started on the dishes and –
“Cindy?” came Anna’s agitating voice rang suddenly. “More juice?”
– add another thing to my list of burdens to finish.
“Oh, and me!” Ella chimed. “Except I want lemonade instead… The pink kind! …No, the normal one…wait, what if you mix those to together…?”
I groaned as I trudged back into my house. My books would stay untouched on my poor excuse for a desk in my hopeless excuse for a room for a long time.