The Real Cinderella by S. G. Ricketts (good books for high schoolers .TXT) 📕

I first saw him when I was a child. I’m not sure how old I was-perhaps seven or eight-but I remember that it was the middle of summer. Our camps were awash in beetles and dusty, bare grounds, our city walls a never ending mass of wheat to the west and mud to the east. We were the lowest of the low in Zyonne, responsible for supplying most of the bricks for every city within it. The wheat was a mere necessity, a helpful bonus as it were, to our real task.

And that was how I saw him. It was mid-summer, the wheat whispering green and soft against our backs as the world rippled in front of us. He had come to inspect the production. His parade of courtiers passed by, laughing and jeering and spilling coppers on the earth. Even as a child, they disgusted me, amusing themselves with our struggles in life. Even then, I hated their cold stares, their bright colors, and their false caring. I hated them, but him... Him I loved.

The courtiers passed in a flurry of coppers and dust, and I barely cared to bring my nose out of the dirt. I was a child, and a builder child at that. I was a nobody, and rising from my bow would have been too much effort anyway. A shadow passed over me and stayed. After a few moments, I pushed myself up. He was beautiful in a way I never thought a man could be. The sun was just behind his head, but I could see him clearly. It seemed like the entire world faded away. And then, he dropped a little bundle in front of my face. I think someone tried to get it, but he stopped them. All I remember is picking it up, unlacing the ribbon, and watching as the cloth fell away to reveal the most delicious-looking piece of cheese I had ever seen. “Eat it wisely, Princess.” And he left.

I decided then that one day I really would be a princess.


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I was born a slave, free only in name. My people served the minority, a never-ending cycle of chains and whipping and death. We were different from the Royals, fatally so. Thousands of years before, according to legend, we had all been the same. We lived in peace, immortal beings whose only purpose in life was to enjoy it. Father told stories of the smell of the Pre-Betrayal air, a mix of cinnamon and oranges, with a sky tinted maroon and a people seven feet tall. We children sat around him, enthralled. Even the Royals were tainted now, still immortal but shorter and stuck in our ugly world. His story always ended abruptly just before the Betrayal.

And so we were slaves, known to the courtiers as the flawed. Amongst ourselves we had our levels of class: lowest were my class, the builders; then, the fixers; then, the cleaners; and lastly, the servants. In my child’s eyes, the servants were practically royalty in all but lifespan. They were glamorous, living in luxury while I lived in a pig sty. I quickly learned that even they, no matter how high they reached, remained slaves to this unspoken curse.

The world was cruel to us but we went about our lives. We were born, lived, and died with our feet in the mud. Our fingers were stained with the red dirt, nails a never-changing rusty hue. Our skin was bronzed from days in the sun, and our backs were laced with our scars. We were not a silent people. No, our slavery had not brought us to repentance. Looking back, I wish we had been broken of spirit. Perhaps then, more of us would have been saved. But, we were proud. Even the builders had their arrogance. Why, without them, the entire country would be made of nothing but twigs! I cannot believe how stupid we were. Again and again, we tried to overthrow the Royals. Again and again, we were forced into submission. Before I saw Him, I had already survived four revolts. Most of my family did not.

And thus I begin my story. For without an understanding of just how despicable I was, no one will understand what I have become.

Without being a slave, I would never have become a princess.

The whip cracked through the air and I flinched. “Only two-hundred thirty-five bricks today, girl?” The overseer snapped the whip again, catching my cheek. Just barely, I kept my balance. I ground my jaw, trying to ignore the stinging in my face. The man chuckled darkly behind me. Add chaff, stomp, pull out, press. Add chaff, stomp, pull out, press.

The chant ran through my head like a never-ending song, my feet moving in time to its rhythm. I refused to give him the pleasure of seeing my fear.

My partner, my stomper, lay face down in the mud, her blouse laced through with red and her skirts askew. She would be dead within the hour. I avoided her glazed-over gaze, focusing on my own job. The man snapped the whip again, breath hot on my neck. “Did you hear me, Builder? Or do you want to end up like your friend here?” The mud squelched around my feet, sucking and pulling them back. I ignored him. Anything I said was sure to only add to his fun. Add chaff, stomp, full out, press.

Suddenly I was jerked back, scalp stinging, to look at my abuser. He grinned down at me through rotted teeth, his skin dark with the tattoos of his profession. Even without them, he was an ugly bastard. “I know what might make you go faster.” His hand drifted to his laces.

I spat in his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Really, Kat, did you have to spit at him?” I cringed from my sister’s reproving gaze, ashamed as I sat on the edge of our table. The firelight caught in her hair, making it look like a halo of gold around her head. She stood from her crouch beside the fire, annoyed, and carried the pot of water carefully to the table. I watched her hands swaddled in faded blue fabric as they gripped the hot iron. “Of all the things...” she muttered, setting it down. Brushing her hands across her apron, she pointed to the bed. “Well, go on. We need to take care of these now.”

Obediently, I pulled my shift off and laid belly-down on the bed, biting back tears. My back was cold in the drafts from outside, the gashes still seeping slowly. “Like you didn’t expect it.” I attempted a grin and she frowned at me.

“This isn’t something to joke about, Kathryn. I mean, really. I can’t keep bandaging you up like this.” I could feel her eyes burning a hold through my back as she gently dabbed at the lashes. “Sometimes it’s better to accept what they offer, rather than be beaten like this.” I must have tensed, because she rested a hand on my arm. “Relax. I know you know that, but you wouldn’t be my little Kat if you listened.”

“Whipping is better than rape, Liza. Any day.” I hissed through clenched teeth as she worked her way down my back. “You think I didn’t see how you changed after what happened to you?”

I felt her pause. “We’re the flawed, Kat. It’s part of our curse to bear whatever the Royals choose to do to us.” Her touch was soft but her voice was steel. This wasn’t a new argument for us. “I’ve accepted that. I wish you would, too. It would make things so much easier.”

I rolled my eyes and she tapped the back of my head. “How do you see that?”

She giggled, laying the rag by the bucket. It dripped red onto the worn wooden table.“Someone has to be your mother.”

The thought was a sobering one. I bit my lip in thought as she began applying the salve. “It’s a stupid curse, you know.” Liza stayed silent. I rested my cheek on my arm, thinking. A few minutes passed like this, the familiarity almost soothing me into sleep. Finally Liza harumphed and stood up from the bed. Gingerly, I sat and met her gaze. “Why do you put up with me?”

She smiled softly, wrapping the cloth around my shredded body. “You’re my little sister, Kat. If I didn’t put up with you, I’d have to put up with myself.” Her smile twisted slightly, and I caught a glimpse of the pain she always hid. When she was done, she touched my cheek softly. “Please be more careful next time.”

I nibbled my lip again, trying to hold back my words. “It is a stupid curse, you know. I don’t care if we’re flawed or not. We aren’t just some low-life whores they can use and abuse and throw away.”

She straightened slowly and turned to face me, spoon dripping from the stew she’d been stirring. I didn’t like the pitying look she had. “Oh little Kat... We’ve been at this for how long now? You’re still clueless.” She slid the spoon back into the pot and sat next to me on the bed. I rested my head on her shoulder and she pushed a curl behind my ear. “We are below whores, love. We are the bottom of the bottom. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.” She patted my leg gently, then poked my shoulder. “I think sometimes you ask just to hear me say it again.”

I watched her stir, her face unconciously twisted into a frown. Somehow, she still managed to be beautiful. I ran a hand through my own hair, feeling the curls pull at my fingers. “Maybe I do. I’m not sure why you still answer me.” She grinned up at me, the years melting off her face for a moment. I sighed and rested my hands on the edge of the bed, careful not to pull at the bandaging. “It’s not right that we’re on the bottom. If it weren’t for us, Zyonn would live in houses of sticks.” The familiar Builder’s motto slid off my tongue easily and she raised a brow. “I doubt the overseers are really even Royals!”

She slapped me. Stunned, I sat back. My sister had slapped me. I stared at her, speechless. Her face was white and she stepped away from me like I was cursed. I hadn’t even seen her move. “Never...never

say that again. Do you understand?”

“Why? Because it’s true?” I cringed, knowing I should stop talking. I waited for Liza’s usual calm