“A Somewhat More Accurate Fairy Tale,” by Eli Landes

Dec 20th, 2018 | By | Category: Fiction, Prose

There is a tower, they say, that stands forgotten behind the mists of time.

As things go, it’s not the most specific of addresses. The unidentified “they” like to ominously declare that, “Precious few are able to find the tower,” to which their listeners usually reply, “Yeah, no kidding, buddy.”

But anyway. Somewhere or another, there is a tower.

In the highest room of this tower lies a book.

The book rests on a table, covered in dust and laced with cobwebs. The shadows crowd close to the book, they say; a general sense of danger hangs heavy over it.

“It’s just . . . it’s a general sense of danger, OK?”they exclaim when pressed for details. “Not specific. Just a general sense of something vaguely dangerous somehow connected to the book.”

For those, though, who dare to open this book—for those willing to risk all in search of the unknown—its pages hold a secret of unimaginable value.

A fairy tale.

Not your typical fairy tale, obviously. That would be boring. A fairy tale different to all other fairy tales out there. It is a fairy tale filled with magic and intrigue. A fairy tale unlike any you’ve ever heard.

Or at least, that’s what it says on the blurb.

Right after the following statement:

“The author wishes for it to be known that he was in no way coerced to write this unbelievably awesome story, and that it his everlasting and ultimate honor to share the story of our incredibly amazing,radiant, and majestic queen.

“And now for some small—and completely voluntary—words of praise to our queen.

“Oh, let the doves commit bloody homicide out of jealousy, and let psychopathic warlords engage in vile acts of tyranny in religious frenzy over her, for none is like our queen. Glory to her name and beauty to her frame, and let the vagrants worship her feet and the nobles her . . . wheat-like hair, and while all thisis going on the doves will be resurrected to sing of her majesty and the waters roar triumphantly of her tranquility. And now, consider this: what can we meremortals hope to do in comparison to her brilliance, her grace, and her generosity? Commit suicide, you say, and indeed it is only at her kindness thatwe still draw breath. Oh, praise be to her, and let our hearts open in outpourings of love to her name.”

It is a rather long blurb.

Almost as long as the book, in fact.The entirely unique story—which only superficially resembles every other fairy tale ever told—is written in just a few short paragraphs.

It goes like this:

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a beautiful princess.Though she was generous of heart and kind of spirit, the princess lived a lonely life, having no friends or family to call her own. Yet despite her troubles, she retained her good nature and gentle demeanor, and was known throughout the land as a moral inspiration and role model for teenage girls.

In a neighboring land, there lived a dashing, handsome, and charming young prince. The pride of his country, he was renowned as a brave hero and fearless warrior, and could stomach no wrongdoing.

It happened to pass that, one day, the prince was journeying through the forest when he heard a woman crying. Rushing forward, he found the princess alone, a fearsome bandit holding a knife to her throat. Drawing his sword, the prince charged into battle, killing the bandit and saving the princess.

Being a dashing hero, the prince offered to escort the princess to her home. It was a long journey, and the two soon found themselves alone at night.The princess went to sleep, the prince gallantly offering to stay on watch and protect her. He even refused to eat food, lest it make him sleepy. Only water would he partake of, he declared.

He did not know that the bandits lying in wait in the forest had drugged the water.

The next morning, the prince awoke to find himself alone. Cursing himself for a fool, he jumped to his feet and raced into the forest, searching for the lost princess. Though the bandits had hidden their tracks well, the prince was a seasoned tracker, and he was able to follow them to their lair.

The prince fought his way through the lair until he came face to face with the bandit leader himself. The prince held his sword—already red with the blood of fallen bandits—aloft, and challenged the leader to a duel. The leader,terrified by the prince’s reputation, tried to back away, but before he could get out a single word, the prince leapt across the room and, with a singles lash of his sword, decapitated the leader.

After the remaining bandits ran away, the prince freed the princess from the cell she had been confined to. Standing there, staring into each other’s eyes, the prince and princess felt their hearts stir and realized the depths of the love they had for each other. Declaring their undying devotion to each other, the two left the lair hand in hand, knowing that as long as they had each other, nothing could ever separate them again.

And they lived happily ever after.

“So ends the glorious tale of Her Majesty the Queen,”the book concludes. “Never before has a more honest and original tale been told—nor, indeed, more voluntarily written without any prodding or threats from Her Royal Awesomeness. Oh, glory to her name and beauty to her frame . . .”

And so on.

It is, all things told, a serviceable enough tale. Not,perhaps, as honest or original as the author claims it to be—one expects a certain degree of liberty with these sort of tales. But it definitely possesses distinct honest and original qualities. Maybe not in the actual wording of the story per se, but certainly this story shares some characteristics with other stories that have words in them—and some of those stories are honest and original.

Of course, it would be wrong to tell the story as it actually happened. That would be an insult to the author’s memory.

Then again, when the only copy of your book is lying around in some random tower no one’s ever going to find, you don’t really have much of a memory.

So let’s have some fun with this.

Here’s what a slightly more accurate version of this fairy tale would look like:

Once upon a time,

In a metaphorical sense, that is. It’s not exactly 100%accurate to claim that this fairy tale is so original as to be labeled as, “Once.”It is possible, perhaps, to find certain similarities in it to other fairy tales in existence. In fact, if we wereto be entirely truthful, this completely derivative tale lacks a single original word of its own.

But dramatic openings are important.

In a faraway land, there lived a beautiful princess.

Well, a ruthless leader of a local gang. But when you demand to be called a princess and murder the first thirty or so people who refuse to call you princess, you kinda become called a princess.

Though she was generous of heart and kind of spirit,

An arguable definition—in that she argued it and everyone else, under pain of death, agreed.

The princess lived a lonely life, having no friends or family to call her own.

Having killed them all.

Yet despite her troubles, she retained her good nature and gentle demeanor,

Another harmless lie she insisted be spread about her.

And was known throughout the land as a moral inspiration and role model for teenage girls.

This was true,though it was always followed up by snorts of derisive laughter.

In a neighboring land, there lived a dashing, handsome, and charming

—and completely brainless—

Young prince. The pride of his country,

This, too, was said metaphorically, though no one seemed to know what it was meant to signify.

He was renowned as a brave hero and fearless warrior.

Obviously, it can’t be expected for such a claim to be entirely accurate; a certain degree of artistic license must be allowed for such things. If we’re absolutely splitting hairs, a more precise description would be that he was a coward of the highest order.

And could stomach no wrongdoing.

A pet peeve that caused very little inconvenience to the wrongdoers, as the prince—suffering from the aforementioned brainlessness issue—accepted any explanation offered to him for all forms of criminal activity he stumbled across.

It happened to pass that, one day, the prince was journeying through the forest when he heard a woman crying.

Well, that’s what he thought he heard. In reality, he heard the crying of a young man being tortured by our lovely “princess”.

Rushing forward,

—if trying to run away, getting lost and ending up in the right direction purely by accident can be labeled “running forward”—

He found the princess alone, a fearsome bandit holding a knife to her throat.

Or so he remembers it. In reality, he found the “princess”holding a knife to the defenseless man she had been torturing. Upon seeing the prince, she then slit the man’s throat.

It was one of those scenes that are very difficult to confuse for something else, but if the prince could lay claim to anything, itwas pushing the boundary of what was acceptable to find confusing.

Drawing his sword, the prince charged into battle, killing the bandit and saving the princess.

Yeaaaah. That wasn’t what happened at all. But it sounds good.

Being a dashing hero,

Artistically speaking, of course.

The prince offered to escort the princess to her home.

Um. . . let’s just say that the prince was a one-track minded sorta fellow, and was a devoted follower of the whole, “Chivalry is dead,” way of doing things.  

It was a long journey, and the two soon found themselves alone at night. The princess went to sleep, the prince gallantly offering to stay on watch and protect her.

Well, she persistently demanded it, but let’s not quibble over details.

He even refused to eat food, lest it make him hungry. Only water would he partake of, he declared.

Somewhat unconvincingly. He insisted that the huge bottle of rum in his satchel was just for “educational” purposes.

He did not know that the bandits lying in wait in the forest had drugged the water.

That is, anyway, what he later claimed had happened. There was still a noticeable drunken slur to his words when he said it.

The next morning, the prince awoke to find himself alone. Cursing himself for a fool,

—arguably the first accurate thought of his life—

He jumped to his feet,

And immediately regretted it, as his hangover—curse those bandits and their tricks!—popped up to demand that he sit back down.

And raced into the forest,

Again, for argument’s sake, let’s call running for your life, getting lost, and ending up in the forest, “Racing into the forest.”

Searching for the lost princess.

Sure. Why not.

Though the bandits had hidden their tracks well, the prince was a seasoned tracker,

A very artistic license, it seems.

And he was able to follow them to their lair.

The fact that it was about five minutes away, had huge signs pointing to it, and was the largest building in the forest had nothing to do with his discovery.

The prince fought his way through the lair,

Or, to be more precise, they stepped aside and said that the boss wanted to talk with him.

Until he came face to face with the bandit leader himself.

That was who the “princess” claimed he was, anyway. In actuality, he was the sheriff of the forest, there to arrest her for her many, many crimes—but the prince couldn’t have been expected know that. That’s not to say there weren’t clues—the sheriff’s star on his shirt; the little badge next to it that said, “Sheriff;” the fact that he kept insisting, “I’m not a bandit leader, I am the sheriff!”—but not everyone can be expected to read so subtly between the lines.

The prince held his sword—already red with the blood of fallen bandits

Metaphorically speaking, that is.

—Aloft, and challenged the leader to a duel. The leader, terrified by the prince’s reputation, tried to back away, but before he could get out a single word, the prince leapt across the room and, with a single slash of his sword,decapitated the leader.

It goes without saying that this wasn’t even remotely what happened.

When the sheriff saw that the prince wouldn’t listen to reason, he drew his sword and charged at the prince. The prince responded with a high-pitched yelp of terror and proceeded to flee in the direction he had come. The “princess,” seeing this, cried out, “Is not my love worth your life?” to which the prince responded with an emphatic, “Nope!”The prince then began running down the stairs, but stumbled over his own shoelaces. The sheriff, just a few paces behind, tripped over the prince’s now prone body and went flying out the window, where he landed with a disconcertingcrunch outside.

But history is written by the victors—even if those victors are annoying dimwits who can’t figure out how to tie their own shoelaces.

After the remaining bandits,

Officers.

Ran away, the prince freed the princess from the cell she had been confined to. Standing there, staring into each other’s eyes, the prince and princess felt their hearts stirring and realized the depths of the love they had for each other.

Kinda. She realized that before her stood a complete moron she could trick into constantly doing her bidding. He realized . . .well, the prince often went weeks without realizing anything at all, so he was really just staring into her eyes.

Declaring their undying devotion to each other,

—Loudly and not particularly convincingly—

The two left the lair hand in hand, knowing that as long as they had each other, nothing could ever separate them again.

And they lived happily ever after.

Or until they got home, anyway. Then she married him,declared herself queen, and had his head impaled on a spike and displayed on the city walls.

Ironically, that’s where she displayed the author’s head, too.

————

Eli Landes is a marketing copywriter by day and a fiction writer whenever he can squeeze in the time. He writes about pretty much anything and everything, but everything he writes has a little bit of novelty to it; a little bit of different. For more—including unique,never-before-published short stories—follow him at his blog, regardingwriting.com.

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