Rapunzel

I've always been fascinated by Rapunzel's tale. I don't know why - is it because of her long hair or because how she tolerated that horrible witch or how her tears healed the prince who saved her?

I liked the Disney version best. Unlike most Disney movies, this one seems more connectable with the audience. Also, the hero, Flynn Ryder (is the spelling correct?) is no typical Handsome-And-Hopelessly-Kind Prince. 

So then a few days ago, I started thinking about this story and I decided to rewrite it with a modern touch. I must say it has come out pretty well. I'm posting it here so that you can see and comment on my 'storytelling'.

My life is over.

I hug my teddy, Mr. Wilkins and wail boisterously. My parents and siblings have gotten used to this. In fact, they’re sleeping soundly. Lucky ducks. They don’t have to face embarrassment in school, do they?

How can I face the world with – with – pixie hair??!?!

Blame Twilight for that. Why did I read that stupid book? Why did I get fixated with Alice Cullen’s stupid hair? Why did I go to the Selena’s Hairstyling Saloon to copy Alice’s hair?

Besides, I’m too tall to pass as Alice. I’d rather eat skin than wear those ghastly yellow colored contacts! Also, my voice isn’t that soprano kind. It’s deep, like Adele’s. Not as melodious, though.

My phone beeps. I look up from Mr. Wilkins. Wiping my tears with my right hand, I pick up the phone with my left.

It’s a text message from Paula, one of my best friends.

I open it and see:

Wht wer u thinkin?????? Dat lks horrible!!!!!!!

As if I don’t know that. Thanks for reminding me, Paula.

I throw that stupid phone away in frustration.

Mistake number two: I uploaded my new look on Facebook. I expected good, positive comments and more than ten likes for that one. But no! All I get is, ‘Looks like a prisoner of war,’ and ‘Isn’t that little boy a cutie?’ and worse stuff.

“I HATE MY LIFE!” I groan, hugging Mr. Wilkins again. “I WANT MY HAIR BACK!!! MR. WILKINS, I WANT MY HAIR BACK!”

Mr. Wilkins doesn’t say anything.

I hug him, sobbing uncontrollably. After some time, I feel drowsy and drift off to sleep, still hugging Mr. Wilkins.

I hope nobody takes a picture of that and post it on Facebook. Or worse – Twitter. 

 

****

When my eyes open, I’m in a different world.

I’m inside a room. The walls are colorful with these vibrant paintings that show happiness and contentment. There is a soft bed with a patchwork quilt and a pillow so comfortable that I feel like I could sink into it.

The floor is painted with more designs. It is strewn with books and yellow, thick papers. There’s also an ink bottle and a palette atop a chest of drawers. A feather is dipped inside the ink bottle.

Now this is insane. Who dips a feather in an ink bottle? Wait a minute, who uses an ink bottle now-a-days? Apart from old, baggy ladies, that is.

God my neck hurts.

I see that there’s also a small, open wardrobe full of clothes that even my grandma would consider as old fashioned (And take it from me, my grandma is hopelessly old-fashioned). What do they call these potato sack-like dresses – ah, medieval clothes!

I would totally not wear those clothes even if the President tells me to.

Speaking of which, what am I wearing right now? I look down to see what I’m wearing. Guess what? I’m wearing one of those ugly outfits. You know, the really tight top and the big balloon like skirt and ballet flats.

I stare at myself in the nearby full-length mirror and smile. I don’t look bad. Actually, I look like a real-life Disney Princess. The full-sleeved gown is pink in color, with shades of lavender here and there. Also, there’s embroidery with golden thread at the edges and in front of my gown.

Hey, even my face looks a bit different. I mean, I have my wide greenish-blue eyes, long nose, thin lips but –

“OH MY GOD,” I find myself screaming in delight. “I have my hair!”

Those red locks that I had traded for looking like a character from Twilight had returned. In fact, my hair looks all the more beautiful – thick, strong and lovely.

I run my fingers through my hair. I think it will stop by the time my fingers passed my elbows. However, my fingers are slipping more and more –

“WHOA!” I say in disbelief as I see my hair spread out behind me like a train of red. In fact, it spread all over the room. Why didn't I notice it before?

“I HAVE GOT TOO MUCH HAIR!” I screamed again. “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, I HAVE GOT MY HAIR AGAIN! AND IT’S LONGER THAN EVER! IT’S SO –”

That’s why my neck was paining. It was because of the weight of my now-super-awesome hair. Well, if Taylor Swift’s ex-boyfriends can bear with her songs (the ones targeted at them), then I can bear the pain of my hair's weight.

“Rapunzel,” I hear a loud, clear and cold voice.

Rapun-what?

Did somebody call me that-too-long-haired-freak-whose-stupid-tears-make-her-boyfriend-not-blind-again?

Besides, where’s the voice coming from anyway? There’s no door in this room. Why is there no door in this room?

Oh look, there’s a window! The voice is coming from outside! 

"Rapunzel, where on earth are you, you silly little girl?" 
I heard it again. That same loud, clear, cold voice is coming from outside the slightly-open window.

I rush to the window. A difficult task because of all the hair and the dress’s big skirt, but I manage to push the window completely open and look d-d-d –

I feel like fainting as I see that the ground is too far from the window. A woman in black is looking up at me. Even at such a distance, I can see she’s annoyed.

“What are you looking at?” The woman snaps. “Let down your hair!”

“Who are you? And why should I let my hair down?” I shout at her. 

“Blasted girl, you are my adoptive daughter!” The woman says. “Let down your hair this instant!”

“What if I don’t do any such thing?” I say, folding my arms around my chest. I don’t know why but I have a strange urge to strangle her with my hair. Who on earth is she to tell me, Abby Andrews, what to do?

The woman doesn’t say anything. Instead, she takes out a stick of wood. Isn’t that pure brilliance? What is she going to do with it, anyway? Hurl at me?  

No, she doesn’t hurl the stick at me. Instead, she’s pointing it at me, she cries out:

“Do not be afraid,

Tresses of red,

Rush out of the window,

Down you slither,

Do not fritter,

Listen to what I say,

Because you have no other way!”

  “Aren’t you a good poet?” I say, laughing a bit. “My English teacher would love to hear –”

All of a sudden, pain jolts through my scalp.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!” I gasp. My hair rises up in the air and shoots out of the window. It’s still attached to my scalp and the speed with which it is going down is frightfully fast.

Oh God, my hair is heavier than I thought. My neck is aching more than ever. I no find myself crouching in that direction in which my hair’s going down. Finally, the ends of my hair reach the bottom of the tower. I can’t believe I’ve got hair that’s as tall as a tower.

“Now isn’t that a good girl?” The woman says, pocketing that wooden stick. As I watch, she clasps a clump of strands of my hair and adds, “Pull me up!”

This woman is unbelievable.

I don’t want her to point that stupid stick at me. I really don’t want her to do something that will make me howl more. So instead of being cocky as I was before, I pull my hair and that woman up.

As soon as the woman reaches the top and clambers inside, I collapse onto the floor near the bed, feeling really tired. My hair’s all around me. It’s practically enveloped me like a blanket.

The woman walks around, surveying the room and asks, “Have you prepared today’s lunch?”

WHAT?

“Why don’t you cook it?” I say, looking up at her. “I’m not your servant.”

And I don’t even know how to cook! I want to add. But no, it may make me look dumb.

The woman stops walking and looks at me with eyes that are colder than the Antarctica. She’s very beautiful, actually. She’s got a mass of black curls, skin as white as snow, a pointed nose and blood-red lips. Were it not for the grey eyes, I’d have mistaken her for a vampire.

“Yes, you are.” The woman says. She saunters towards me. When she reaches, she waves she roughly pulls me up to face her. She pushes all of my hair behind me. After that, she folds her hands around her chest. I see that I’m as tall as her. But that doesn’t help me feel any braver.

“Your parents were thieves.” The woman hisses. "They stole radishes from my garden! They were greedy, useless people who gave up their daughter for food!"
Oh bloody hell. Couldn't mom have got the bloody radishes from the grocery store? Why'd she have to steal -?
Wait a minute. What is this hacked-off woman talking about? 

“What are you even talking about? My parents aren’t thieves!” I snap. “My dad’s a cop and my mom is a teacher in the local high school.”

“What on earth is a cop? Not to mention, what is a high school?” The woman laughs. It is a harsh, cold laugh. “Oh, the years that you spent inside this tower has finally made you mad, has it? I should expect no lunch then.”

“Then why did you ask for lunch?” I say, glaring at her.

“Never mind, her mind’s mangled now.” The woman says to herself and sighs deeply. “She was such a good servant before!”

“I am so not your bloody servant!” I snarl.

“Oh, your language has grown awful!” The woman glares at me. “Where did you learn that word from, Rapunzel?”

“First of all,” I say, taking a deep breath. I try to say my words slowly. “My name is not Rapunzel. My name is Abigail Petrova Andrews. Secondly, as I told you before, my dad is in the police forces and my mom is a teacher. Understand?”

“No.” The woman says, shaking her head. “You are a certified lunatic now. Since you are my servant, I am not hauling you into a mental asylum. Besides, who would take all the pains to haul you and that hair of yours to a mental asylum?”

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO HAS TO GO TO A MENTAL ASYLUM!” I scream shrilly.

“Whatever on earth happened to you, Rapunzel?” The woman sighs again. "You used to be such a good servant." 

I’m sorry, but I give up.

“AARGH, YOU’RE HOPELESS!” I cry. “Now listen here, you old hag. Get out!”

“How dare you? How dare you say these unkind words to me?” The woman has taken out her wooden stick from the pockets of her dark robe. “I curse –”

“Don’t you go Harry Potter on me, you miserable hag!” I snatch the stick out of her hand and snap it into half. Placing my hands on my hips, I glare at her, feeling like my mom when she’s yelling her head off at her students (that’s most of the time, I assure you. But this doesn’t affect their rapport with me. Not much)

“My wand,” The woman looks at me piteously. “How can you do that, you nasty –?”

She falls down, shaking terribly. Something that sounds like the horrible grunting they have in the horror movies comes from her.

Oh God, Oh God –

She’s melting. She’s transforming into this gooey white thingy and oh God!

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” She screams shrilly.

Oh, bloody hell. She’s not that cold woman anymore. She’s a huge puddle.

I didn’t even ask her what her name was.

“Pull yourself together, Abby,” I murmur to myself. “It’s all right. It’s over. Stop getting sentimental!”

Oh, but we were having such a good enemyship! She was so evil, eviler than the Head Cheerleader in our school. I’m going to miss fighting with her. I hope she finds solace in hell.

Anyhow, there’s no drop of her on my dress. Phew, that’s good. I am getting fond of this thing, you know. This is something that can make me the Prom Queen, you know.

Carefully avoiding the puddle, I walk up to the window. The scenery is beautiful. The whole tower is surrounded by tall trees, thick with leaves. There’s a soft wind blowing, which is so calming! Did you look at the sky? It’s so… orange! Did you know that the sun is orange in color? I just

I wish I could take a picture of it and upload it on Facebook.

I look at the green grass below. Isn’t it so lovely? I love that color! It suits me perfectly. It brings out the green in my eyes and makes me look like an angel, a protector of earth.

I smile in contentment. This is what inner peace must feel like – no pressure to upload anything on Facebook, no pressure about what to reply to comments, no thirst to get more likes on your profile picture, no –

Oh. My. God. Is that a guy walking from the forest?

He looks so handsome from up here. He’s got such lustrous blonde hair and he’s wearing this funny knight’s outfit. I don’t know why but I suddenly scream out, “SAVE ME!”

The guy looks up. He smiles cockily up at me. That smile makes me feel so… happy! He’s got a perfect nose and perfectly blue eyes and big muscles and –

Ah, I’ve found my inner peace.

“What happened to you, lovely maiden?” His voice is so…

Well, it’s not what I’d expected. It’s shrill and tiny and – well, but he’s considerate. He asked me what has happened to me!

“I’m trapped!” I moan out in a heart-wrenching voice. “Take thee away! Whisk thee away to a land where I’ll find true happiness! Pull thee out of this dark door called depression –”

Oh, I’m such a genius! I should totally get Juliet’s role in Romeo and Juliet this year.

“I’m afraid I do not understand you.” A look of puzzlement crosses his handsome features.

“Get me out of here!” I say in normal language. Shakespearean English is so hard. Only well-rounded individuals like me can get that. I'll teach him when we get together.

“Where’s it?” He demands. 

“Where’s what?” I ask, puzzled.

“The dragon that keeps me away from you,” The handsome guy looks up at me intensely. I feel my heart thumping. He’s so concerned about me. He cares –

“There’s no dragon.” I say happily. “You just take me away from here.”

The guy smiles at me again. I beam back, feeling sated with love.

“Fat chance,” He finally says. “Goodbye now,”

 “WHAT?” I’m caught off-guard. What is he saying?

“I’m leaving.” He says and spins around. “It’s no use getting the princess without a fight.”

“You want a fight?” I snap. “I’ll give you a fight!”

I take out one of my ballet flats that I’ve worn and throw it at his direction. But he’s already disappeared into the forest.

I hate him so much. Just because he’s a looker doesn’t mean he’s got the right to snub girls. He needs a dragon. I’ll give him a dragon. I’ll –

“Kiss your life goodbye, Rapunzel.”

I feel a sudden chill creeping down the back of my neck. I spin around and see that the woman is rising back to her original form from the puddle that she’d melted into.

“Oh, how did you come up now?” I snap exasperatedly. “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

“I had a spare wand in my hand. Rapunzel, you can’t destroy me, Madame Gothel, that easily!” The woman says maniacally. “Now you’re going to die.” 

She picks up a lock of my hair and points her 'spare wand' at it. She murmurs something, smiling evilly.

I really don’t have time for any of this. That guy ditched me! On my face, that too! How could he –

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

How dare she do that to me?

She set my hair on fire!

And the fire’s spreading all around the room.

“Goodbye, Rapunzel!” Madame Gothel cackles and disappears into thin air, leaving me burning to my death.

****

I woke up, perspiring heavily.

I ran a hand through my hair. Phew, it’s short.

I guess I like it this way. I don’t want it to be long anymore. 

And it was just a dream… just a stupid dream…