DOUBLE FAIRY TALE FLASH - Hungry by Nidheesh Samant AND Dragons and Maidens by Monica Wenzel

It was not my fault. I was hungry.

We were poor folk. My mother and I worked very hard to make ends meet. Once winter had passed, things became even tougher. All our savings had been depleted. Mother asked me to sell our cow. Hesitantly, I had obliged and taken our cow to the market. No one wanted our old cow. At the end of the day, just when I was ready to go back, an old man showed interest in her. He offered me ten beans in exchange. Magic beans they are, he had said. I believed him and traded my cow for them. After I told mother, she was livid. She sent me to bed without giving me supper. Starving that I was, I ate the ten beans.

I repeat. It was not my fault. I was hungry.

How would I know the beans would turn me into a giant boy? 

Nidheesh Samant is a marketing professional from India, taking his first steps into the world of writing. He enjoys soup and dark stories, and their combination even more. He writes short stories on his blog: thedarknetizen.wordpress.com

Follow him on Twitter @darthnid 

“I said I don’t eat maidens.”

The knight pointed his sword at the dragon. The sun glinted off of it and momentarily blinded the dragon.

“I don’t care. Here she is.” He pointed to the maiden. “Where’s my gold?”

“Your gold sits in your castle. My gold is in my cave.”

“I need more.”

“Need? You think you give me a woman and I’ll share my fortune.”

“Dragons love eating maidens. I tied her up for you so she won’t run.

The dragon stepped closer and sniffed.

“I prefer cattle. Or knights.”

He swallowed the knight before he could run.

Monica Wenzel is a high school Spanish and French teacher who lives in Minnesota with her husband, toddler son, and two cats. She enjoys photography, reading, and travel, in addition to writing. She won the Geek Partnership Society writing contest in 2015. 

Covers: Amanda Bergloff

Thank you for reading today's Fairy Tale Flash stories, and please share your thoughts about them in the comments section below. We'd love to hear from you!

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FAIRY TALE FLASH - Braids by Amanda Bergloff

The tale of a shortcut, 

a witch, 

and braids...

Once, there were three sisters with braids the color of summer wheat who went to gather herbs far from home. Their mother told them to stay on the main path, but the sisters chose to take a shortcut that would allow them to be home before dark.

Soon, they came to a bridge over a cascading stream that a hairless witch guarded.

The youngest sister, Charity, walked ahead of her two sisters.

“Wait here. I will call to you when it is your turn to cross the bridge,” she said.

Charity approached the witch. “Will you allow me to cross your bridge, so that I can get home before dark?” Charity asked.

The hairless witch shook her head. “No, for I am in need of hair, and your golden braid would be perfect for my head.”

“But my braid is not very long. If you allow me to cross the bridge, I will call to my sister, Emyme, that the way is safe. She has longer braids than mine that will surely fit your head better.”

The witch nodded and let Charity cross the bridge. When she was on the other side, Charity called to her sister, Emyme.

The witch stopped Emyme at the bridge and admired Emyme’s longer braids that reached all the way down her back.

“If you allow me to cross your bridge, witch, I will call to my sister, Brita, that the way is safe. Her braids are so long, they are piled up on top of her head just so she can walk without tripping on them.”

The witch nodded and let Emyme cross the bridge. When she was on the other side, Emyme called to her sister, Brita.

The hairless witch’s eyes grew big as saucers as Brita approached, for her braids were indeed piled high on her head.

Charity and Emyme watched Brita from the other side of the bridge and yelled, “Brita, let your braids down!”

And Brita did. Her braids dropped to the ground so hard, it shook, and the witch was knocked into the cascading stream, never to be heard from again.

However, it took Charity and Emyme many hours to pile Brita’s braids back up onto her head, so they could continue walking home. Their shortcut made them reach their home long after dark, and the three sisters wished they had stayed on their original path.

Special Thanks to Charity Tahmaseb, Marcia Sherman aka Emyme, and Brita Long for supporting EC.

Amanda Bergloff writes modern fairy tales, folktales, and speculative fiction. Her work has appeared in various anthologies, including Frozen Fairy Tales, After the Happily Ever After, and Uncommon Pet Tales.

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Cover Layout: Amanda Bergloff

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FAIRY TALE FLASH - Family by T J Barnum

I was hoping she’d exhibit more of
my attributes when she hit adolescence...

“Really Sandy? You expect me to eat that? Without anything to wash it down?”

“Drinking at meals interferes with your digestion,” Sandy said. “You’re not getting up from this table until you eat.”

“But it’s green!” Alice said. She sniffed the offensive brew. “You put peas in it, didn’t you?”

“If you must know, it’s split-pea soup. Full of nutrients.”

“You know I detest vegetables. And besides, it smells funny.”

“Oh! For crying out loud, Alice! Just eat!” Sandy’s eyes gleamed. “Do you want me to call your Father?”

“I’ve always hated your cooking,” Alice said quietly, “Call him, I don’t care anymore.” She flipped the soup bowl upside down and jumped sideways to avoid Sandy’s claws.

“You’ll pay for this, young lady!” Sandy yelled as Alice escaped outside.

The split-pea soup was Sandy’s first attempt to kill her step-daughter. She’d done her best to disguise the poison with enchanted spices and the strong smell of peas. But it looked like Alice’s senses were becoming sharper, as was to be expected. Sandy sighed. She had hoped that years of abuse and intimidation would work to demoralize and control the girl. But she’d overestimated the power of burgeoning adolescence.

That evening, she talked with Jim. “I know you’re fond of your child. But you know what must be done. I’m afraid we’ve waited too long already.”

Jim said not a word. He thought hard, weighing options, possible solutions. “I was hoping she’d exhibit more of my attributes when she hit adolescence,” he growled.

Sandy just stared at him.

“I see more of her mother in her every day.” His face contorted. “I cannot stand her mother!”

“Of course you can’t, darling. When did your two families ever get along? It’s amazing you stayed with the relationship as long as you did.”

“Alice’s mom never really understood who she was,” he mused. “Although, she certainly acted the part from time to time.”

“Alice will discover who she is soon enough, if she doesn’t already know. I’m with her more hours in a day than you. All I’m saying, she isn’t like you!”

“That’s too bad,” Jim said. He shook his monstrously huge head and climbed to his feet. “Well, no point in putting it off. Let’s go eat her.”

The two ogres headed outside, pausing only long enough to grab their heavy axes.

“Alice!” her Father called, as he and his wife began circling the large meadow by their cave.

“Jim!” Sandy yelled. “It’s too late!”

Sandy pointed skyward. Jim looked into bright light, caught a breathtaking view of a golden dragon circling the open field.

“Damn! She’s pretty!” he thought. “Just like her mother!”

The ogres watched as Alice dipped her right wing in salute to her father, then flew out of sight toward the horizon.

T J Barnum's writing has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Rivet: The Journal That Risks, The Moon Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Better Than Starbucks, Alban Lake, The Dirty Pool and more.

Find out more about T J at tjbarnum.com.

Cover: Amanda Bergloff

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FAIRY TALE FLASH - Happily Never After by Michael M. Jones

No one asks what the fairy godmother wants,
what's in it for her...

A hundred girls.

A hundred wishes.

A hundred balls.

I'm caught in this endless loop of yearning and fulfillment, desire and reward.

And no one has ever once asked what I want. No one asks what the fairy godmother wants, what's in it for her.

No one even stops to wonder, just once, where wish-granting fairy godmothers even come from or why we only show up for certain kinds of people.

No one ever asks the price... because they don't have to pay it.

And yet magic has a cost. A final bill that must be paid eventually.

Once upon a time...

There was a forbidden room.

A door with a lock.

A curious girl with a stolen key.

A candle in the dark, its flame flickering.

Hot wax, dripping and burning.

A yelp. A sudden gesture. A burned wrist, an uncooperative lock, a lost key.

An angry witch.

A curse.

An eternity of granting wishes and never once mentioning the cost.

A hundred desperate, foolish, ambitious, tormented girls, so eager to escape their terrible lives or wretched families that they never asked why, or how much, or what if.

A hundred grateful, newly-made noble women and princesses and queens, in my debt.

A hundred hearts and souls to be collected someday.

I wish I could tell them. Warn just one.

I wish just one would have the foresight to ask, the wisdom, the skepticism to stop and think about it.

But you whistle up a magic dress, transform some rodents, change fruit into carriages and they're too blinded by the shiny pretty magic to think twice. They go to the ball, they dance with the prince, they lose their shoe...

Happily ever after.

For everyone but me.

And yet all hope is not lost.

All I need is one girl to think about me instead of the prince. To look past the glamour and sparkles and see who I was instead of what I am and what I can do for them.

Every time I respond to another wish, spoken or unspoken, I pray this will be the one. But it's always the same, and I always lose.

I'd love to be free.

To go to the ball.

To dance away the night.

To live without rules.

When I fled at the stroke of midnight, you'd never see me again.

Michael M. Jones lives in southwest Virginia with too many books, just enough cats, and a wife who knows better than to make unwise deals at the crossroads. His word can be found in anthologies such as Clockwork Phoenix 3, E is for Evil, and Dark Luminous Wings. He is the editor of collections such as Scheherazade's Facade and Schoolbooks & Sorcery.
For more, visit him at www.michaelmjones.com.

Cover: Amanda Bergloff

Thank you for reading today's Fairy Tale Flash story, and please share your thoughts about Michael's tale with him in the comments section below. He'd love to hear from you!

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Edgar Allan Poe and the Jewel of Peru HERE

DOUBLE FAIRY TALE FLASH - Cold Blooded by Katherine Herron AND The Rose by Donna Kennedy

We've got 2 tales for today's Fairy Tale Flash...

First, they catch her in a net.

She lets them.

Their wide eyes and breathless curses send pools of cool blood writhing towards her cheeks. Humans go warm with embarrassment, she remembers absently. Fish don’t blush at all. Merpeople, with their cold blood, freeze at humiliation.

They keep staring. She’s cold, colder still, an ice sculpture cracking under the pressure of each gaze.

She shatters.

For all their gaping, no one notices.

They spread her out on a metal slab cooler than her cheeks.

She doesn’t struggle.

They poke and prod at the tail she can’t bear to examine for herself. She’s not cold anymore. Her tail is grey now, and her face greyer. She’s a fetus scream and flakes of dry skin. A series of scars and a headful of nightmares.

“Don’t sing for the humans,” her father used to say, several scalpels and too many sunsets ago, gesticulating with his violet tail rather than his webbed hands.

A scalpel gleams above her now, all sharp edges and sterile sliver. Why, she’d choke out if she could, but her doctors decided to 'cut the siren's vocal cords' weeks ago, back when she still thought they might give her legs. One snip, and her world ended.

The scalpel drips towards her pallid skin.

It’s still ending.

Katherine Herron is a long-time fan of all things fairy tale. A current creative writing graduate student, she lives in Edinburgh.

Kylie always puts her pink furry blanket close to Daddy’s drum. She’s so close her heart goes boom bah boom bah boom boom. She likes it when Daddy drums. It’s like he’s trying to make something happen. She closes her eyes and snuggles into the blanket. She’s not very cold in the park. She’s not very afraid of the dark. Even without Mommy. She couldn’t come. She never comes. But it’s okay.

They always go to the big playground first. Kylie sits on Daddy’s lap and they swing so high she can see the big trees and the lake. “Let’s fly into the sky,” he says. “Okay,” she says. Maybe they really can. Maybe Daddy wouldn’t sound so sad if they did. The swing slows to a stop, and Daddy lifts her up for a kiss. His eyes are blurry.

They walk to the lake. She sits on her blanket and eats peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Daddy reads her favorite fairy tale about the little girl who has a doll in her pocket that her mother gave her. The doll tells her what to do when she's scared “I wish I had a doll like that,” she always says. When it gets dark, Kylie snuggles into her favorite blanket.

Daddy goes closer to the lake and puts something red under a tree. She runs over to see. “Why did you stick that rose in the ground, Daddy?” she asks. He doesn’t say anything. Lots of times he doesn’t say anything. He just plays his drum, the long one with beads on it.

Boombah boom … The sound makes Kylie sleepy, so she lies down on her blanket, sucking the satiny edge. The big bright moon wakes her up. Daddy is drumming and smiling. He almost never smiles. Boom bah boom bah boom boom, drums Daddy. She can tell he’s playing “Ring around the Rosie,” so she sings with him.

She looks where he is looking. Over the lake, something is moving. Something white and misty. It comes closer until it seems to spin around the red rose like a see-through dancer.  It brightens and fades to the beat of the drum, swirling around them like a warm wind smelling of roses. Kylie moves her hand through it.

The beat of the drum slows, and the wispy something goes up into the sky. Daddy stops drumming and reaches for Kylie’s hand. When the mist is gone, he picks her up, holding her under one arm and the drum under the other. It’s a long walk to the car, so she closes her eyes a little, pretending to fall asleep. When they come out of the trees, by the car, she looks up and squints through her eyelashes at shadows crossing the moon.

“Look, Daddy,” she says. His shoulders shake, like he’s crying. But he’s not.

Donna Kennedy's library includes fairy tales and myths from all over the world.  She shares them with her twin 10-year-old grandchildren. When they're asleep she writes her own. Her story about them, "Here We Are Again," won second-place in Writer Advice's Flash Memoir Contest last year. Her winning 53-word flash fiction, "The Shed is Best," appears in Prime Number Magazine at https://www.press53.com/issue-127-donna-kennedy.

Covers: Amanda Bergloff                                                                                      

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