As anyone who reads this blog knows, I created it to participate in a flash fiction contest. Each installment must be five hundred words or less. They have asked that the participants not start writing their entries until July 1. I am not a person who enjoys breaking reasonable rules, but I feel the need to practice to see if I can acheive a readable story or chapter within the word limit.
Dreamweaver is my first attempt. I hope you enjoy, all comments will be appreciated.
“I want you to curse me.”
The old woman cackled at the beautiful blonde woman.
“Sounds like you’re already cursed to me.”
“I want the dreams back.”
“We all do.”
“What do you mean?”
“None of us have dreamed since you woke up dearie.”
It had not occurred to the Princess that other people in the kingdom might not be able to dream.
“How do we get them back?”
“If I knew that, do you think I would live in a place like this?”
Since the wise woman had no answers, the Princess went to the fairies.
It took her some time to gain their attention.
“Can you tell me what the curse was that made me sleep?”
“Oh, we don’t do curses, your Prince took care of the only one who ever did.”
She lay next to the Prince at night. He snored. She thought about smothering him with a pillow. Instead she went for a walk. She met others on her walks. They were all searching for their dreams. She was lucky, no one asked her who she was. No matter which direction she started out, she always ended up at The Tower. It was covered with roses now. She was careful not to touch them, she did not want to prick her finger on a thorn. Then it occurred to her that pricking her finger was exactly what she must do.
She sent the Prince on a quest. He was eager to go, he had nothing else to do. The King and Queen had no idea what to do with a grown up daughter, so they left her to her own devices. She asked the gardeners to clear away the roses. At night she stole the thorny branches. When she had them all the Princess went back to the fairies. She told them what she wanted. They refused. She reminded them that she was the Princess and they had no choice but to obey.
The sad little women fashioned her the spindle out of the thorns with magic and sorrow. Then before the sun rose they went away, so they would never have to perform such a terrible spell ever again.
It was not hard to find a strapping young man to carry the spinning wheel up to the tower. He was younger than she was and had no idea what he held in his hands. All day she cleaned until the tower’s bedchamber sparkled. She had not forgotten how. As the sun set, she pricked her finger on the enchanted spindle. A single drop of blood fell to the floor. Knowing what would happen this time, the Princess fell unto bed. She began to dream and so did all her kingdom.