Right, to make up for the lack of post, here's another story churn out, largely by Jamie, during the story writing module:
Once upon a time, in the land of Fairy tales, there lived a professional Fairy Godmother, whose name was Fella-farez. She was the highest paid Fairy Godmother in all the land, especially after dealing with one of her famous clients, Cinderella.
Now, Fella was not always rich, she started out handing dreams out to the little kids of the real world. She was posted to this department because the Great One decided that she had a skewed perspective of what was right and wrong, and she was a little silly and reckless, or so He thought. This is her success story.
Fella was handing out dreams as usual, and she was extra careful not to mix the nasty ones with the good ones by accident. Fella is rather careless and clumsy for a 600 year old fairy Godmother, and she has turned a little senile.
*beep* her otherworldly handphone started ringing. It was a new one she got from the real world, a spanking new, shiny ‘Knowkia’ phone that she was supposed to have. It had distress detectors installed in it too.
It was a distress signal coming from a small town in Paris. It was her new charge, Cindy-rella. Or was it Cinderella? She gave her wand a swish and a flick, and appeared in a dark dank closet filled with mouldy trench coats and socks.
The damp noxious smell made her choke. It was then Fella noticed sobbing, coming from the corner of the closet.
“who….who are you?” The voice cracked.
She strained her eyes to see, but she could only make out a mop of tangled unruly hair. “I’m Fella-Farez, your professional fairy Godmother at your service. How may I help?” said she.
The voice broke down into violent sobs as the voice told Fella about how Father had hit him and smashed his precious trinket boxes.
Fella found this rather odd, so she said. “Excuse me, I do believe I’ve gotten the wrong person.”
“Have you, by any chance heard of a GIRL called Cinderella?”
He stopped sobbing, and stood up. “Why, I’M Cinderella!”he said.
Fella gasped. Goodness gracious. It was a young boy. Skinny and tall, he had dark rivulets of smudged mascara streaming like tears from his eyes, and his wig askew, perched ridiculously on his head, looking for all the world like a dead animal. She looked closely at his face, and saw that he had rouge slapped on his face, like a clown, and powder lines where his face had cracked into a panic stricken expression.
The Boy was wearing a lacy black bra, stuffed with goose down to give him a womanly shape, and frilly black knickers. He clasped his hands to his bosom and pleaded in a frantic voice. The boy’s masculine voice betrayed the paint and powder which had so skillfully concealed his identity.
He told the patient Fella about how he had to live with the feeling of being trapped all his life, and about how his real parents had sold him off to Father, the local brothel owner so that they could pay off their debts. He lived under the tyranny of Father, and his two step ‘sisters’, Anadora and Arabella, who were identical twins, and Father’s highest earning whores.
He was meant to be a fancy-dressed gentleman for lonely women who needed male company. But Cinderricky (his real name) found the touch of a woman repulsive, and he dreaded every minute spent with them.
He found solace in stealing little trinkets and powder boxes from their rooms, and when he was safely back at the brothel, he would silently lock the door and pull out his taffeta dresses and stockings, reveling in their softness. He would wear those wonderful things, and prance around his room in a dizzy whirl of ecstasy. But these magical hours would draw to an end when he heard the clang of the great grandfather clock in the hall. It signaled the arrival of Father, that great drunk brute of a man who would surely ravage him when he came home.
Oh how he hated Father. Cinderricky loved men, but he hated that stupid brute. Father was always drunk, and he stank of alcohol. He hated his touch, and he hated the way he would laugh after stripping him of his dignity.
Cinderricky was upset, because he was planning to save himself for the Prince Pareese. He was a fine and gentle soul. Cinderricky remembered when he first laid eyes on him at a party in his grand palace. It was love at first sight.
The last he ever heard of his prince was when he overheard his sisters talking about the grand ball he was having, to select a fair maiden as his bride. He knew his heart would find no peace if he did not attend the ball.
So, silently, after dropping off Madame Marche at her doorstep, he hurriedly rushed home and got dressed for a splendid night at the ball. He started humming a tune, oblivious to Father’s presence outside his door. Father sneaked in silently, and when he saw that the boy had transformed, he was incensed beyond words. Dashing his pearls to the floor, Father ripped his beautiful silk and taffeta dresses to shreds. After beating him black and blue, Cinderricky was thrown into his closet.
Fella-Farez, being the kindhearted woman that she was, could not help but shed a few tears at his story, bizarre though it was. She felt that life had dealt this poor boy a cruel hand, and it was her duty to right that wrong.
With a swish and flick of her magic wand, she chanted the magic words. “Cinder-Ricky, you shall be no more, the world shall know you as Cinderella for ever more!” And whoosh! Cinderricky had transformed into a beautiful blonde girl.
“Oh my God! I have breasts! I finally have breasts!” He, or she as we now must call her, exclaimed in pure joy.
Her Fairy Godmother said “Now, Go my dear child, seduce the prince. Make him yours forever.”
Outside she found a splendid coach with two identical white mares. She got in and bid Fella farewell.
“Hmm.. “ she said to no one in particular. “ Im not being ungrateful or anything, but the inside of this coach absolutely reeks of alcohol.”
The end.
P.s I dun care if it impress you or not, I'm not a man-pleaser (other than trying to please the faci cause he's the one giving grades). You are obnoxious and made up of ego rather than a soul. Just because you are a few years more older than me and know the world 'better', that doesn't make you any mature or better than me.
And neither am I asking you to lower yourself to my standard of guys (since I'm so lowly btw that you have to 'lower' yourself). But look at yourself, I wouldn't even want you in the first place because your attitude and pride is terrible truely, among the least of things. You are one big MCP
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