Categories > Original > Humor > Sleeping Beauty
The stone tower-room was dark and gloomy, the only visible source of light glowing faintly through the open window. This didn’t seem to affect the aged old lady spinning her flax on a rickety wooden spinning wheel though, in fact, she looked quite content.
“Good day old mother, what are you doing there?” I asked cautiously, aware of the creepy background music that was playing from somewhere in the room. The old lady looked up at me and smiled warmly at me from behind a jagged yellow gap-toothed grin as she continued to work.
“I am spinning,’ she replied,’ would you care to have a try?”
I nodded eagerly and reached towards the wooden spindle.
“STOP RIGHT THERE!!!” cried a shrill voice as my finger hovered over the point of the spindle. The wooden door behind me crashed open and a blonde-haired young woman dashed into the room, her face red as a tomato as she panted and smoothed out the crinkles on her long, sea blue dress.
“Who are you supposed to be?” I asked grumpily as I blinked in shock.
“Briar-Rose,’ she panted heavily,’ and you’re in my fairytale!!”
“Oh, get real...” I sniggered.
“No,’ she cried indignantly,’ I’m being honest! This is my fairytale, get out of it!”
“What do you mean?’ I gasped,’ This is Snow White, isn’t it?”
“No,’ replied Briar-Rose smugly,’ this is Sleeping Beauty. Snow White is on the next page.”
“Oh, sorry.” I muttered deflatedly as jumped out of the picture and into the text.
“Good day old mother, what are you doing there?” I asked cautiously, aware of the creepy background music that was playing from somewhere in the room. The old lady looked up at me and smiled warmly at me from behind a jagged yellow gap-toothed grin as she continued to work.
“I am spinning,’ she replied,’ would you care to have a try?”
I nodded eagerly and reached towards the wooden spindle.
“STOP RIGHT THERE!!!” cried a shrill voice as my finger hovered over the point of the spindle. The wooden door behind me crashed open and a blonde-haired young woman dashed into the room, her face red as a tomato as she panted and smoothed out the crinkles on her long, sea blue dress.
“Who are you supposed to be?” I asked grumpily as I blinked in shock.
“Briar-Rose,’ she panted heavily,’ and you’re in my fairytale!!”
“Oh, get real...” I sniggered.
“No,’ she cried indignantly,’ I’m being honest! This is my fairytale, get out of it!”
“What do you mean?’ I gasped,’ This is Snow White, isn’t it?”
“No,’ replied Briar-Rose smugly,’ this is Sleeping Beauty. Snow White is on the next page.”
“Oh, sorry.” I muttered deflatedly as jumped out of the picture and into the text.
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