Cinderella

A sudden urge to swing the door open and run. Her broken soul desired the fantasy of flight.

She peeked out of the door, and almost immediately the black hound was up on its fours. Its growl reverberated through the dungeons, like a thousand banshees invading the solitude of the night. Intense dark menacing eyes, fixed the on looker to the spot, chilling the spine and numbing the senses. Its sinful canine mouth waited to decimate life into bloody shards.

Quickly she retreated back into her cell and bolted the door, bracing herself for the inevitable.

Her stepmother had confined her to the dungeons, with the hound as the sentry. The hound's growl would be an indication that Cinderella had set foot outside the confines of her cell. The stepmother, her face twisted in a forever scowl would then rush down the stairs like a bat out of hell and beat Cinderella with a stick.

Cinderella's soul wrenching howls of pain as the stick broke her skin and the stepmother's torrent of curses in a fiendish voice, created the most eerie spectacle one could imagine. It was almost like an opera of death in the devils own chamber.

Cinderella's stepmother and stepsisters, lead a life of grandeur. There would be balls in spring and tea parties in summer. From her dark cold cell Cinderella heard the sound of dancing feet, delicate symphonies on the piano and the joyous clink of raised wine glasses. She longed for a life of joy and laughter, longed for brocaded evening gowns, of diamond chokers, of a sumptuous meal and a night of peace.


Her cell had a tiny window, which opened out into the fields beyond the manor. In the fields under a tree sat a bedraggled beggar in a coat of motley rags. She knew that the beggar was aware of her confinement. But he never made any attempts to rescue her, how could he? There was a detachment of guards outside and the hound by the door.

Oh! How she hoped for a handsome prince! One who would ride a horse and brandish a sword, one who would gallantly rescue her from misery and confinement. But all she had was this dirty beggar, with a scraggy face and a shuffling walk!


But then one day the prince came, he fought the guards outside and ran his sword through the hound's heart. He entered her cell and scooped her up in his arms. She looked into his deep blue eyes, his handsome face burned like a match. “Oh! You have come...I have been waiting for you from the beginning of the world”, she said.

Once they were outside, the prince mounted her on the horse, all set to gallop away to his palace. Escaping her million years of imprisonment and stepping into a paradise of forever love.

"Stop!" cried a crazy voice. Startled she turned around to see it was the beggar.

"Don't go he, you will never be able to come back".

"But I don't want to comeback. He is a prince! He is taking me away to Paradise..."

"But you don't know him..." said the beggar, "You must return before time stands still, and the dying moment is reborn... I will be waiting..."

She laughed, "You are crazy!"


The palace was even more beautiful than she had imagined. The prince had already readied an exquisite trousseau for her, flowing gowns of purple satin, chokers of a hundred diamonds and dainty slippers of cut glass. There was a feast laid out for her, the prince's musicians played lilting tunes to welcome her.

Later that evening, in her new gown and jewelry, she danced with the Prince. The prince held her close to his chest and they danced passionately. They danced in each other's arms for hours, till finally she was exhausted. As the clocks approached midnight, he picked her up in his arms and took her to his bedroom chambers. In the center of the room stood a large bed made of ornate gold.

Exhausted as she was, she fell to the feathered bed. The prince lay down beside her and breathed into her face, "Finally you are mine..."

With the clocks nearing midnight, her eyes slowly shut out the world around her sliding into slumber.


A jolt woke her up and she screamed. A man with blood stained canines held her throat with a vice like grip. It was the prince! His blue eyes had turned beady. His face had turned ugly and torturous. The prince tore her dress like a mad man, and laughed a cruel laugh. At that moment, the clocks struck midnight...

Time stands still, flee before the dying moment is reborn... I will be waiting...
Flee...Flee before the next moment breathes... I will be waiting...

The clocks shrieked, and she disentangled herself for the prince's grip. Naked in her cut-glass slippers she ran out of the bedroom chambers, she had to flee...

There were two doors in front of her, she tried opening them, but they were locked. She turned around and there were three doors, then four, then five, six...

A mad woman ran round and round paradise...and the clocks shrieked...

Inspired by an Urdu short story by Anwar Sajjad.

Labels: Fiction