In the spirit of giving away free fiction on the internet (a cause we firmly believe in), all you have to do is write something to the following prompt. A story. A poem. A flash fiction. A paragraph vignette. Anything creative that involvs words. Post it to your blog and link back to us. Next Monday at 2pm CST we'll randomly choose four winners and send off the prizes!!!
Easy as pie!
Without further ado, here's your prompt: "The Princess and the Pea" by Edmund Dulac.
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CheckeredCovers
The princess was laying down in the tall bed of many mattresses. She was told to stay in here by the Queen, but she did not understand why. Staring down at the door far below, she could not even estimate the height. All she knew was that she was high. It had taken a while to clamber up to the top, and it was somewhat like climbing a very tall cliff face, only softer. Now, she lay her head of silky brown hair upon the soft, down pillow and felt her body sinking into the mattresses. There was something wrong, however, and she shifted uncomfortably. It was somewhat like having a giant round rock at the bottom of the mattresses.
It couldn't be, though, for who kept unusually large rocks under unusually large beds? The beauty sat up, brushing threads of chocolate from her alabaster face. Her perfectly filed nails gripped the sides of the swaying tower, and her pale green eyes were wide open. Carefully, she pushed the white blanket off of her. The girl looked down the beds once again, but her eyes locked onto a blue and white checkered cover. It seemed so simple, yet underneath that checkered fabric was a maze of feathers, each pressing against each other for space. Maybe there was a black feather among the white ones, feeling alone, like she was in this cramped room, almost entirely made up of the pile she was lying upon.
The maiden pressed her face into her hands and shut her doe eyes tightly, wishing she could have someone there with her. It was so quiet, you could hear a tear drop, plummeting down from the top mattress, hitting the floor. The plop startled the young woman, and she put her hands down, surprised that she was crying. Rubbing her red eyes fiercely, she told herself to stop crying. It was harder than she thought. As she lay down again, pulling the covers over herself and feeling the last tears drip down, she tried to ignore the continuous bump in the softness beneath her.
It made for a very sleepless night.
