Be silent. Be docile.

Those are the words my dying mother left me with.

Be silent. Be docile.

And I nodded my little head, because what else can you do when your mother’s withering before your eyes like a daisy?

You nod, that’s what you do. You promise, you swear you love her, you lower your eyes from her gaunt face and kiss her weak palm.

“I’ll be good. I’ll be silent and docile, I swear it, mama.”

And the grave opens up for her.

I loved my mother, I truly did, she was weak, she was soft and meek. The kind of woman whose moth is forever in a state of amen. That kind of woman that never days to demand.

But I loved her. I abhorred her weakness, I cannot deny that. I loathed her teaching me to be like her.

“Cinderella, don’t talk back to your father.” “Cinderella put on more clothes, your father’s friends are coming.” “Cinderella, darling, cross your legs and try not to look into people’s eyes, it’s simply rude.”

I followed her instruction, I swallowed whatever burning anger I might have had. I shoved away that part of me that wanted to speak up and refuse. But as much as I detested her teachings and her submission to the world, I loved my mom.

All day I’d mourn. I’d think bitter thoughts. My mother is gone. My mother is making friends with the maggots.

Then spring came and flooded the world. The sun, which had been grey for months, flashed a blinding yellow and the balmy wind played with my blond curls. Life felt renewed, but grief never goes away, does it? You stroll down the lane, the gravel crunching underneath your shoes, and grief is right beside you, breathing down your neck, becoming another sort of shadow.

My father had remarried, he wedded a friend of my mother on a warm day with the snow melting and dripping down the maple tree leaves.

I swallowed, watching the exhausted priest bless them. I grit my teeth, I curl my fingers, the nails stabbing into my palms. Everything in me was in revolt. My inner child wanted an explanation Why? How could you? The both of you, how could you?

I recalled my mother’s voice, how soft and fragile. Be silent, be docile.

I sealed my lips. I dug my nails further into the skin of my palms, grateful for the pain stabilizing the anger.

My stepmother and her two daughters moved into our house soon enough and that’s when the horror began.

The beating, the scraps of food, the constant slaps, and threadbare clothes. It was another sort of damage, this betrayal, my mother’s friend treating me this way.

She would hurl insults at me like a wounded jaguar, her attacks disorganized. I found my stepmother contradictory. She’d send a fist through my jaw with tears in her eyes and I’d frown. Not because of the pain, no, I was used to that.

I’d frown, my eyes narrowing, because I couldn’t understand it. She hurts me, but somehow it’s her that is crying behind the bathroom door.

She’d slap me and I’d tumble to the floor, then she’d gasp and reach out for me in an almost motherly way. But she would catch herself and run out of the living room, holding up the hem of her dress.

Over time I became puzzled. Who wouldn’t be in this situation? It is so much harder to understand wickedness when it can shed tears.

I wanted to retaliate, believe me, but my mother’s voice was incessant. Be silent. Be docile. Those two words played inside my head like a broken record.

“Never speak up, that’ll keep you safe in this world.”

“Don’t bother your father, Cinderella.”

“Don’t raise your voice.”

All her instructions were embedded in my skull.

So I grit my teeth. I chewed my fingernails raw to stop myself from speaking up against my stepmother’s injustices. I put a smile on my face. I called her mommy.

One snowy morning, I woke up with bleary eyes. I was not sure if it was the coldness of the kitchen floor, my aching throat, or the cinder I could taste in my mouth. I cannot exactly pinpoint what it was, but violence took over me.

Since then, when my stepmother would push me down the stairs as I held a bucket or a mop when she’d point at me and humiliate me in front of her vapid friends, I would stretch my lips into a smile. I was glad for that cup of tea she’d lifted to her lips. I was glad to be the one that prepared it and brought it to her.

As the months ran on, my stepmother began to deteriorate. She’d push away trays of food, refusing to talk for weeks at times. Her daughters watched her with wide, terrified eyes, like deer caught in headlights. As much as I despised them, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity. Losing your mother… there isn’t a language for that kind of grief.

Be silent, be docile. I swallow my question.

On a grey day with my father and my stepsisters at church, I walked into my stepmother’s room, a basket in hand to gather all the dirty clothes. On Sundays, I am meant to clean the entire house from room to basement to cedar.

I pulled apart the curtain, the sunlight streamed in, and I heard the sheet ruffling as my stepmother groaned and begged for me to shut the curtain.

I ignored her, exhausted, my limbs weary.

I arranged the room, I bent down and picked up the clothes strewn across the floors. My stepmother rested her back against the headboard. I could sense her eyes on me, her eyes running over my skin as she measured me, trying to understand me like I tried to understand her.

“You’re still very small, Cinderella.” The weakness of her voice shocked me. “You’re similar to your mother in that regard.

She shook her head weakly and I had a sudden realization that I could physically hurt her. I could hurt her so easily. The thought, to my surprise, repulsed me.

My stepmother went on, “You are so small. So thin…” She shook her head and I wondered how much time she had before she broke like a twig.

“Cinderella, you and your mother… how do you both do it? Where are you holding all that grief? All that anger? Because I know you are angry. All that I’ve done to you… you’re no saint as much as you want to try and pretend. You are angry.”

She tapped her hand on the mattress, inviting me to come to her. I dropped the basket and walked towards her. I should run. But I want to speak and understand. I sit next to my stepmother and I lean against the headboard.

She picked up my hand and intertwined our fingers together. I swallowed. I chewed the inside of my cheeks to stop the tears. Guilt was eating me raw. Before she goes I needed to know. My voice was just a whisper.

“Why?”

She sighed and tells me in a voice damaged with guilt,

“I loved your mother. I loved her senseless and I know she loved me too. But she couldn’t disobey her parents. She couldn’t leave your father. The dead ought to be respected but they should also be called for what they were and your mother was a coward, Cinderella. She couldn’t dare oppose anyone, even for her own happiness. And I watched her in this loveless marriage. I watched her through her miscarriages, her heart breaking with every single one, and with her husband’s indifference. I watched her soul disintegrate with each passing day and I couldn’t just stand by and watch that happen to you. I couldn’t help your mother, but you… I wanted to save you somehow.”

Tears tumbled down my cheeks. Rapidly, with sadness, I poured out,

“It’s me, it’s me, I’m sorry. I’ve been poisoning you for months. I’m sorry, please forgive me. I’ll bring the doctor.”

She laughed. Her hand tightened on my own as I made a gesture of getting up. I implored,

“Please let me call the doctor. I’m sure they’ll know how to treat it when they know what kind of poison I used.:

“Oh darling, stop it, you don’t understand how happy you made me. At least I’ll get to see your mother again.” She smiled at me. The pallor of her face was terrifying.

I rested my head on her shoulder. I sniffed and she wiped away my tears. She told me how she loved me. Her voice broke into a plea,

“Wickedness and love is a terrible mix, forgive me, Cinderella.”

I call her mother.

Serina Folly was inspired to write this piece by Sara Maitland’s The Wicked Stepmother’s Lament. Inspired by Sara Maitland’s version, Serina aimed to tell the story from Cinderella’s point of view and showcase a deeper insight as to how the abuse Cinderella endured impacted her as a person. She created a version where Cinderella stands up for herself. 

Aiming to delve into a deeper understanding of fairy tales, Ariba created her own episode of a podcast called “Enchanted”. She utilized Charles Perrault’s Cinderella to create a commentary surrounding modern-day problems such as childhood depression, discovering it is okay to ask for help, and knowing your worth.

In this vaccination campaign video based on “Snow White”, Dan Hilbers uses the popular tale to work towards curbing vaccine hesitancy. Inspired by Helen Oyeyemi’s “Boy, Snow, Bird,” the video tackles a timely societal issue through the lens of a fairy tale. 

Inspired by the Grimm Brother’s “Snow White”, Emma combined storytelling with visual art to create a retelling based on the fairy tale. Exploring themes of gender, motherhood, and LGBTQIA+ issues, this comic contains elements of the original tale while twisting important aspects to tell a story that is more relevant to the modern day. 

My Prince and I were finally together. The happily ever after everyone wanted. Just as we were arriving at our new home, he looked over at me.

“I should have told you this before,” he said.

“Told me what?” I looked back at him.

Our car door was one opened by a little girl standing no taller than four feet. She looked to be the same age I was when I lost my mother. Her hair glowed as yellow as the sun. Her eyes were the same dark green as evergreen trees. The smile on her small face lit up the space brighter than a new LED light bulb.

“Daddy! Daddy!” she screamed as she jumped onto his lap.

“Claire!” A maid called, running after the small child. “I’m sorry, sir. She ran out so fast when she heard your car pull up. I did not have time to stop her.”

“Don’t worry Rose, I know just how fast this one runs,” he said looking down at little Claire, who was still sitting on his lap. “Not even a marathon runner stands a chance against my girl.” The three of them chuckled. I sat there still processing the events.

“This is your niece?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“My daughter,” he smiled, looking for my approval.

“Claire,” he said looking at me, “This is your stepmother, Ella.” I felt vomit crawl up my throat as my Prince addressed me as ‘stepmother’. The only stepmother I knew of was my own. She was a human with a heart of pure darkness, leaving her incapable of love, or at least love towards me. She took my father’s love from me too. It was years of merciless torture. For a split second, I felt my heart darken as I looked at this little girl, clinging on to my Prince. The little girl looked me up and down, then looked back at my Prince. She was just as confused as I was. As I was thinking, who is this strange little girl, she was thinking who is this strange tall lady.

“Where is her mother?” I asked, hoping this little girl was not to suffer the same fate I did. Memories of my mother lead through my darkest years. I held on to my mother’s dying words like they were oxygen, an essential of life.

“That does not matter. As far as we know, she’s dead to us,” he said. Rose tilted her head down as a small sliver of blonde hair fell past her green eyes.

“I see,” I said.

Rose picked Claire up off my Prince’s lap and walked back into the house with the screaming child. The house was a Victorian mansion, with white brick and dark grey accents. Vines of ivy crawled up the walls. A water fountain in the centre of the cobblestone driveway. A garden with one of every plant on Earth stretched across the grounds, from the driveway to the front gate, surrounding the house. Two white doves sat upon a hazel tree overlooking the house. This place seemed to have stepped out of a fairytale. Walking through the doors, I was greeted by the arches that stretched to the sky, windows as tall as a wall that filled the room with rays of sunlight, and chandeliers from above covering any spaces missed. An army of household staff flocked around me to meet the new lady of the house. I could hear two of the maids behind me chatting as they looked me up and down.

“She’s a commoner,” one of them whispered to the other.

“Clearly the Prince has a type,” the other one whispered back. I whipped my head over toward them. We made eye contact, then they put their heads down and walked away.

I was wandering around my new home, feeling every crack and crevice in the wall as I glided my hand over it. I was looking up and down at the walls as a loud pitter-patter of little feet came crashing around the corner and into my legs. Little Claire fell onto her bottom right before my feet. Rose was running right behind her. She turned the corner after Claire and gasped.

“I am so sorry ma’am,” she said, pulling little Claire to her feet. “It is bath time for the princess.”

I nodded my head as Rose walked down the hall with little Claire. Claire turned her head to glance back. She waved her little hand as she continued walking further down the hallway.

“I was considering letting Rose go,” my Prince said as he walked up behind me, placing a hand on the small of my back.

“What? Why?” I looked over at him, now standing beside me.

“She cannot keep Claire under control,” he huffed. “Perhaps that can be your job now, after all, you are going to need to know how to take care of our children.”

“I know how to run a house, thank you very much,” I stepped away from him.

“I did not mean to insult you, Ella,” he stepped toward me. “I apologize, please forgive me?”

“You don’t need to fire Rose,” I looked down.

“It is not your call, my love,” he lifted my chin. “We need someone who will look after Claire and raise her right.”

“I see,” I huffed as I walked away down the hallway.

I had only been in this new home for a few hours, and it was already not much better than my last. The appearance of this home seemed perfect. I was not allowed to clean, or even cook. There was house staff that did everything I used to fill my time with. I found myself spending days wandering around the hallways and grounds aimlessly.

On a walk through the garden, I heard Rose and Claire with my Prince.

“You keep letting her run loose around the grounds. This is the third time this week you have lost my daughter,” he was shouting. They did not see me. I hid behind a tall bush, peering through the leaves.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she cried.

“Pack your things,” he said.

“Claire needs me, please sir, let me stay,” she was begging on her knees.

“She does not. You may need her, but she does not need you,” He ripped the little princess from her arms. Rose screamed as if she had been stabbed. “Ella will look after her. Leave now, before I have you removed.” Rose ran out of the garden sobbing as Claire’s screams filled the air.

I slid down onto the grass covering my mouth in shock. The cold wet grass had soaked through blue jeans. I heard mumblings of my Prince calming Claire. She stopped screaming as he picked her flowers, making her flower crown. She started giggling.

“You wear it, daddy!” she said.

He placed it on his head and twirled around. “How do I look?”

“Like a princess!” Claire giggled.

“A princess, hey?” he laughed. “I will take that as a compliment.” He held her hand as the two of them pranced through the garden.

My Prince playing gently in the garden was the man I married. His sweetness while we were dancing at the banquet was what I fell in love with. But the man, the man who raised his voice like a commanding army officer, that man made me tremble. It seems so unlike him. He was sweet. But yet again I did not know him very well. We only spent three nights dancing together before getting married. I didn’t even know about his daughter. His sweet, beautiful, daughter. I guess she is my daughter now too. My Prince is so gentle with her. He was so gentle with me. I never thought he could have a dark side. A side that had him yelling at maids in the garden. I wandered back to the never-ending hallways of the house, replaying the sound of my Prince yelling at Rose.

Weeks have passed since my Prince mercilessly fired Rose. Little Claire moved at a pace no faster than a crawl. There was no more pitter patter of little feet. There was nothing left to run for. An eerie feeling took over the entire house. The joyful, young, and fearless parts of Claire left with Rose. Claire had become a shell of who she once was.

When my mother died, my stepmother handed me a broom and a mop. I never took the time to process the loss, that she was never coming back. I was left with this wicked creation of a stepmother. I am a stepmother now too, but I am not wicked. I have human emotions, especially after being thrown into this situation. As much as I did not want to be a stepmother and part of me resented this girl for existing, she had nobody else, at least not in this house. She has nobody, just as I had nobody.

“The child has not stopped crying,” my Prince was yet again shouting at another maid. “Fix it, before I send you out as well.”

“Right away, sir,” the frightened maid sprinted over to the corner that Claire has been sitting in for the past few weeks.

My Prince walked across the room and joined me at the dining table.

“Everyone in this house is incompetent,” He huffed. I just simply nodded, trying to avoid an uprising. My Prince had grown increasingly agitated over the past few weeks, taking down four more maids and three cooks in his reign of terror. Little Claire stayed in that corner by the window, only moving to wipe tears off her face, and pushing away trays of food maids would bring over.

After supper, I helped the maids bring the dishes into the kitchen. With the shortage in staff, I’ve been helping complete some of the daily duties. It grew unbearable to see Claire hardly functioning. She would not say a word any of the maids would walk over to her. She would even disregard her father. I felt pulled over to her side. Before I could recognize what I was doing, I sat down beside little Claire.

“I lost my mother, too,” I said, brushing the strand of loose hair behind her ear. She looked over at me. That was the most she had moved in weeks. Another tear fell from her eye. She opened her mouth to speak but not a single sound slipped out. I offered her my hand; she hesitantly took it. I wiped away her tears with a gentle sweep of my thumb.

“I hate daddy. I hate this house,” she said with a rainfall of tears dripping silently from her eyes. “I miss Rose.”

“Oh, sweet child,” I pulled her into my arms.

“Daddy scares me,” she said looking up at me.

“He scares me too,” I said, “But we do not have to stay here.” Claire looked at me as if she was staring into my soul.

“I want to find Rose,” she said. I pulled little Claire to her feet just as I had seen Rose do several times before. We scurried around the hallways, being careful not to make a sound. I packed a small bag for each Claire and I, holding only the essentials. The little girl held onto my hand the entire time. We ran towards the front gate together. I stopped and crouched down to look into her eyes.

“Be good and have courage,” I said, placing my hand on the side of her cheek, “Then good things will come to us.”

We each picked a rose from the garden for good luck on our journey. Afterwards, we ran through the front gate, not turning our heads back. The two white doves that sat perched on the hazel tree flew behind us, one landing on each of Claire’s shoulders.

Morgan’s retelling of The Grimm Brothers’ Cinderella questions the “Happily Ever After” that typically concludes fairy tale stories.

Once upon a time, there lived an Oldman in a small village. Not more than a few hundred inhabitants lived in the village. The village lay deep in the bed of a valley surrounded by steep hills. The valley was green, and the grass was abundant. Villagers lived off of wood, which they used for heating in the cold winter months. The leftover stocks were sold to nearby towns. Most of the inhabitants lived near the center of the village, making it quite compact and giving the center a vibrant atmosphere. The Oldman however, lived on the outskirts of the village, close to the forest on the lower slopes of the hill. He lived in a wooden house he had built with the help of his recently passed away wife and son. Both of them died two winters ago when the weather reached unprecedented negatives. That year the harvest had been poor and food was quickly missing. The villagers had sold the leftovers of the stock of wood, as they usually did. Had they known the winter would have been so cold, many would’ve survived. The Oldman’s wife and his son were weakened by the cold and slowly starved to death. Luckily, the Oldman managed to hold a grip on his life.

In the past, there was always something happening in the house despite it being at least an hour’s walk from the village. His wife had many friends and was adored in the village, she had learned a few medicine skills in her teenage years. With those skills, she cured several villagers, which gave her respect and recognition. His son’s friends also enjoyed coming to the house. They felt free and far from the judging eyes of other villagers. Also, the Oldman was known to be more relaxed and less eye-watching, which the children truly adored about him. Now that they have passed away things have changed for the Oldman

The Oldman often stayed many days without seeing the sight of a person. Like most of the villagers, he was a lumberjack who spent most of his time in the nearby forest. With his remaining time, he worked his parcel of land, on which his yearly survival depended. In the past, he did not realize the importance of the presence of others. With the death of his wife came the death of the atmosphere inside the house. He realized that he did not have many friends, maybe because he was shy or reserved. Most of the time he merely lived in the shadow of his wife. The Oldman’s body was starting to crumble from the many years of physical labour. His productivity decreased, and he was struggling to make a living. Once every two months, he rented a donkey from a villager that helped him drag the wood down to the market. Most of the time he would sell the wood, but each time he would receive a little less. It was said his wood was of poorer quality, the reason for this was the Oldman’s incapacity to chop down younger woods which were harder but of better quality. Time passed and the Oldman started to lose the esteem of himself, labour was becoming harder and harder, and he often wondered if he would succeed in making anything at the end of the month. Until that one night when his world would collapse.

It was a windy night, the Oldman woke up in shock when he heard the front door smashing from the hard blows of the wind. The remaining autumn leaves were flying in the sky. The moon was almost full, the night was bright, and for once it was not that cold. The Oldman walked to the front door, which he wanted to secure with an additional log of wood. When he placed his hand to push the door, a strong blow of wind stroked the door, which knocked him to the ground. A couple of seconds later he regained consciousness, he stood up, but his view was blurred by a vision of stars. To his astonishment, when he approached the front door, he could see something moving at the doorstep. At first, he taught it might be his mind playing games on him. However, he quickly realized he was not dreaming. He ran towards the steps and to his surprise, he saw a beautiful little girl. When he approached, the Oldman was shocked by the brightness of her eyes, they were of emerald green. Her look froze the Oldman for a moment, he was so captivated that it took him a long minute to see that the little girl was in a lot of pain. She looked in an agony, tears started to run from her eyes. She was shaking, probably that she had been outside for long hours or maybe even days. Her body was slim and she seemed very weak. Maybe had she not eaten for several days. Her clothes were ripped and dirty, maybe she lives in the forest, the Oldman thought. Her conditions reminded him of his young son and that cold winter. He approached the girl and asked her name, but she did not reply. A few seconds later, a low and weak voice came whispering out of her mouth.

“Save me.”

He carried the girl inside the house, then he lit candles and started a fire. He gave the girl warm clothes and a little piece of old, dried-out bread. But she did not eat it. She could not eat it. The girl lifted her hair, her shoulders were now visible. Her arm was bleeding, there was an open cut. The Oldman approached gently and had a look. In stupefaction, he saw an arrow stuck inside her upper arm, near her shoulders. He was in shock and suddenly understood and felt her suffering much better. He retrieved a small clamp from a nearby drawer, he placed his hand on the girl’s little head to immobilize her movements. When the clamp approached the arrow, the little girl started to agitate. It was a pain imagined by fear. The Oldman tried to reassure her the best he could. Suddenly, with a powerful pull, the arrow came out of her arm. She fell to the ground, she was still breathing. The Oldman sighed in relief, he took a blanket and covered her body, he added some extra wood for the night and slept on the floor next to her.

The next morning the Oldman felt something pinching his nose when he opened his eyes he saw the little girl. To his surprise, she looked a lot better despite it only being one night since he had removed the arrow. Several days passed and the little girl recovered quickly, she would stay in the house while the Oldman went to the forest. At dinner, the Oldman would share some words, even though he had no idea if she could understand a word he was saying, but she seemed less shy. A week later, he came back from the forest like every other day. There was a bouquet on the front step, the Oldman recognized the flowers because he knew that they grew down in the valley near the river. He walked inside the house, usually, the girl would be on the bench looking outside the window or playing with the little toys that remained from his son. But to his surprise she was not there, he searched inside and around the house but could see no sign of the little girl. He went down to the village and asked a few villagers if they had seen a little girl. Much displeased to see the Oldman they answered with a small nay of the head. They were not interested in helping him. Days passed but there remained no sign of the little girl. Sadness and melancholia took over the ephemera joy of the little girl’s presence.

Like every morning the Oldman woke up and drank a cup of hot water, he then ate a piece of bread and head out to the forest. He took a few steps from the porch when he noticed an animal was hitting the fence. The Oldman had installed the fence some years back, to avoid animals eating his vegetable garden. He approached the fence and saw the animal, at first he did not know what it was. But then he remembered he had seen the same type of animal during a past trip to the city. He tried to remember the name, after some thoughts he whispered “she… sheep”. Not knowing what to do with it, he decided to scare the sheep away, which he managed without great effort.

The next morning the Oldman proceeded to his habitual routine. When pouring his cup of hot water, he suddenly heard a sound.

“Mrr…mrr”. He rushed to the window and caught sight of the sheep. He decided not to intervene, but then in a fury, he realizes the sheep had broken the fence and destroyed a part of his vegetable. Immediately, he rushed to his premodern toolbox and retrieved a sharp knife. He ran to the sheep with a clear idea in mind. To his surprise, the sheep do not blink, this disturbed the Oldman, and he decided not to proceed. Instead, like the previous morning, he scared the sheep away without hurting it. The Oldman bent over and redressed the fence the sheep had put to the ground

The next morning the Oldman did not bother making a cup of hot water. Instead, he rushed straight to the window to be sure the sheep was not harming his vegetables. To his disappointment, the sheep was still there. Yet, this time it was not in the vegetable garden, but right next to it. As if, it had understood the Oldman’s will. The Oldman looked at the sheep for a moment. The sheep was white with some shades of gray, its wool was thick, so thick that it was hard to take notice of the sheep’s eyes with that much wool was around its head. The sheep was standing slowly grazing the grass, underneath its paws was a bucket. The bucket appeared to be filled with a whitish liquid. The Oldman went outside to have a closer look. He held the bucket up when suddenly an old, familiar smell arose from it. The Oldman realized it was the same drink people had in the city: Milk. He brought the bucket back into the house and heated a cup of milk. He gently lifted his cup and brought it closer to his mouth. The milk appeared so soft on his palette, its sweet taste was something he had forgotten for too many years. When his cup was finished he cleaned the table and covered the milk, then as usual he went off to work. That day, the Oldman felt strong and had rediscovered energy he had not felt since his late thirties. He taught it may have been because of the fat contained in the milk; which of course was the case.

As days passed the life of the Oldman was getting better, every morning the sheep produced a new surprise for him. One day she produced milk, the other day she produced cheese, the next butter, and the one after wool, which the Oldman converted into blankets. The news was spreading around the village, villagers came in numbers to see the sheep. Most of the villagers had never seen such an animal in the past. This was particularly the case for young children, who were all eager to play with the sheep. Indeed, the sheep was friendly and enjoyed when people petted her soft wool. The Oldman’s house became the main attraction in town, people seemed interested to learn how he had done it, and if he could teach them. Slowly but surely the Oldman regained confidence in himself. The sheep drew so many visitors that he never felt lonely. Sometimes he was even overwhelmed by the curiosity of all these people. The Oldman barely had to work in the forest anymore: the remaining cheese, milk, and butter he sold to other villagers gave him much wealth and prestige in the village. In the spring, he placed the sheep in his vegetable garden. This allowed the sheep to graze the grass, while at the same time it plowed the land. Demand was increasing, but there was no way to increase productivity. The Oldman did not have a clue on how to produce butter or cheese. He did not even understand how the sheep produced milk. But maybe he did not have to know, after all, it was the Sheep’s secret, he thought.

While things remained the same for some time, the Oldman’s appetite for more grew. With his new wealth, he purchased several commodities, which increased his comfort. He installed a new fireplace that rose the temperature inside the house. He had placed his faith in the production of the sheep. However, the sheep did not produce enough, he thought. Too many people would too often ask him for goods, but too often he had to decline their increasing offers. During his past trips to the city, he tried to remember how the shepherds manipulated their sheep, allowing them to gather more milk and wool. Hence, at night before going to bed, he entered a state of inner conflict, deliberating whether he should leave the Sheep with rest or whether he should head back to the city, allowing him to expand his store of knowledge. In a little place of his mind, he thought, “If I understand how this sheep produces milk, I could manipulate it for the sake of producing more.”

On the first day of the week, the Oldman laced up his shoes and started his long hike towards the city. It had been long since he had not gone to town and decided he would spend a few days there. He had learned from a stranger that there was a large warehouse where many sheep and cows were stalled. The warehouse was a short half-hour walk from his dusty guesthouse. The Oldman spent many hours in the warehouse, where he observed the sheep, and questioned the workers. One worker offered him a tour of the warehouse, which the Oldman graciously accepted. He thought the sheep were agitated and the smell was unbearable but the employee quickly reassured him, explaining it was merely because they were still young. And for the smell, the worker replied,

“They’re just animals, animals stink.” The Oldman closed his eyes and accepted the explanation without further thoughts. They moved on passing a small door, the Oldman heard a scream.

He asked, “what happens inside this room?”

The worker replied “Staff only” and they proceeded with the visit.

The Oldman went to the nearby café for lunch where he enjoyed sweet delicacies. Out of the window, he noticed a house with a large chimney releasing steam in the air, it appeared to be a factory. He had never seen something like this previously. His curiosity boiled inside him, he approached another worker but he seemed annoyed by his presence. The Oldman headed to what seemed like the client services desk. There was a woman, she seemed half asleep, her cigarette was still burning. The Oldman approached, he gently knocked on the desk to claim the women’s attention. After seven knocks, she lifted her head in shock. The Oldman thought it might have been ages since a client last complained. He bent towards the desk and asked if he could have a tour of the factory in exchange for some coin. Without hesitation, she said,

“How much coin?”

The Oldman handed the equivalent of a days worth of work in the forest. She did not reply, she stood up from her chair and screamed at a little child carrying an excessive amount of weight across the factory. The child stopped and turned around, in doing so a large bucket of whitish liquid fell to the ground. Furious the lady took seven coins out of the kid’s daily allowance, she then told him to take care of the Oldman. The Oldman and the kid got along well. The kid taught the Oldman to milk the sheep and how to make butter and cheese effectively. On his last day in town, the Oldman headed to a bookstore where he purchased the latest edition of an article entitled “More For Less, Revolutionary Findings For Sheep Farming”. Satisfied from his days in town it was time to go back.

Without further ado, the Oldman decided that the time had come to put into practice what he had learned. The first step was to lock up the sheep for several hours of the day. This allowed the sheep to conserve energy that could later be used in the production of milk. The workers told him,

“At first they won’t like it but they adapt well.” Second, he fed the sheep excessively more than what was necessary. After all, the article assumed that a full sheep was a happy sheep. It happened ever so often that the sheep did not fancy eating, she appeared weak, especially during the first month of the spring. A period of the year where she would usually be very active, running on the hills in search of the freshet grass available. Her weakness affected the Oldman, he was desperately trying to deliver her from the pain. He remembered his wife had a range of leftover medicine, that she would avoid using because of their heavy side effects. However, the Oldman decided that his choice to deliver his sheep of her pain at the expense of unknown consequences was the right one. Hence, every so often when the sheep felt weak the Oldman proceeded with numerous injections.

The sheep did not enjoy these changes, however, production and income increased rapidly, and the Oldman favored the latter result. Therefore he decided to continue, he increased the food and the hours of immobilization. Everything was falling into place besides one thing, the sheep was becoming hard to handle, her docile character became a thing of the past.

***

Every morning he comes and forces me inside my miserable stall. I have passed too many hours standing still in my urine and shit. When he liberates me, my legs are too weak that I cannot carry my weight. He forces me to have food he knows I cannot resist, soon he will feed me to death. But I don’t think he realized what he has done to me…, to us. I am here without being here, every day I lose a part of myself. Soon I won’t remember my name. And even sooner I will not care of trying to remember it. Why has he changed? I always thought I gave him enough of myself. I choose him thinking he deserved to be loved and respected, after all, he was a suffering lonely man desperately in search of love to share. I remember the days he enjoyed my presence without having to squeeze my nipples. We would play in the grass and he would softly touch me on the side. I remember the days, I helped him plod the land. It all seems so far now, and I fear that he will fail to take notice of my increasingly painful condition. Now that he knows what I am able of, for what cause remain? People often claim there is a virtue in self-subjection, however, I do not share this idea. I have no choice but to leave, otherwise, he will destroy me forever.

***

The Oldman noticed these changes, in particular the much-increased changes in his wallet, which corrupted the feelings he had for his beloved sheep. For each good must have a bad thing, and that is precisely how the story continued. Before the kids would come and play with the sheep, this was no longer possible. The sheep was too nervous and aggressive, she had already bitten three of the children. Less and fewer visitors would come, even though the sheep had never looked so impressive before. Slowly the Oldman understood that money would not buy him friends, he was once again driven by the spirit of loneliness. Rest assured, he spent much time contemplating his various commodities. He believed that they were the reward for his hard work, and this gave him pride. For a period, things remained roughly the same, until that one morning, when his world would collapse.

The next morning, the Oldman started his habitual routine when he is interrupted by a sudden cold wind, passing through his living room. It had been a long time since he had not felt such a cold feeling inside his house. He thought maybe the supposed quality of his new heating system may have been a scam. This reminded him of the years when other buyers gave him crumbs in exchange for his wood. Nevertheless, he proceeded to his habitual cup of hot milk. While sipping it, he reflected on his sheep. Like a light shining in the dark, the Oldman seemed to have taken notice of the increasingly miserable conditions of his sheep. He realized it might have been because of his selfish actions. Possessed by a feeling of urgency, he rushed to the stall to liberate his beloved. He put his hand on the handle, the cracking door opened slowly, he could see everything inside the stall, but there was nothing to see inside the stall. Nothing besides an arrow and the skull of his Sheep. The Oldman kneeled to the ground in tears, he became conscious of his reality. In an instant the sky became gray, the clouds became dark, and the winds started to howl.

Years have passed, and the story had repeated itself for the Oldman. He once again lives in a precarious condition. Every day, his health is declining a little more. He is, once again, suffering from his loneliness. Even though he had worked a lot on his past greed and selfishness, he never regained recognition from other villagers. He thought about it and realized that at the end of the day, people may have never liked him anyway. Even during his golden days with his beloved sheep.

Julien crafted a story based on “The Crane Wife” that leaves room for many fascinating interpretations. His retelling addresses relationships between animals and humans, the cruelty of the modern-day dairy industry, issues surrounding global warming, animal rights, and the greedy nature of humankind. 

It is the year 3022 and the world is not what it used to be. There was once a time when people lived peacefully together and everybody had a chance to live a good life if you worked hard enough. However, those days are long gone. These days, there are only two types of people, the extremely rich who live on a massive floating island in the sky, and the extremely poor who live on the earth’s surface. It is only a matter of which side you are born on that determines the outcome of your life.

It was a dark and gloomy morning. The air was chilly, and pollution crowded the sky. A poor, young man named Jackson had an extra hard time getting out of bed this particular morning. He hated his job, and he hated his life. He worked in the coal mines six days per week and was extremely overworked each day. The only good thing in his life was his best friend who worked with him in the mines.

On Jackson’s way to work, he met up with his friend and they started chatting.

“It isn’t fair that we have to do all this dirty work every day while the rich just take what they want from us. We poor people are the ones creating all the food and supplies yet we are the ones who are starving down here. We should all just stop working and then they would have to do everything themselves.” Jackson said angrily.

“You know they would just kill us if we stopped doing what they asked. They hold all the power so we just have to go along with what they say,” replied Jackson’s friend.

“Yeah, I know,” Jackson sighed, “but do you ever wonder what’s up there? In the sky, on the floating island that the rich live on. It must be wonderful up there. Being one of the rich means you can sit around up there and do whatever you please. You never have to work a day in your life.”

“I think everybody has dreamed about that but there’s no way any of us poor people could get up there. Besides, the only way up to the island is by riding one of the beanstalks.” Jackson’s friend stated.

The beanstalks were these giant, high-tech elevators that were thousands of feet tall. They were used by the rich to travel and transport supplies between the earth’s surface and the floating island which they lived on. There was nearly no security around the beanstalks, but no poor man would dare to ride one up to the island because the consequences of getting caught were greater than death itself.

After Jackson’s long day of work, he headed home and decided to have a glass of milk from his milk generator.

“Oh, come on!” Jack exclaimed, “Why isn’t it working?”

It seemed that his milk generator had gotten old and needed a replacement.

“What am I supposed to do now? I don’t have the money to buy a new one. I guess I’ll have to take it to the shop to get it fixed.”

It was Jackson’s day off the next day so he headed to the milk generator shop first thing in the morning. On his way there he met a strange man who approached him.

“Can I help you?” said Jackson.

“Well isn’t that a fine milk machine you have there? How about I trade you something for it.” the man demanded.

“What can you offer me?” Jackson questioned

“How about this special set of clothes?” said the man as he pulled out a very fancy yet familiar set of clothes from a bag.

“Aren’t those the type of clothes worn by the rich?” asked Jackson.

“Indeed they are,” replied the strange man.

Jackson then came up with an idea and decided to make the trade. At work the next day, Jackson told his friend about the deal he made.

“Are you insane?!” shouted his friend, “The milk generator was the most valuable item you had and you traded it for some silly clothes!”

“It’s alright, calm down. I have a plan but you might think I’m crazy,” said Jackson.

Jackson went on and explained to his friend that he planned to sneak onto a beanstalk and ride it up to the island. Once he gets on the island, he will change his clothes and nobody will be able to tell that he is one of the poor.

After the workday finished, the plan commenced. Jackson made his way over to the nearest beanstalk and sneaked into it when nobody was around. He hid behind a bunch of barrels full of coal and waited. Sure enough, about an hour later, the beanstalk operator entered the elevator and started taking it back up to the island for the night.

Once Jackson reached the island, he waited for the operator to leave. Then, he carefully exited the beanstalk and looked around. There was a village nearby so he thought that would be the best place for him to go to. He quickly changed into his rich clothes and he made his way over there.

After Jackson got to the village, he aimlessly walked down the streets while he figured out what to do. Nobody noticed him because his clothes made him look just like everyone else. He then saw a very fat man leaving his house. The man was also quite ugly and reminded Jackson of an ogre.

Jackson thought, “This may be my chance to steal something since that ogre is leaving his home.”

Jackson carefully approached the front door, making sure nobody was looking. Luckily, the man left the door unlocked. Jackson quietly opened it and made his way inside. He then heard a voice calling out to him from inside the house.

“Honey, did you forget something?”

Jackson realized he was not alone. He quickly turned around and tried to leave the house.

“Stop right there!” shouted the voice.

Jackson, in a panic, stopped and turned towards the voice. He saw a pretty lady standing down the hallway.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my home?” the lady asked.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I am just very hungry. I haven’t eaten anything all day. Would you be able to spare me some food?” Jackson replied.

The lady was kind enough to invite Jackson inside and she cooked a nice meal for him.

“You better get going now. It would be a problem for the both of us if my husband were to find you here. He doesn’t allow any visitors.” said the lady.

Moments later, the front door opened and the ogre-looking man walked in.

“I’m home! Now make me some supper!” the ogre yelled with an ignorant tone.

The lady quickly pressed a hidden button on the wall which opened a secret room. She pushed Jackson inside and told him to be quiet.

“Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the sweat on a working man. Be he rich, or be he poor, he’s in my house, he will live no more.” shouted the ogre as he stopped his way into the kitchen.

The lady then said, “Nonsense, dear, you must be tired. Why don’t you take a nap while I cook you a delicious meal.”

“Perhaps I am a little tired after my long day of counting my precious diamonds.”

The ogre then put down a big bag full of diamonds on a table and headed to his room to take a nap.

While the ogre dozed off to sleep, Jackson looked around the secret room that he was hiding in but it was quite empty. There were a few boxes and some basic supplies but the only thing that intrigued him was a gigantic safe with a code lock on it. Once the lady let Jackson out of the secret room, she told him that he had to leave before her husband woke up. On his way out, he noticed the big bag of diamonds left on the table. When the lady wasn’t looking, Jackson put a few in his pocket, but not too many hoping the ogre wouldn’t notice. Once he made it out, he wondered about all the incredibly valuable items that may be in that mysterious safe considering the amount of diamonds the ogre had right there on the table.

The next day, he was able to get back into the beanstalk and he rode it back down to the earth’s surface. His friend was amazed that he was able to make it up there and back without getting caught. Jackson told his friend everything and showed him the diamonds. After selling the diamonds for a large sum of money, they could afford to live decent lives. They no longer had to worry about going hungry and they did not have to work as many hours each day. But their joy came to an end a couple of months later once they spent it all.

Jackson decided he had to go back up to the island once again so he sneaked into the beanstalk the same way as before. Once he reached the island, he approached the same house as last time and waited outside of it in a bush. Once the ogre left the house, Jackson knocked on the front door.

“Oh, it’s you.” said the lady as she opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you again but could you give me something to eat?” asked Jackson.

“I’m sorry but you can’t come back here again.” said the lady, “If my husband catches you, we will both be in big trouble. I have something to ask you though. Do you happen to know anything about the missing diamonds from the last time you were here?”

“Well I could possibly tell you something about that but I’m so hungry I don’t think I can remember at the moment,” said Jackson.

The lady decided to let him in and make him something to eat.

Shortly after Jackson finished his meal, the ogre returned with another bag full of diamonds in his hand. This time, the lady tried to hide Jackson in the attic, but he refused and insisted on hiding in the secret room again.

“Honey, why don’t you go take a nap while I make you something to eat.” said the lady.

“Alright, but I better put my diamonds away first.” said the ogre.

Instead of putting his bag of diamonds on the table, he decided to head into the secret room. Jackson heard the door open so he quickly hid behind some boxes. The ogre entered the room and approached the safe. He typed in the code to unlock it and luckily Jackson was close enough that he could see what he typed in. The safe opened, the ogre threw his bag of diamonds inside, closed the safe, and then left the room to go take his nap. Jackson knew he only had a couple of minutes before the lady would open the door in the secret room to let him out. He dashed over to the massive safe and he typed in the code to open it immediately. The code worked, and Jackson made his way inside. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

The amount of diamonds and valuable treasure overwhelmed him. He did not know what to take as he could only carry so much in his pockets. He searched the safe for about a minute or so until he came across a diamond hen statue which intrigued him. There was a button on the hen with the word “Lay” written on it. Out of curiosity, Jackson pressed the button and the hen laid a diamond egg. He pressed it again, and again, and again. Before he knew it, his hands were full of diamonds.

“This is it!” he thought to himself, “This is all I need to steal for me to be free from my horrible life!”

Suddenly, the door shot open and the lady caught Jackson red handed.

She screamed, “Thief! Thief! Wake up honey, there’s a thief in the safe!”

The ogre came tumbling into the room but Jackson was already out the front door and on his way to the beanstalk with the hen in his hands. With the ogre on his trail, he ran faster than he ever had before. It was late at night so there was nobody at the beanstalk. He got inside and panicked as he did not know how to operate the giant elevator. There were countless buttons and Jackson did not know which one to click. The ogre was only a few meters away and Jackson did not know what to do. He had no other option than to start clicking the buttons at random. Just in time, he pressed the button that slammed the doors shut and the beanstalk was on its way down. Jackson looked through the window and saw the ogre screaming at him, full of rage.

“You won’t get away with this!”

For a moment, Jackson thought he had gotten away, but he quickly realized there was another beanstalk only about a kilometer away that the ogre had started running towards.

After making it back to the ground, Jackson ran over to his friend’s house and started shouting,

“Quick, grab me some dynamite!”

Jackson’s friend had a lot of extra dynamite at his house since he still worked in the mines. They grabbed as much as they could carry and made their way to the beanstalk that the ogre was riding down. The ogre was about halfway down to the earth’s surface when they placed the dynamite all around the base of the beanstalk. They set off the fuse and ran before the tremendous explosion occurred. To the ogre’s surprise, the entire elevator toppled over and he came crashing to the ground along with it.

Jackson showed his friend the diamond hen that could create diamonds by simply pressing the button on it. He said that they would never have to work another day in their lives as long as they could sell the diamonds that it produced. They left their little, depressing town the next morning to start their new lives. They eventually made it up the beanstalk, became extremely rich, and lived happily ever after.

In this futuristic retelling of “Jack and the Beanstalk”, Darion weaves commentary on classism and wealth discrepancies into themes from the original tale. 

I was like a prisoner. No purpose or meaning to my name, no pride or accomplishment I was known for. That’s just the way it is for us girls. I was longing for a greater purpose ever since I could remember. I dreamed of accomplishing the greatest tasks life could give me, whether it was building the biggest barn in town or owning my very own factory. Papa would always encourage me to seek adventure outside of the norms. Now that he is gone, I can barely see the light of day.

I crawl down from the roof, back into my bedroom where I brushed my hair. The last thing I would do is look unorderly in front of my mother. I ran down the old, worn-out stairs that were held together by mud and a handful of nails. The kitchen was dark, with a grey tinge on any object in the room, and curtains barricading the warmth of the sunlight from entering our home.

“Billie, darling, it’s nearly half-past ten! Please! The more time we spend lagging, the less money we will earn at the marketplace.” My mother had become so uptight ever since Papa passed. She never saw me as a daughter, but rather an animal that slows down every step she takes. My brother slid a plate of eggs and a glass of milk towards me. Mother idolized Jack. As if he had some sort of superpower, her eyes sparkled every time she even mentioned his name. I guess it’s always the boys. They are stronger and smarter than us girls.

“Maybe after today, we might see something new on our plates for breakfast,” Jack said with a raspy voice.

“Jack, my love, today is the day you make the most important offer of our lives. You must use your gracious bargaining abilities to sell our cow for as many pounds as you can possibly get.”

“The cow!” I pushed my plate away.

“Billie, be quiet! Yes, the cow, it is our only hope.” My mother raised her thin, high-pitched voice. The cow was my closest companion, Papa bought him just for me so that I would use its milk to sell at the market and save up to buy my own shop. It was the only thing I had left from him. Yet, the poor thing has been tortured ever since our money became scarce. Jack and my mother milk her day and night just to sell her milk to make enough money to survive the week.

“Is there nothing else we could do? Maybe I should get a job at the shops down by the bank.”

“A job? Billie, you idiot. Do you think you would be able to make enough money to feed us and take care of us? You could never do such a thing.” My mother rose out of her chair with anger. I didn’t understand. I was almost the same age as Jack and I had much more knowledge than he did. Why wouldn’t I be able to work and help out?

“Tomorrow, late afternoon, I’ll take the cow down to the market, Billie. The men down there would never exchange their coins to a little girl like you. This is a man’s job!” Jack looked up at me with a smirk. He knew how much I disliked his sexist remarks.

Papa never belittled my skills and talents. He would teach me how to hammer a nail into the wall, how to milk the cow and start the tractor we used to own. He saw my brother and me as equal, knowing the potential that girls had. He urged my mother to get a job and explore the outside world. She resisted, thinking her husband would supply her with a lifetime of wealth and happiness. She lived like a princess when my father was with us. He spent time sewing the most beautiful clothing for herself, dressing up and doing her hair. She looked like the princesses I read about in books. I spend time at the library in town, the owner, Mr.Thomason knew my dad, so he let me go in and read books all the time. He surprised me with a book to take home last winter, which had a beautiful princess that was saved by her glorious prince from the evil of her mother. It reminded me a lot of my mother. The beautiful princess left her own family to live an amazing life with her prince. After my father passed, she became the evil mother in the fairytale.

I never understood the happy ending of my book. I saw the real love between my parents that suddenly disappeared overnight. Oh, the things I would do to change the narrative of that story Why couldn’t the princess help save the prince, and become the foundation of the family? The thoughts paced around in my head.

“If they will not let me, I’ll do it myself

I knew my mother would be visiting the neighbours this morning, exchanging nonsense and gossip. Jack, would be sleeping after working late last night. I walked into the barn and began to tie a rope around the cow, a leash, in case he runs away from me. As I tied the rope, my eyes met his eyes, and for a split second, I felt a sense of reassurance. That all of my thoughts and actions were going to work out in my favour. For a split second, I saw my father looking back at me.

The market was filled with people scattered around buying food, spices, and toys. Boys were yelling out the prices of goods and the heat of summer burnt our skin.

“Little girl, what a beauty you have got at hand.” A man in a brown suit and hat approached me from the closest storefront.

“She is definitely a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Your father is quite brave, handing such a beautiful animal to his daughter to sell.” He chuckled. I cringed at the comment, trying to contain my anger.

“If you are interested, I am open to any potential offers, that is, if you can afford such a desired animal,” I smirked, knowing my words would hurt the man’s outrageous ego. He raised his eyebrows and took his hand out of his pocket.

“Darling, my offer won’t compare to any other.” He opened his palm. In the center were five beans.

“Beans? I’m not an idiot. Why would I give you my cow for five beans?”

“Oh sweet girl, you see. These are not just beans, oh no. These are magic beans.” I rolled my eyes.

“Legend has it that once these beans are planted into the soil, fortune and wealth will fill your life. These are one of a kind, but you are only a little girl, what would you know about a good offer.” He was on to me, I was sure, but my mind was racing. The pride in my mother’s eyes after, I, Billie, her daughter, saves them from the miseries they faced. My eyes shifted from the beans to my beloved cow.

When I walked in the door I could hear my mother’s furious voice coming from the kitchen as she paced back and forth.

“Billie! The cow! We searched everywhere. There is no sign of her. We are done. We are going to die.” My mother breathlessly said as Jack patted her back, comforting her.

“Mother, don’t worry. I took the cow to the market earlier this morning. You’ll never guess the offer I got.”

“Billie, you took- how much did you get? Five pounds? Ten pounds? I doubt anything over fifteen pounds.”

“Look,” I took the magic beans out from the pocket of my pants, “magic beans that are guaranteed to give us years upon years of good fortune.”

The room fell silent as my mother fell to the ground.

“You idiot! Billie look what you have done.” Jack yelled back.

“I-”

“No, no Billie. How could you trade our cow for a handful of beans? You are going to kill mom and me with the pace you are going.”

“Jack, I promise, this is for us, we are going to be rich.”

“Forget about it. You can never do anything right. You are a waste of space and time. You are a girl, you were scammed at the market, Billie. Did you think these beans were going to save you?”

Tears began to flow down my face as Jack yelled at me.

Mom had fainted and I knew I had to leave before she woke up.

I ran to the barn doors and looked at the beans that wear cradled up in my hand. I knew that I had to prove my worth to my family. I bent down by the soil, dug a hole, and planted the beans into the richness of the earth. I locked myself into the barn and lay down on the pile of hay and grass.

I awoke to the noise of leaves and branches. It was a strange sound, nothing I was accustomed to hearing. I got up in the night, peering out from the window, with the moon being the only source of light in the darkness. To my surprise I looked up, reaching the clouds in the sky stood the silhouette of a huge beanstalk. My heart filled up, “this is my chance” I whispered under my breath. I put my hand onto the root of the beanstalk and started my journey up towards the sky. After what felt like an eternity, I reached the top of the beanstalk. I emerged into an unreal land filled with the most luxurious food and hills and hills of golden coins. I was in awe looking around at the fortune around me. I was so close to the happy ending that, I, Billie, would bring upon my family. I crawled onto the soft clouds, peering at the wondrous sight of the glistening coins and mouth-watering food. I climbed the hills of coins, putting handfuls of the gold coins into my pockets, reaching the very top, looking down at the unbelievable. Suddenly, I felt my foot slip and I came tumbling down the hill, and the golden coins followed me down.

The floor under me began to rumble as a giant emerged from the bottom of the mountain of coins. I began to run, as he gazed down at me in anger. He chased me up and down, leaping from one hill to the other. I began to run out of breath, knowing that my only hope was to climb back down the beanstalk before the giant caught me. I hid behind a golden egg twice the size of our house, trying to stay clear of the giant’s sight. I could hear the giant heading towards the table of food, sitting and munching on the variety of delicacies that awaited him. The beanstalk was right past where the giant was seated.

“Billie, this is your chance. Papa taught you to be the bravest and most adventurous girl you could be. Here is your chance to prove him right and your mother and brother wrong.” I thought as I slowly crept under the table of food. If I go any faster, the coins in my pocket would rattle and catch the attention of the giant. I could hear the giant stuffing his mouth with food.

As I was getting closer to the beanstalk the giant dropped a piece of bread right in front of my path I froze unable to decide what my next move was, and before I knew it, I was looking right at the giant’s enormous eyeballs. He picked me up and flung me up in front of his face.

“Yummy, little child.” He hungrily gazed back at me.

“Stop, you wouldn’t want to eat me” I screamed trying to get out of his tight clasp. Before I knew it, I was faced with the giant’s open mouth, ready to eat me. I began to shake and reach down into my pockets while he brought me closer and closer to his mouth. I flung the heavy golden coins at his throat. Handfuls at a time, until I had clogged his throat. To his surprise he began to choke, letting go of me. I fell to the ground and ran, running as fast as I could, reaching the top of the beanstalk. Before I climbed down I reached down and picked up more golden coins to stuff into my pocket, and watched the giant struggle to breathe.

“You did it, Billie!” I heard my Papa’s voice in my head.

I smiled as I climbed back down. As I got closer to the bottom, I saw my mother, Jack, all of our neighbours and townspeople were gathered looking up the beanstalk.

“Billie,” Jack said as I touched the ground. My mother ran to me, giving me a big hug.

“Honey, you scared me, I thought you were gone forever. My love, are you okay?”

“Yes, mother, I’m okay.” I looked into her eyes and for once, I could see a genuine feeling of concern. I smiled at her.

“Look!” I took out the coins from my pocket.

My mother and Jack looked at each other and back at me.

“This cannot be real. Billie, you are our hero!” Jack hugged me tightly.

For the first time ever since my father passed, I saw my mother smile with pride and happiness. I looked around as people cheered and clapped.

“I did it, Papa,” I whispered.

“I saved us!”

Selin’s retelling of “Jack and the Beanstalk” by Joseph Jacobs explores gender equality in regards to the typical gender stereotypes that are often showcased in fairy tale stories. Selin created a modern twist of the tale in which the protagonist is a girl, Jack’s sister. 

It was half-past eleven when Wendy finally entered the apartment, or rather, stumbled into the small space drunkenly before attempting to kick the door shut behind her. Squinting her eyes, she scanned the small brown apartment in what looked like desperation as if searching for something in particular before her eyes landed on me. After a small but noticeable hesitation, she cracked a crooked smile and swayed over to where I was sitting at the uneven round table in the corner of the living room.

“What are you still doing up Hanna?” she slurred as she, at last, slumped into the chair across from me.

“Just some school stuff,” I lied. I’d sat at the table every night waiting for her safe return from god knows wherever she spent her evenings. Sometimes I’d do some work, other times I’d sit by the window with a stolen cigarette pinched between my fingers while daydreaming about my future. Sometimes I imagined myself married to a nice rich man with a couple of nice kids and a nice big home to call our own. We’d send Christmas cards to our friends and his family, with a happy little golden retriever stealing the show. Sometimes I’d imagine myself living off of my own success, driving a different car each day and happily thriving as a single woman. But then sometimes I’d imagine myself coming home drunk every other night to my step-child who I deemed a ‘blessing’ and not a burden resulting from a failed marriage and a father who left a piece of himself behind. Waking up each morning with close to no recollection of the prior night’s events, my mind and my body betraying my soul.

My step-mother sighed, the alcoholic stench of her breath flooding my senses,

“Sometimes I think you’re too smart for your own good, you know.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m afraid that when you become rich and happy you’ll forget about me,” she teased. Though I didn’t fail to notice the subtle hint of fear behind her sunken eyes.

“Don’t worry, when I’m rich and happy you can live in my guest house and drive my extra cars while you drink yourself to death,” I half-joked.

Her drunken laughter bounced off the paint-chipped walls of the small space as she reached across the table and grabbed my hands, squeezing them tightly as she said,

“I’m looking forward to it.”

At that, she stood up from the chair, seemingly using all her strength as she staggered toward her bedroom. She opened the door and seemed to contemplate for a moment before turning around and leaning against her door frame.

“You staying in tonight?” she asked.

“Gonna go to the gas station and pick up some milk for breakfast. Mister Avery’s shift starts at midnight and he always gives it to me cheap.”

She hummed, opening her mouth then closing it as if about to say something but deciding against it. Instead, she looked at me for a couple of moments. Not long, but enough for me to notice the slightly sorrowful look that flashed across her face as if she regretted something. Maybe she’d had a bad night and that was why she came home alone.

“You know I love you right, princess?” she said with utmost sincerity. Though again, her words did nothing to hide the sad look on her face. There one second and gone the next. I smiled softly,

“I know, I love you too.”

At that, she bid me goodnight before closing her bedroom door and I assumed going to bed. I allowed myself a couple of minutes of daydreaming again before I entered my room quietly so as to not wake the sleeping woman across the hall. I lifted my mattress and snatched the yellow envelope containing my saved money. I hadn’t told Wendy about the money, or my plans to use it to buy myself a one-way ticket out of this forgotten town and hopefully make something out of my life. Not because I didn’t trust her, mostly because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. After my father decided he didn’t want her, or me for that matter, Wendy took care of me. For a while, at least, before she decided I was old enough to take care of the both of us. Part of me felt like I was betraying her, but every time that sliver of regret entered my mind I shoved it aside and told myself I’d come back for her.

I grabbed a ten dollar bill, enough for the milk and a snack, before I made sure my bedroom door was closed and the front door was securely locked then exited through the fire escape. We couldn’t afford to get another key for the apartment, so Wendy was the only one who could lock it from the outside.

As I made my way down the semi-empty streets, the warm summer breeze and occasional shouts of grumpy store owners or homeless scavengers being my only company, I couldn’t help but feel as though something was off. I shoved the feeling aside once again as I spotted the familiar flickering of lights at the end of the street. Upon entering the gas station, I was greeted by Mister Avery, a nice old man who’d grown up in the town and would probably die in it. However nice he was, I did not want to end up like him. I stalked to the back of the store before grabbing the cheapest milk I could find and a bag of potato chips before approaching the counter he was sitting behind.

“How’s the stepmother?” he inquired while scanning the two items.”

“Still Wendy I suppose,” I replied as I handed him the cash hesitantly. The uneasy feeling returned as soon as he took the paper as if I should have held onto it. Again, I cast the feeling aside and grabbed my purchases, bidding him farewell as I exited the store.

Approaching the rundown apartment building, the feeling returned, only stronger this time. I looked up into the window and noticed the lights were off. Curious, since I didn’t turn them off on my way out. Again, I shoved the queasy feeling away as I assumed the lights had disrupted my stepmother’s slumber and she’d harnessed enough drunken energy to shut them off.

Upon entering the apartment through the fire escape I was shocked to find it half empty, the only remaining items being the table and some living room furniture. Panic shot through my veins as I noticed the door to my bedroom wide open, I was sure I’d closed it before I left. I dropped the purchases in my hands and ran past the bare walls into my bedroom. My dread only increased as I found my room in disarray as if somebody had ransacked the space. Somebody had ransacked the place. Papers and clothing splayed across the floor. My mattress leaning against the wall, the yellow envelope nowhere in sight.

“Wendy!” I shouted desperately, barging into her bedroom. “Wendy someone broke in-”

My mouth snapped shut at the sight of my stepmother’s bedroom. The only sign of anyone having ever lived there were the dents in the carpet from where her bed and dresser were supposed to be. The room was completely empty, save for a small piece of paper with a key next to it on the ground in the center of the room. I approached the items slowly as if part of me knew already what had happened. I grabbed the key, noticing it was the key to the apartment and hesitantly picked up the note. My body drained of all emotion as I read.

Forgive me, princess, I will always love you – W.

Abby created this cautionary retelling of the Grimm Brothers’ “Hansel and Gretel” to showcase how it is not always strangers who children cannot trust, but it can be the people closest to them as well. By altering the characters and family dynamics of the original tale, young readers can see that sometimes it is the people who you love the most who are capable of putting you in harm’s way.

In the frozen wilderness, a young girl was being raised by her father. They lived in the mountains where it was so cold, sweat and tears would freeze before they could fall. The daughter worked long and hard at home to take care of her father. Her father was an emerald miner and their life was happy and carefree. Her father would tell her stories about caves full of stars so beautiful it was like walking through the sky. The girl wanted so badly to see these stars, she would beg and cry out wishing to have one. One winter, on the coldest day of the year, it was the child’s birthday. Being used to an extra bowl of stew as her present, her father said he has something special for her. He pulled out a small brown satchel from his pocket. When the girl opened it, she could not believe her eyes! It was a star! Her smile shone just as bright as the star in her hands as she ran around the dinner table in excitement. She hugged her father with tears in her eyes and sobbed,

“oh thank you so much baba, I don’t think I can ever repay you.” The man took his daughter into his lap and wiped away her tears.

“You need not,” he said, “for the greatest treasure is having you for a daughter.” They finished their dinner in bliss and slept soundly that night.

The father had warned the girl to not display her star to anyone else. She didn’t understand why, as she wanted everyone to enjoy the star’s beauty just like she did. But she was good and listened to her father. There weren’t any other kids in the mountain, as only the labourers lived there, so the little girl often found herself creating her own entertainment with labor and her star. Without complaints, the girl worked hard for herself and her father. One day, the family needed to replenish their food supply, so the girl headed to the village at the foot of the mountain. She visited the market, where she bought a sack of potatoes and greens. As the girl was leaving, she caught sight of a woman who had been watching her.

“Come over here little girl,” she beckoned. As she approached, the woman swooned, “my- why child you are so beautiful! Your hair is as dark as night, lips as red as blood, and your skin! It’s as white as the snowy mountain from which you came.” The girl looked at the woman happily. “Does your father work in the mountains?” the woman asked. The girl nodded politely.

“He works in a cave full of stars.”

“A cave full of stars? How could that be? I’ve never heard of such a thing”

“It’s true!” the girl said, grasping at the tiny satchel around her neck. “The stars are even more beautiful up close and shine just as bright even during the daytime.” The woman smiled and eyed the girl’s hand clutching the tiny sack.

“Oh, why- a woman like me could only ever dream of seeing something so beautiful. I would give up my finest pair of boots to simply bear witness to its marvel.” The girl rocked back and forth on her heels, looking along the table where bounds of leather were crafted together with rope and steel to make hardy boots. Her sight stopped at a particular pair of dark red ox skin boots with shiny steel caps on the toes. The woman caught the girl’s gaze.

“What a hard-working man your father must be, and with such a sweet daughter,” the girl’s face lit up, “what say you repay his hard work with a new pair of boots?” The girl looked down at the sack of potatoes and greens she was holding.

“But I don’t have any money left,” she said.

“Oh… well that’s too bad,” the woman said, “I’m sure it would have made your father happy.” The girl paused.

“Just as happy as it would make you to see a star?”

“Why of course,” said the woman.

The girl slid the satchel back and forth around her neck, then beamed and moved the loop of the string over her head.

“I want to show you something,” she said. She carefully opened the sack and gave it to the woman to look inside. The woman peered inside and was in disbelief. She sat in stunned silence looking almost quizzically at the star in her hand. The woman eyed the girl up and down calculatingly, until smiling warmly.

“Thank you so much for showing this to me little girl, I hope you understand how happy it makes me.” The girl bounced up and down, excited to have caused the woman such joy. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” the woman said, packing the star back into its satchel and returning it to the girl, “I’ll let you take those dark red boots over there in exchange for letting me see something so beautiful.” The girl was elated,

“will you really? Oh, thank you! Thank you!” and ran to give the woman a hug.

“No dear, thank you,” she said, embracing the child.

It was before dinner time when the girl got back home and her father was still off in the mines. She stored the perishables she bought in a trough in the kitchen. She took the newly empty sack of potatoes and carefully cut the seam with a bone pick. Using the newly made fabric, the little girl wrapped the boots into a present. She finished cooking dinner and by that time her father had come home. They ate happily, and once they were finished, the girl said she had a surprise for him.

“Ho! What could it be?” he asked as she carried over a bundle of neatly folded and tied burlap. The father opened it carefully and looked in shock at the beautiful pair of dark red boots. “My child…” he said cautiously, “how did you get these?” He knew his daughter was incapable of stealing, so only the worst thoughts imaginable came to the father’s mind. The girl hesitated, but she was too pure to tell a lie.

“A lady was so happy when I showed her my star that she gave the boots to me as a gift,” she told him. The father noticed she still had the tiny satchel around her neck. He looked sternly at his daughter,

“I told you to never show anyone your star, you must be more careful.” His tone softened as he saw his daughter’s eyes sadden. “I know you had no ill intent and you wanted to make that lady happy,” he said, picking her up into his lap. “Thank you for bringing so much joy to others and to myself.”

Before falling asleep that night, the girl rolled around whimsically thinking about how happy everyone was that day. She pulled the string from around her neck and plopped her star into her hand. She stared at its sparkle in amazement. “My star! You’re my lucky charm” she said and laid her head to rest.

The following morning, the girl kissed her father goodbye as he headed toward the caves wearing his freshly tailored boots. The girl did her usual routine of cleaning the house and tending to the goat for a fresh pail of milk. The girl was returning home from collecting firewood when she saw two large men walking through her house. They were wearing large winter coats with ornate gold embroidery decorating the chest plates. An arm’s length sword laid on either of their left hips. She slowly approached her home, curious as to why there were guests. As she entered the doorway, a guard grabbed her arm and held it with an iron grip.

“Here’s the girl,” the guard said, as he looked down at her and snatched the tiny satchel right off of her neck. He opened it and out popped the girl’s star, “let’s go,” he said to the other. With that, the girl was thrown into a wooden cage affixed to two horses, with her star in the grasp of the guard.

“Please, I don’t understand,” cried the girl.

“It seems your father is a thief,” said the guard. This didn’t clear up any confusion for the girl as they rode to the bottom of the mountain. There, the guards got off of their horses and the woman from the day before approached them. “You were right about the man in the red boots,” said the guard, “his child had the gem just like you claimed, here’s your reward in return,” he said, handing her a sack of jingling coins. The woman’s eyes flashed as she quickly grabbed the sack of coins. This was much more valuable to her than any gemstone, a stone so precious that it could not be sold without raising attention, nor could any shabby old market bear the price that it’s worth. Yes, the coins were ideal for her.

“I’m so grateful to you little girl,” she said with a smirk as she walked past the carriage. The guards mounted back onto their horses,

“go tell the others the man is guilty, and have him transported to the palace to face trial.”

“And the girl?”

“We’ll take her to the chief and let him decide.”

With that, the men rode on with a caged little girl in tow.

“I did this” the girl whispered, overflowing with tears and guilt about what she had done. These tears, of course, could not fall.

The queen ordered for the emerald miner’s execution. There was no other judgement a thief could face, so by sundown, the deed was done. The king only involved himself in military affairs and the queen passed judgements as she pleased, thus, the fate of the lowly mountain girl was left in the hands of the palace chief. Rather than waste prison rations on a child, the little girl was cast aside and became homeless. No stranger to labor, the little girl took upon odd jobs for scraps of food or a place to sleep, but unlike before, she kept to herself. Her spirit became hardened and her emotions unremorseful. The only person she needed to take care of was herself. She would lie to and steal from any person if it was to her benefit, taking advantage of others in any way she could. This is how the people lived, without a bone of trust, one either reaped the rewards of deceit or paid the price of a fool. As she got older, the girl began to fabricate different personas. By earning the favor of wealthy men, she would steal books from their collections in the pursuit of knowledge and power. Her status in society climbed as she honed her craft, learning how to win people over with nothing but words and a commanding demeanor. It wasn’t long until bigger fish entered her pond. By this time, she had built a reputation for herself. She was well known for her soul being as black as smoke, eyes as hard as steel, and her heart as cold as ice. Soon enough, she placed herself beside the king as the new queen. Suddenly, all the queen received was praise, for being so beautiful and for being royalty. She cast aside the frivolity of her position and made one request, to have a mirror to remind herself who she is.

The previous queen found herself incapacitated and later died after childbirth. The daughter she bore was the pristine age of six when the new queen came into power. This princess was the most beautiful girl the kingdom had ever seen. Her hair was as dark as coal, her lips as bright red as a fresh apple, and her skin as white as snow. Her mother named her Snow White. Snow White was as pure as her name. Growing up happily spoiled and pampered, Snow White relied on others and was quick to trust them. She only knew of safety and was oblivious to the wretched nature outside the palace walls. This life changed for Snow White when the new queen began her reign. The queen hadn’t married out of love, she did it for success and power, and certainly not to be a mother. The queen looked down upon Snow White and the poor princess was forced to clean the palace floors, pull the garden weeds, and wash and sew her clothes. Tears would fall into the sudsy floor as the princess cried for her old life back. The queen found her incompetent, and the more the princess would cry, the colder the queen’s heart turned

On the princess’ thirteenth birthday, just like all of the ones before, there was no celebration held.

“You cannot do anything for yourself, so you are allowed nothing” her stepmother would say. The princess laid sullen in her room as she did all of the years prior.

“That’s it,” she said to herself, “this year I will have a cake for my birthday.” The girl thought up ways to obtain a cake to fit her tastes. The thought of creating one herself caused her so much agony she cried out. “I must find a
way to buy one” she whimpered. With that, the girl snuck into the queen’s chambers and selected a sparkling earring from an array of gems. She called upon one of the guards to accompany her into town. Once there, none of the bakeries would accept such a currency, nevertheless, they continued their search, eventually trekking down into the beaten part of town. “Oh my life is hopeless,” she wailed.

“What seems to be the problem dear?” an old woman behind her asked. She was wearing a dark robe and had silver hair.

“It is my birthday and I cannot find anyone willing to bake a cake for me” the girl sobbed.

“Well what do you have to offer them?” the old woman asked. The princess opened her hand to show her the earring. “Why with something so beautiful, you could have any cake you can dream of,” the old woman said, studying Snow White, “a girl with features so delicate, you must resemble your mother.”

“It would be by magic because it would not be by blood,” the girl said solemnly. The woman’s eyebrows raised.

“Come child, I will bake you a cake, and with it, you can share with your mother and make amends.”

“Oh thank you!” cried the girl, “and in return, please take this earring.” The woman closed the princess’ hand.

“Helping you is a reward in itself,” she said with a smile. What Snow White was unaware of, was the bottle of poison the woman held under her cloak.

The cake was placed on the center of the table for the stepmother to see.

“How did you get this?” the queen asked bluntly. The princess did not want to miss her opportunity to redeem herself so she lied.

“I milked the cows, milled the wheat, and picked the eggs,” she said confidently. The queen stared at her, showing no emotion in her face, and turned to her chambers. A guard was posted at the queen’s door while she slowly paced across the smooth floor, looking into her mirror.

“The girl is learning yet I feel nothing for her,” she said to herself. “Am I cruel?” “Am I truly unfair?” she asked her reflection.

She heard a soft turn of boots.

“My lady, if I may?” asked the guard. The queen tilted her mirror to look at him. “You are the fairest in all the land, it is Snow White who has tricked you, she stole your earring in exchange for an old witch to bake her a cake.” The queen’s eyes pierced through the dimly lit room and the guard felt a chill shoot down his spine.

“Go collect her now,” she said, “send her to the coal mines and never let her return.”

Snow White wailed and protested as she was carted up the mountainside, but her cries made no difference. She was thrown along with the men to labor all day, striking her pickaxe down until she could no longer lift her arms. At the end of the day, she would reside in an abode filled with seven men, to whom she would cry about a life she once lived. The men would listen intently as she described the abuse she faced from her mother, being stripped of her freedom, starved, and worked until exhaustion. They could not understand how such a precious girl could be treated so poorly. After months of working in the mines, Snow White became so dehydrated she could no longer cry, her hands turned calloused and stained black. By the time a year had passed, she no longer remembered how she felt before she arrived, the only feeling she had was the need to survive until the next sunrise. One night, she began ruminating about the life she once lived and the bitterness she felt towards the queen. She walked around to each man’s bed, waking them quietly to not let the guard at the door hear.

“If the queen is gone” she whispered, “I can give each of you anything you desire.” Living such lowly lives, the men did not need to hear another word. With pickaxes in hand, they mumbled in low tones and plotted their coup that instant.

“Ah! Help! Help!” the girl cried out.

Acting on instinct, the guard opened the door to investigate, where he was met with a fatal blow from a pickaxe. The eight workers made their way down the mountain, leaving the guard with his sheath empty and Snow White wielding the sword.

They arrived at the palace and the seven men worked to knock down the guards, blow after blow, while Snow White tracked directly toward the queen’s chambers. The pounding of her boots resonated throughout the palace and left no mystery that she was coming. She slammed open the door to find the queen sitting calmly, observing herself in the mirror. “Snow White,” she said without breaking her gaze with her reflection. “Is this how you intend to thank me?” Her tone was icy, but it did not make Snow White falter.

“You took away my life,” said the princess.

“Little girl, I gave you the only thing you never had,” she replied, touching the mirror delicately. Snow White clenched her fist even tighter around the sword,

“someone with a frozen heart would never understand.”

“Then it wouldn’t be me who has the frozen heart,” responded the queen, finally looking Snow White in the eyes.

But with that, the sword pierced her heart.
When the ice shattered,
Snow was formed.

Olivia’s retelling of “Snow White” showcases the point of view of the antagonist from the classic fairy tale, the evil queen. Utilizing elements from the original story, Olivia’s retelling leads readers to question who is the true villain or if there even is one.