Cinderella Reimagined

by Anna Jailene Aguilar et al.

  But for Charles, there was only one other person in the room.

  ◆◆◆

  “How goes it?” the King said, one arthritic claw gripping an ebony cane.

  “Well, very well, Your Majesty,” the Duke reported.

  “Did he choose the blonde?” the old man asked.

  “Yes, the very one,” the Duke answered.

  “Humph. Good. Give the programmers a raise. They’ve earned it.” With a cough he sat back in his plush wheelchair and surveyed his kingdom.

  Finally, the lad was going to get with the program, raise some clones, and continue the business of ruling what was left of the land.

  ◆◆◆

  At midnight, ceremonial bells tolled throughout the Great Library. Kara, who had been walking through the stacks with Charles, suddenly stopped in horror.

  “It’s late!” she cried, looking around for an exit.

  “But, surely —” Charles said, watching as she carefully replaced Peter Pan onto the correct shelf. It wasn’t until he saw her walking determinedly in the direction of the gates that he realized she was actually leaving.

  “I’m so sorry, I have to go,” she called back to him. “I didn’t even meet His Excellency!”

  “Kara, wait,” he said, weaving carefully around several tipsy couples clinging to each other in intimate embraces. “Wait!” She was unbelievably fast, already passing the guards as she waved goodbye with one last look over her shoulder.

  Unwilling to make a scene, he gritted his teeth and slid smoothly through the crowd, nodding and acknowledging nods in his direction as he went.

  When he reached the exit, Kara was gone with only a single glass slipper left as evidence of her passing.

  ◆◆◆

  Back in her room, Kara slipped out of the beautiful blue gown, her fingers lingering on the silky fabric. She had never seen, much less worn, anything like it. In fact, the whole evening had been like one of her dreams come true.

  Charles; his name is Charles. Smiling, she remembered his mussed brown hair and the way he fidgeted with the high collar of his white uniform. Seeing men occasionally on the way to or from work had not prepared her for an interaction like this.

  He had known about the hobbits and had told her a tale about wizards and talking trees. With each new word she felt a part of herself awaken and remember, somehow becoming more than she had ever been before.

  With a sigh Kara went to bed. In her haste to make curfew, she had lost one of the unique shoes loaned to her for this event. No doubt she would be fined, but at this moment she felt only a wonderfully light-headed sense of peace and delight.

  Charles.

  His name is Charles.

  With that she closed her eyes and dreamed.

  ◆◆◆

  “You… lost her?” A fit of coughing interrupted the old man’s tirade, as the Duke stood ramrod straight with his mouth pursed in a tight line.

  “It was quite unexpected, the reaction to the midnight bells, but — yes,” affirmed the Duke.

  “Can’t you simply ask the programmers where she’s located?” the King asked acidly.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, but that may lead to the, ahem, disclosure of the additional effort that was put into that particular model to appeal to the Prince’s specific interests,” the Duke explained delicately.

  The King grunted, understanding the matter entirely. It had been difficult enough simply to leverage the Prince’s agreement to participate in a ball in the first place.

  “If I may add, however, that the Prince has proposed that he will marry no one but the woman he danced with last night,” the Duke stated, watching the King’s apoplexy fade from bright red to a dull pink. He kept the detail about the glass slipper to himself, unwilling to provoke the King’s wrath any further.

  “Marriage? He used that archaic term, huh?” Sitting up straighter, it seemed as if the Duke’s words had breathed new purpose into the decrepit despot. “Fine. Make a pronouncement that all eligible maidens will report for inspection on Montag, 9:00 in their respective common halls.”

  “Sir, there are several identical models in each Quarter,” the Duke warned, but the elderly King only grunted.

  “That, my dear friend, is my son’s problem.”

  ◆◆◆

  The ticket that popped out of the wall machine early Montag read simply: “9:00: Report to Common Hall.” Kara stared at it, unsettled by so many sudden changes to the orderly routine that structured her life.

  “Do you know what this is about?” she asked Tolya as she joined the others, but the petite brunette simply shrugged her shoulders.

  The entire hall was painfully silent as a fully-armed trooper strode to the front of the room.

  “Hear ye,” he intoned. “Each maiden shall in turn remove her footwear and be fitted with a replica of a slipper found at the Government Gala last night. That is all.”

  Kara paled as the crowd assembled into neat lines and rows.

  The shoe!

  It’s only been one day; I didn’t even know who to tell, Kara thought, blushing to the roots of her hair. Perhaps it is very valuable. What should I do?

  One person was all that remained between Kara and the armed men when the monitors abruptly flickered to life in every corner of the room. A kindly faced gentleman appeared in a wash of static that gradually resolved into a clear image.

  “Thank you for your cooperation. Please resume your regular schedule. That is all.”

  The screens went dark amongst confused murmurs in the Common Hall.

  The soldiers stood up and gestured to the exits. Each and every single woman spun around and began to file in an orderly fashion back to their respective duties.

  Except for Kara.

  “Excuse me,” she said timidly to the nearest armed guard.

  “Return to your regularly scheduled duties,” he replied, his voice imperious through the sound filters.

  “I —” Kara began, faltering. It was me; I was the one who lost the shoe! The words turned to ash in her mouth.

  “Return to your regularly scheduled duties,” the man repeated, and this time his hand came down to rest upon the butt of the gun in his side holster.

  Kara turned and joined the last line leading out the door.

  Back to her regularly scheduled duties.

  ◆◆◆

  Within the week there was yet another government announcement. Kara was sitting in the commissary of her work building when the flat screens again blared to life with a fanfare of trumpets.

  The kindly gentleman, who appeared in all public proclamations, was back.

  “Dear citizens, we are pleased to announce the upcoming marriage of Prince Charles to Kara Von Brandt. All hail our beloved monarchy for embracing the common people. Schedules will be issued to all those invited to attend the celebration. Until then, remember: With Peace comes Prosperity, and with Prosperity we have Peace.”

  A video of the Heir Apparent flashed on-screen, appearing pensive as he stared into the camera.

  Charles!

  Kara dropped her mug of caffeinated stimulant. A sludgy brown pool spread out from the center of the white, circular table.

  That’s him, the one from the ball! Kara stared wide-eyed at the picture, which now transitioned to a close-up of a blonde woman with vacant blue eyes and a very familiar smile.

  Kara stifled a scream.

  The brown sludge reached the lip of the table, teetering on the verge of splashing onto the pristine white carpet.

  That woman has my face.

  The dark liquid oozed over the side, but with superhumanly quick reflexes Kara shot out a hand and caught the drop in her palm.

  Who is she? How can she...?

  Like precision clockwork, the pieces suddenly came together.

  The ball — the shoe — Charles — the line up in the Common Hall...

  He’s looking for me — me!

  A wild, foreign ferocity welled up in Kara’s heart.


  There was no way she was going to miss that ceremony — invited or not.

  ◆◆◆

  “Did you send the invitation?”

  “Yes! I authorized a barcode for her ticket.”

  “It reads, ‘Unreceived.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means she didn’t receive it, dummy.”

  Squinting at the hundreds of screens dominating two long walls in their wide-open office, two men in frayed lab coats searched in black and white for a tall blonde with blue eyes.

  A very specific one.

  “There she is!” one pointed to the screen monitoring the corridor near the Grand Library.

  “But she doesn’t have the ticket!” the other screeched. Quickly he pulled a tablet close to his lap and began typing a directive to Trooper TK-421 who manned that post.

  “Hurry!” breathed his partner.

  “Abracadabra,” his associate murmured, his fingers flying through a complex series of Unix commands.

  He tapped the last key, just as Kara approached the gates.

  ◆◆◆

  Kara walked up to the Grand Library with a determined confidence she did not feel on the inside.

  “Do you have an invitation?” the guard asked automatically.

  “Yes, I do,” she said, pulling a piece of paper from her pocket and waving it casually in the trooper’s direction. It was her original schedule for the ball last Samstag; she fervently hoped that he would not look too closely.

  “Move along,” the guard said, waving her in. Kara scampered forward as he called out, “Next!”

  ◆◆◆

  “She made it!” The programmers whooped and high-fived each other, spinning back towards the screens as the blonde disappeared into the crowd. Monitors were not allowed inside the Royal Residence; they watched her go knowing that this might be the last they ever saw of her.

  “All we can do now is rely on all that deep programming,” sighed one man, stretching and rolling his shoulders. In the last seventy-two hours they had embedded a lightning stream of data into Kara’s consciousness, everything from Shakespeare to Gone With the Wind and The Hunger Games.

  Her creation was extraordinary in that she had begun as an accident, when one weary-eyed man had accidentally cross-referenced Alice in Wonderland into her cerebral code. They had watched in wonder and delight as she adapted, the first Artificial Intelligence to do so — well, ever.

  And then she began to make memories, to express curiosity and wonderment, to form opinions.

  Now this —

  — a revolution.

  ◆◆◆

  The Grand Library was crowded but there were precise rows with the requisite foot silhouettes indicating exactly where to stand, each one labeled with a name.

  Kara knew that her time was limited; she did not have a pre-printed placeholder in this ceremony.

  Looking over those already assembled, Kara grimaced, another strange new expression in a day full of strange new emotions.

  This isn’t what Charles would have wanted, she thought to herself. All this empty pomp and circumstance.

  For a moment, doubt seized her. How do I know what Charles wants? They had only had that one wonderful evening, and she had not even known that he was the Crown Prince.

  “Please find your assigned stations,” a neutral voice rang out, and people began to fill in the lines and rows more quickly.

  With a last desperate glance at the empty altar, Kara ducked into the shadows of one of the tall bookshelves.

  He at least deserves a real chance at happiness, she thought, watching the crowd settle in. And, so do I.

  Soon a short priest with a towering golden hat shuffled to the front of the glittering assembly. Music began to play, and suddenly Charles stepped past her, so close she could have touched his sleeve. He walked slowly down the center aisle, his face impassive and stern.

  There were more speeches that blurred into nothingness for her as Kara debated what to do, frozen in place by fear and uncertainty.

  What could she do? Her whole life, she had always done just what she was told.

  A preternatural hush fell over the congregation as somewhere a door opened with an ear-splitting protest of rusty hinges.

  The bride, dressed all in white, advanced towards the altar.

  Towards Charles.

  This is it, my last chance, my only chance, Kara thought, her heartbeat thudding in her ears. Yet her body refused to take action.

  “If anyone here objects to the union of these two beings, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the diminutive priest said, drawing in a long breath to speak the final blessing.

  “I object!” Kara’s voice rolled out over the gathering, loud as thunder. All around guests turned to look for the source of this unprecedented interruption.

  Seated nearly out of sight on the upper balcony, the old king curled his lip and snarled.

  ◆◆◆

  “What is going on, Alfred?” he growled.

  “I don’t know, Sire,” the Duke replied. “I have no idea whatsoever.”

  ◆◆◆

  “Charles!” Kara gasped, stumbling up the red-carpeted center aisle.

  The man at the front turned to her with the cold face of a stranger.

  “Do you, do you remember the dragons?” she asked, falling to her knees.

  Behind her could be heard the steady beat of marching feet approaching at a rapid clip.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” the Prince said. Unconsciously he dropped the hands of his passive bride staring peacefully into a middle distance.

  “The mermaid, the one who lost her voice,” Kara gasped. “You were telling me about how she gave up her voice, because she was in love, and now — now —”

  The boots were almost upon her.

  “... I know how she felt.”

  Strong hands seized her from behind, but Kara fought back, long enough to pull the matching glass slipper from her pocket and to throw it into the hands of the startled Crown Prince.

  He turned it over in his hands as his troopers picked Kara up by the elbows and began to drag her, unresisting, towards the gates.

  She had no idea what would happen to her after that.

  “Wait!” Charles ordered, raising his hand.

  Kara sagged between the two guards, her chest heaving. A soft touch on her chin tilted her head upwards, and she stared once more into the bright blue eyes of Charles Munn.

  “You’re crying,” he said in wonder, and so she was, a single impossible tear cascading down the curve of her cheek, followed by another and another.

  “Charles?” called out the woman standing at the altar.

  The Crown Prince turned back.

  ◆◆◆

  Watching the scene unfold from the TK-421’s tiny helmet cam, the programmers nodded simultaneously.

  “Cue the drop,” one said, while the other flourished his index finger in a quick whirl above his tablet.

  “Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo,” the other man sang and pushed the button.

  “What does that even mean?” snickered his partner.

  “It’s magic, I’m bringing the magic,” his colleague said in reply.

  ◆◆◆

  The duplicate dropped like a rock in an apparent dead faint.

  Fortunately, she landed on the small priest, who squawked with disdain and landed flat on his bottom.

  Charles stepped forward and ordered the guards to release the real Kara Von Brandt.

  “I don’t know how any of this happened,” he murmured, “but I’m so glad you found me again, Kara.”

  And then he kissed her, while the entire audience sighed in mixed confusion and contentment.

  ◆◆◆

  The rule of King Charles the III and Queen Kara was written into the history books as the pivotal moment when mankind regained its humanity. In their lifetime they were single-handedly responsible for resurgence in a respect for all life, including a re-institution
of the natural family unit and equal rights for AI kind.

  In addition, the king and queen devoted their lives to rebuilding the Earth’s animal population, in safekeeping for a future when human beings could once again safely return to the outdoors. One of their first successful experiments, which led to a repopulation of domestic animals, was the creation of a black cat that proceeded to terrorize the palace staff for the next fifteen years.

  They named him Lucifer.

  LIGHTS

  by Ronel Janse van Vuuren

  Cindy dreamed in black and white; it was the only way to get through a day on the colourful carousel. In her dreams, the world was in perfect contrast. A black-and-white chicken could actually be two if the light fell just right.

  She woke up with a start when the black cat that haunted her dreams suddenly got green eyes.

  The twilight room was free from felines. She looked up at the wall covered with photos she’d taken, all of them in black and white. There was a time when the photos had been her prison. Now they were her salvation.

  Through the lens of her camera, illusions shattered and truth was revealed.

  Her cell phone lit up. It was another message from him. Cindy wiped her eyes and sighed. The light from the desk lamp caught the photo she’d taken of her suave husband and the socialite at the ball she was unable to attend the previous evening. Her feet throbbed as anger coursed through her.

  Cindy forced her tired arms to push her away from the workstation. She turned off the light switch and the room fell into complete darkness as she manoeuvred her wheelchair down the corridor. The wood floor creaked beneath the wheels, each new scrape causing tears to burn the back of her throat.

  One day when I’m fully healed, I’ll refuse to wear high heels ever again, she thought as she passed the closet filled with her clothes from another life. And I’ll stay away from cats, the thought came as she again saw the shadow of one slinking past in the glow of the city’s lights. The combination was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.