Once Upon A Dystopia: An Anthology of Twisted Fairy Tales and Fractured Folklore

by Heather Carson

  “That is a lovely necklace darling, where did you get that? Was it an early budding gift from Mema?”

  “I found it today, Momma.”

  “What do you mean you found…”

  For the first time since reprimanding her outside the chapel, Daniel laid eyes on his daughter. His dark expression intensified as his eyes fixated on Claramond’s neck. Her father’s body went stiff, his large shoulders and chest pressed outward, just as a wild animal showing their dominance. He slammed his blue-tinted rough, monstrous hand onto the table with such might the overhead ceiling-fan shook. His fuming voice dominated their miniscule dining room.

  “I told you to never go down there!”

  Startled by her husband’s roar, Martha’s glass of homemade lemonade shattered into several pieces as it hit the unsympathetic black and white checkered tiles.

  “It is as if the devil has been whispering in your ear since you were born.”

  Claramond was accustomed to the harsh lip her father was giving her. However, it generally came after a few drinks were in him. Her cheeks flushed crimson. Claramond was muzzled by the thick raging hand of her father. Too familiar with the sound of her father’s belt unfastening she grimaced. Clenching her teeth, she took the eight thrashings with a sense of acquaintance.

  ***

  Claramond lay unclothed in the sanctuary of her bed. Although her wounds ached dreadfully, she felt a sense of enlightenment, she no longer felt so desolate and isolated. She spent hours alone in her bleak bedroom, soaking in her own sweat and blood. She dreamed of angels. She knew they were angels, though they looked nothing like her Sunday Service instructor had described. These girls were coated in dirt, their hair in knots pressed against their scalps with a dark red paste. They were battered and bruised; their faces were hallowed. Yet, she felt no fear by these new acquaintances, only an overwhelming sense of peace.

  ***

  “Daniel, please, she has been running a fever for three days now. We have to take her to Dr. Herman!”

  “Martha, there is nothing Dr. Herman can do to heal that child. Our Lord and Savior cannot even prevent this, Satan has already claimed her.”

  ***

  As the night went on, Claramond’s mother sat fretfully at the bedside of her lethargic daughter. With her sacred writings clenched between her hands, in the wee hours of the night she was finally able to drift off to sleep.

  Her mother awoke to the blood curdling sound of her daughter’s screams. These piercing cries woke Claramond’s slumbering father. Martha’s screams soon joined the demonic shrieking. Unsure of what he would encounter, Daniel, cross in hand, swung open the door of his daughter’s bedroom.

  “What the…”

  Claramond hovered over her blood-soaked bedding. Her exposed bare body was unnaturally arched and contorted. Where the once fresh whipping wounds sliced her juvenile back there were two protruding wings. Blinding white feathers coated them, color so white and pure a radiant glow emanated from them. Surrounding Claramond’s bed were seven adolescent girls, all of which bore diverse abrasions and gashes. Though these girls wore these injuries, they were luminously shimmering. They too sported wings of various shades of opal. The children reached out with their nimble hands, alleviating Claramond’s agony.

  An enraged invisible narrator filled only Daniel’s ears. His ears began to bleed as he pressed his hardened hands against either side of his inverted blue body. Claramond’s mother reached not for her husband, but her ascending daughter.

  “This child shall no longer suffer under your coercion. You will no longer inflict pain on others. I am claiming, sweet Claramond, just as I prematurely had to claim all those girls. You shall no longer hide your demons Daniel Demagogue. The Brothers are coming...”

  Emily Pirrello is a recent graduate of Montclair State University, where she obtained a B.A. in English with a Concentration in Creative Writing. Since childhood she has had such a strong passion for literature and the arts. She has always loved creating, from illustrations to iambic pentameter, Emily enjoys expressing her imagination through multiple mediums.

  When she doesn’t have her nose between the pages of a book, she also enjoys sunshine, spending time with her family, and 10-year-old papillon, Gizmo.

  You can find her on Instagram at www.instagram.com/emilypirrellowriter

  The Bridge

  By Ginny Young

  “It’s not going to work, Billie.”

  “Of course it will,” she said from her place beside him, belly down on the gritty ground. “Have a little faith.”

  She peered over the pile of rubble at the bridge below. The hundred-foot expanse of metal and concrete was the only one left standing for a hundred miles. It spanned the chasm that ended in the inky blackness of the swift-moving river below. Every so often the surface of the water caught the light to reflect the rainbow swirls of the oily sheen floating on the surface, its colorful beauty mocking the fact that it was poison. No one knew what havoc had been wrought upstream to render it that way, but one thing was for sure: nothing that went into that river came back out again.

  Kid wiggled between his two siblings, propping himself up on his elbows. “Yeah, Buck. They look stupid enough to me. It'll totally work.”

  The guards were stupid, yes, but deadly.

  “Friggin’ trolls.” Buck toggled the dial on his binoculars but the men milling about on the bridge were clear enough with the naked eye from where Billie and the boys hid amongst the ruins at the top of the ridge.

  Six today. Ugly, mean, muscled-up-thugs toting guns as ugly as their faces. Yesterday it had been four, but they’d been scouting for more than two weeks now and she knew the total was closer to twenty. Anyone not on the bridge was tucked underneath it in the makeshift shelter that housed the guards. Probably drinking, and fighting, and cleaning their guns. Billie watched the biggest man of the group convince one of his comrades to vacate the seat atop the barricade with the threat of a fist. He had to be the leader. Being a foot taller than the other men and at least a foot wider would be enough to set him apart even without the grizzly scar cutting down his face. He was the one they’d have to target if this was going to work.

  “Come on.” She shimmied far enough back to push herself up without being spotted before standing. “Our friend looks grumpy today, let’s get out of here.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.” Buck stuck his goggles in the holder at his side and mimicked her retreat, pulling Kid to his feet after him. Watching her brother brush himself off and straighten his clothes was like watching herself. His sandy brown hair and tan skin matched hers exactly, and though his features were beginning to take on the hard lines of a man they still shared the same steel grey eyes, tinged blue today as they reflected the high clear sky. They’d often been accused of being twins, though she was two years his senior. Kid, the eleven-year-old cookie-cutter version of the two of them, pawed at her worn backpack for the water bottle. Ignoring the dust on her own tongue she let him drain it before they set off.

  Her stomach growled as she led them back through the winding path that snaked through the Eastern blast zone. A picture in her mind of the stacks of food they’d gathered back at the hideout made her mouth water, but they couldn't eat that stuff. It was too important. It would be Mare’s slop from the Chophouse again. Hopefully, the mediocre excuse for a meal would have something other than canned ham and oats in it today. Yesterday’s bowl had been less than satisfying.

  “Can we go to the Row tonight to eat? Maybe they'll be doing the dice game again!” Kid said.

  She reached out to tousle his mussed hair. He was probably as hungry as she was. Although, she wasn't about to let him gamble even if he loved to watch. “Sure, bud. It’ll be fun.”

  Buck snorted behind her but she ignored it. Let the kid be excited about something. Heaven knows, there's not much to get excited about anymore. She ran her hand over her pocket, feeling the outline of the coins nestled deep in the fabric of her ta
ttered jeans. Not enough to last. Her plan had to work if any of them were going to survive. And it had to work soon.

  The street that held the Chophouse was already crowded and bustling when they arrived. Warm light filled windows and spilled out of doors to paint the cracked pavement beneath their feet. The swathes of yellow on the ground brightened as the red sun sunk below the line of the mountains, ushering in another turbulent summer night in the cramped length of buildings that made up the Row. The half market, half housing domain was the core of the city, drawing the miserable inhabitants of the surrounding sector to it like moths to a porch light. Drunken laughter floated on the air, but most of the faces they passed were hard and grim.

  Equal parts empathy and dread slashed through Billie's heart at the sight of a mother crouched in the gutter, attempting to comfort her dirty-faced toddler. The Row was full of hopeless people like that woman. Not everyone had it so bad. This part of the city had electricity and the shabby buildings lining the street provided better housing than most, if you could afford it, but not everyone could. She suspected the woman was one of the less fortunate, the ones who lived on the street. Makeshift shacks and lean-tos filled the spaces between buildings, housing the inhabitants too poor and afraid to venture out into the derelict parts of the city for shelter.

  “Hey, what’s going on over there?”

  Kid's question pulled her attention away from the gaunt faces peeking out from the shadows of a nearby alley and back to the street. A crowd was gathered around a crude corral thrown up in the middle of the road. Her stomach dropped to her toes when she realized what was happening inside of it. Two naked women fought each other with blunt weapons, surely to the death. Why did it have to be tonight? Jeering laughter came from a cruel face standing above the crowd, egging them on. One of Kane’s guards, she’d seen him at the bridge before. Just another brutal asshole having his fun at the expense of the inhabitants they held prisoner in this dirty excuse for a city. Things like this happened way too often, it was getting harder and harder to shelter Kid from seeing the horror.

  As she grabbed his hand to pull him away from the nauseating sight a body came crashing between them. The man who had parted them jumped up as quickly as he’d fallen to return the punch that had knocked him over, swearing and swinging wildly. It was probably just drunkards fighting over a bet, but it took only seconds before the two men fighting had turned into four, then eight. Within moments the street had erupted into chaos.

  Heart thumping in her chest, she searched for her brothers. She fought the panic rising in her throat as she locked eyes on Kid being swept into the blood-thirsty crowd. Pushing a pair of grappling bodies out of her way she snatched him from the current. One hand gripping Buck’s shirt and the other wrapped around Kid’s wrist, they ran in the opposite direction and ducked into the relative safety of the Chophouse. The commotion outside threatened to spill into the dingy gathering place but Mare was already at the door barring it behind them. The old woman’s wrinkled brown eyes looked sad as she fastened the locks and positioned the heavy metal crossbar. An angry yell preceded the heavy thump of a shoulder being thrown against the door, but it held fast. Ignoring the tirade of voices on the other side, the old cook shook her head and wiped her hands on her apron as she turned back toward the counter.

  “No one else gettin’ in ‘til things calm down. Can’t have ‘em busting everything up again.” Mare's gnarled hand gave Billie's arm a squeeze as she hobbled past on her way back to her place behind the counter. "Sit down, darlings. I’ll get you fixed up."

  They tucked into a cracked leather booth in the back corner and sat in nervous silence as the sounds of violence escalated outside. Billie chewed half her nails off before she caught herself, a nervous habit she fell into when things got rough. That was too close for comfort. They were all going to die here if she didn’t go through with her plan. It was the only way for survival. That thought took away a bit of the sting in her heart when she thought about what she was going to do to her brothers. It's the only way.

  The bowls Mare brought them were full of yesterday’s strange ham stew, but it was hot, and they were hungry enough to eat it anyway. For a moment she focused on nothing but filling her belly. But the satisfaction was short lived as the sharp crack of gunfire sounded outside, sending a shot of dread coursing through her that threatened to bring everything she’d put down back up again. Not good. It was bad enough they were throwing their fists out there. When the guns came out, things always got ugly. Anyone stupid enough to shoot a gun in the city was pronouncing their own death sentence. Kane's boys would be out to claim it in minutes flat, likely leaving its previous owner’s lifeless body laid out in the street for everyone to see. Must be a newcomer. Everyone knew that any weapons found in the city went to boost Kane's personal collection, adding more firepower to the barriers he used to keep everyone inside. Just like that stupid bridge. She wrapped her arms around Kid to quiet the soft sounds of crying at her elbow. He didn't deserve this garbage. Maybe they were all better off dead.

  It was an hour before sunrise when they made it back to the derelict old factory building they called home. Kid had slept on the bench in the Chophouse, curled into a ball, his blonde hair falling over his peaceful face. But she and Buck had stayed awake, listening to the fighting outside until the sounds of the angry mob had lessened to the sounds of a busy street and then finally faded into silence. When the street was quiet, they'd made their way back out into the night, stealing into the darkness to avoid anyone who might still be looking for a fight. She wanted nothing more than to get home and collapse onto their old mattress, but she halted them across the street from the stark facade of the factory building looming in the dark. They must not be followed. If someone found their hoard the plan would be ruined and months of work would be lost. They'd never be able to gather that much stuff again. Caution was critical. When she was satisfied they were alone, they raced across the street and down the concrete stairwell that led to their shelter.

  The abandoned electronics factory they sheltered in was a dark and empty maze of machines and wires that would have terrified her in simpler times, but she found herself sighing with relief once she'd bolted the door behind them. When did this start to feel like home? The boys were asleep the moment they were tucked in together, but her head whirled with thoughts despite her exhaustion. This wasn't a life. She knew what she had to do, even if it would hurt them. A single tear rolled down her cheek to sink into the scratchy top of the bare mattress. It's the only way.

  Billie woke with a start, surfacing from a fleeting nightmare she did not attempt to remember. The sun was up but her sluggish mind and heavy limbs told her it was still early. Dust motes danced in the shaft of clear morning light streaming through the only window, a tiny glass square nestled into the top of the wall. The gentle breathing of her brothers told her they were still asleep. After last night they probably needed the extra rest, but she had things to do. Silently she slipped from Kid’s side, careful not to wake him. The last element in her plan was so close to completion, but it had been days since she could slip away to work on it. If her brothers found out, she’d never be able to go through with it. Better to surprise them at the end. It would hurt less that way.

  When she returned two hours later she could sense the frustration coming from Buck at her extended absence. His brows were drawn and his mouth was a hard line, his posture rigid where he sat forcefully turning the pages of a magazine he wasn’t really reading. The bundle of papers slapped the table as he stood to face her.

  “Where were you? You can’t be sneaking off like that. You could disappear!” He scolded her like a parent, a burden usually reserved for herself.

  “I had some stuff to do. I didn’t even leave the building. I’m fine,” she said.

  “Whatever. Just don’t do that, okay?” He scowled as he said it, but he slumped back down onto the metal chair, indicating that the fight was over.

  Kid wandered over to wr
ap his arms around her. “Do we have to go out today? I’m hungry.”

  His eyes lingered on the stacks of boxes and cans piled in the corner. Maybe it was worth dipping into the pile today. Things were always tense in the city the day after a riot, and they didn't need any more trouble.

  “Let’s stay in today.” She squeezed his shoulders. “Go pick something from the pile. Anything you want, bud.”

  He danced and whooped on his way over, putting a smile on her face. The box he chose was a sugar-laden travesty of the modern age but she didn’t scold him. Let him have it. Who knows if it would be the last thing he ever tasted? Her choice from the pile was more sensible but she savored it all the same, rolling the granola around on her tongue before biting into the tangy crunch. They lounged the day away in their dingy basement storage room resting and talking. Inevitably the discussion came around to the plan. No matter how many times they’d gone over it there were always questions.

  The folding chair beneath her whined when she shifted her weight to rest her forearms on the rough surface of the table. She was tired, the stress of past events and things to come weighing her down equally until she wanted nothing more than to cover her head with a dark blanket and never resurface. But it was only for a little longer. She had to be strong. Her brother’s jaw flexed and he squeezed his threaded fingers together as he voiced the biggest flaw to the plan.