Married to her prince at last, Cinderella was presented with a glass crown, in honour of her famous slipper. A week later, after the courtiers had laughed merrily at gifts of a glass throne, a glass dining table, and a matching set of glass cutlery, Cinders bought herself a sledgehammer.
Mark Farley writes novels, flash fiction and the occasional poem. See more at mumbletoes.blogspot.com.
Over coffee, an op-ed writer quizzed his newspaper’s sports reporter.
“It would have been a great Cinderella story if only that promising filly you told me about could have won her maiden race. She started as an odds-on favorite, yet she finished last. What went wrong?”
“She threw a shoe.”
John H. Dromey has a 100-word story “Twelve O’Clock Hijinks” online in the Spring/Summer (Issue No. 19) of Quantum Fairy Tales.
Editor: Now I’m just wondering whether there could be any worse invention than a set of glass horseshoes.
Cinderella gazed awestruck as her fairy godmother turned the pumpkin into a gold and silver carriage. Two little mice became magnificent stallions. She gathered her skirts.
And as the footman, formerly a toad, helped her up the steps, she said “I just want to stay home and finish my book.”
Penny Jo McAllister is a freelance writer who enjoys books more than balls.
I swirl, dip, leap and step,
To the rhythmic, rolling, reverberating melody,
Of gleaming copper, and polished bronze;
A shivering note, long held in the air.
The deep, monotonous, shivering song,
of shining, gleaming, chiming bells.
I must leave before the twelfth gong.
Prepare my pumpkin.
I lost my shoe.
Ellen is a 12-year-old student at Crofton House. She enjoys making puns.
You like my shoes? My silver dress, too? Thanks, they’re new.
Don’t dance, no I don’t, just here with some friends. Go dance with her. You did before. Not your type? So not my problem.
Puhleez, don’t “soul mate” me. We just met.
Wanna meet the nine-mil in my bag?
Joey doesn’t dance. He doesn’t wear dresses either.