Sticking with - well not fairy tales, but classic stories...

Patient

People marvel at how calm I stay. But I know you. You would never betray me for someone who would stay loyal to you. When your new queen turns Judas, you'll tearfully repent and go back to me. I’ll smile as though receiving the greatest of all possible rewards. Everyone will hold me up as a model of how the perfect meek woman behaves.

I’m patient, I’ll wait. But some fine spring when you are in the mood, I’ll serve you a fine bowl of watercress, and lettuce, crowned by what you will swear are mushrooms fried in garlic – a wonderful salad, served cold.

Oh, EXCELLENT revenge fantasy!

Future Shock

When I met Marsha, she was thirty. She roller-bladed to relax.

When I met Rosemary, her first novel had just debuted. She dropped the book at the reading, flushed, mumbled, picked it up, dropped it again.

When I met Diane, she'd just been diagnosed. She was a dancer. That was eight years ago.

I look at them, my sisters in illness. All three are progressive. Only one can still walk unassisted.

My neuro tells me mine is relapsing-remitting. But I already see the signs of my own damage. Eight years from now, will I recognise the woman in the mirror?

Of course you recognize me. I haven't changed at all.

And, because you see what you expect to see, you'll compliment me on my youthful appearance ("What moisturizer do you use?"). You'll assume I've been working out and watching what I eat. (You'd be right. Except that my definition of watching what I eat is a bit different now.)

And if it occurs to you that you only see me at night, well, that must be because we both have such busy lives.

I haven't changed at all. And I never will again.

a lot of variety, this time, not really from me, though

Jilli wrote a vampire drabble! Perfect.

I love "we both have such busy lives." And I can't explain why.

****

I am your daughter. Fruit of your loins and the woman you loved so dearly. The woman you see now, in your maddened grief, when you look at me.

I am your daughter. I am clothed in the skin of an ass. Why couldn't you have stopped there? Each dress, more fantastic than the next, surely you wouldn't kill the beast that shat you gold. But you did.

I am your daughter. Married now, tied to a land as mighty as your own, with countless soldiers at my besotted husband's disposal.

I am your daughter. Who do you see now?

This really is a FABULOUS topic. Kudos to Steph, and all of you.

Yeah, these are all fabulous. Today, the topic is making me think of Mary Magdalene by the empty tomb, but god knows I couldn't drabble THAT.

Um, hi. I seem to have committed drabble today. Not making any claims to decency, but thought I'd share.... I don't have the specific photo I'm referring to online, but this is from the same series.

Blondie

She peers out at the lens sideways, behind sunglasses and a shock of bleached-blond hair, dark at the roots. Steel-grey eyeshadow over sky-blue eyes that see all, red lips curled in a cross between “come-hither” and a smirk. The entire attitude is one of knowledge, of freedom, of fearlessness.

She’s only 4 years younger than I am – I was 26 when that picture was taken. So much has happened since – would she recognize me? Would she like me? There’s been a breakup, a marriage, a fall, a divorce, a move.

I’d like to return to her, see that fearlessness again.