A daughter was born one day to the King of a prosperous kingdom. She was christened Malade. She was a very even-tempered and pleasant girl, and a joy for her father to behold, until one day she was afflicted with a tremor about her features. A severe juddering affected her hands and face and was found by all to be quite disquieting. In fact, she could not hold a teacup without quivering so badly that the contents were spilled. The Princess was the only child of the King and Queen. Malade, of course, had a plethora of tutors and so did not have to be around others her own age; that would have caused the King severe embarrassment, as well as being humiliating for the young girl herself. One must keep up appearances, as the King well knew. When she was six years old, Malade was given lessons in the equestrian disciplines. A young groom, older than Malade by about one year, was there, and the two young people struck up a cordial though not close relationship. This youth was called Judicieux, and he was very good at his job, and soon he was tasked with servicing all the horses that the damsel used. Judicieux was sensitive to the plight of Malade, as he was himself lame. Though she was starved for attention from children, they both recognized their proper places. Years passed. As Malade grew into young adulthood, she was beset by the responsibilities of her position: functions of ceremony at her father's table and in the King's stead. But her malady never lessened; the juddering continued. "Oh, judicieux," she said one day in the stables, preparing to mount her steed. "What shall I do?" I am to meet the prince from the northern kingdom. His father and the King desire that the prince and I wed and effect the joining together of our kingdoms. "What if the prince hates me?" "He can't help but love you, Milady," said the groom with feeling. "But my quivering," she said sorrowfully. "With all the beautiful women in our two kingdoms, why would he give me even a second glance?" "If he has but eyes to see, Milady," he said from his heart. He then limped back into the stable. Malade thought of Judicieux, "or a cripple, he has many beneficent qualities. He shall make some peasant girl a fine mate. And she thought nothing more of Judicieux or her dilemma, for she was astride a horse. "Milady," said Inepta, watching as her mistress struggled with her palsied hands, "perhaps if you concentrate, if you tell yourself to be calm, you will not judder, and things will be alright." "Thank you, Inepta," said Malade, "but in seventeen years that strategy has been to no avail. "Yes, Milady," murmured Inepta, looking sadly at the princess. That night, the kingdom was astir. The king would formally announce the engagement of Malade to the prince of the neighboring kingdom, Prince Stephen, who was rich, handsome, powerful, and heir to his kingdom. Much was made of the festivities. It was wintertime as well, and Christmas was likewise celebrated. This was everyone's favorite time of year. Sumptuous comestibles proliferated, and sparkling wine flowed like rivers. Everyone partook heartily of the rich food and libations, and at the summit of the evening, attention was focused on the prince and princess. "Daughter," intoned the King robustly, "you have before you a prince worthy of your honor." She looked shyly into the eyes of Prince Stephen. He returned her gaze, but his face fell. "Great King," said he, "I cannot marry the Princess Malade." "But," the King objected."It is all arranged." "That may be, but I have our mutual kingdoms to consider." What will become of us if I marry the Princess and our children are born who are as deranged as she is? How would our realms function? How would our diplomats sort it out if it were thought that the royal family was addle-minded? We would surely become a laughing stock throughout the continent." The prince's words pierced like a dagger the heart of the princess. The king took a great breath and released it wearily. He knew what the prince said was conventional wisdom. He released the prince from his betrothal. So the Princess returned to her solitary existence, seeing no one other than her lady in waiting, Inepta, and her groom, the lowly Judicieux. She continued to relish her time spent among her magnificent stable of horses. Starved for companionship, Princess Malade began conversing ever more intimately with Judicieux on any number of subjects; to her great surprise, she found that he was informed, intelligent, and wise far beyond his station in life. He rivaled the courtiers, in fact, in his canniness. She began to harbor an idea. Despite the fact that Judiceux was neither rich nor handsome, nor the heir to a great throne, she was completely smitten with him. One day Malade approached the King and inquired, "Father, shall I never marry?" The King, surprised that the Princess would want to marry after the debacle with Prince Steven, responded to his daughter. "Why, Malade, you will never be wed to a sovereign, as you have seen, but you may of course marry—if only for companionship. And I suppose that if you have a male child, he will inherit the throne, whether he is a juddering idiot or not." "I have chosen my husband," she announced excitedly. The king, with little enthusiasm, asked who it would be. "I shall wed the most intelligent, thoughtful, and wisest man in all the kingdom," she told him. "Have you only just met him?" he inquired. "I have known him half my life," she replied. "And the King, seeing as Mlalade was very old now—almost twenty—knew this to be a long time indeed." "If you have made your decision, word shall go out, and a wedding will be arranged," he said, but still with scant enthusiasm. "Er... who have you chosen?" he asked. "Judicieux, chief groom of the stables," she told him. The King swallowed any remarks he might have had. And so a wedding was held. All the dignitaries attended, including Prince Stephen, who had since married and was beset by a harpy of a wife. He was barely able to draw a breath, but she would criticize him for it. But she had a fertile womb, and all of her children were likewise disposed to be curmudgeons. Stephen's kingdom was almost constantly at war due to his poor diplomatic skills. The prince looked upon Malade now with admiration, for certainly she was the most beautiful bride ever to grace this or any other castle. He had simply never noticed before. After the wedding, Judicieux, as the king's only daughter's husband, sparked an interest in the king. Like his daughter, he was pleasantly surprised by the native intelligence, thoughtfulness, and wisdom of his son-in-law. And as a part of the royal family, the former groom was drawn into the diplomatic corps and soon became the outstanding minister in his Majesty's service. And as his abilities became well known, so too did Malade's grace, manners, and loving instinct. They had many children, but one of them--like the princess and later the queen--had tremors, but the child was treated with patience, understanding, and compassion. After a long reign by her parents, that child, christened Empathique, served as the greatest sovereign that the kingdom ever saw. About the author:
Bill Tope is a retired Public Assistance caseworker who lives in Illinois (almost in the very shadow of the majestic Gateway Arch) with his mean little cat Baby. He has been a construction worker, a cook, a nude model, you name it.
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Rumors said Renata was a werewolf. The villagers preferred it than what her family could come up with, which was nothing. What caused the sudden convulsions? When asked, she could barely say, “I don’t know,” as her shoulders jerked and her eyes rolled around and around like the wheels on a wagon. It made Renata dizzy and the people in her village whisper to one another in confusion, judgment, and fear. It was enough to launch her mother into tears over the loss of her future and her father at a loss for what to do with his dowry. He gave up on a legacy through sons long ago, but this was another slight by a higher power that hated him. Of course it began the day before a full moon. Even if it wasn’t timed exactly right according to legend, it was just convenient enough for the villagers to joke about melting their fine silver into bullets as she walked. Each time their eyes watched Renata twist and turn they would throw bullet-like stares straight at her head. She did not see them all, but Renata saw one little boy point his toy pistol her way. “Bang, bang, Werewolf Lady!” he cried. Renata’s body jerked in multiple places with no warning, sparking a catastrophic symphony of twitches that tumbled out one after another. The boy dropped his toy gun and ran away, calling out for his mother in a panic. Passerbys gave her disgusted glances as she unraveled in the streets. By the time she got home, the only thing that stopped it was her sheer exhaustion. When she went to bed that night, she overheard her parents discussing what could be made of her future. Their verdict? Ruined. Girls were already damaged goods as far as children were concerned, but this was another level of damage in their eyes. What difference did it make? Perhaps a puppet daughter would have made a better match; they would have the tools to fix her the way they dreamed. They always made Renata’s future about their wants, but if she no longer had one, she had no obligation to obey. Her body would never obey her command, so she would follow its wildness into the woods. If she was damned by her community, then she would enjoy the privileges of being a beast of society: solitude. Renata’s form had no rules, no restrictions. She was wired to spark without caution in spite of the bodies she was supposed to mimic around her. In the woods, she could be unapologetically feral. It wasn’t without pains and aches from her unpredictable choreography, but wasn’t there always a deal that had to be made, even without the presence of gods or devils? That is the one rule Renata figured could not be broken, even in favor of disorder. A legend came about shortly thereafter, but there was no origin story. No divine intervention. No stories about the full moon being an exclusive night for her prowling. She was more terrifying than that: Renata simply was. About the author:
A content writer by day and the executive editor of Quail Bell Magazine at night, Gretchen is obsessed with words. Her work has appeared in Next Avenue, The Mighty, Blanket Sea, Rooted in Rights, and others. See more of Gretchen's work at www.writinggales.com.
"Cookies," the old woman hissed, standing over the churning cauldron. With steam rising to swathe her face, she continued in that same plaintive monotone, "Cookies. Cookies, cookies." Her voice was dry, sibilant as a snake. She stirred the great iron pot with a large wooden paddle, sometimes splashing the mixture over the rim of the cauldron, where it landed upon the oaken floor with a loud hiss and a little dissipation of steam. She ceased stirring and turned to a little room off the kitchen, where her "assistants" lay on the floor, chained to posts with collars about their necks. There were dogs and cats and red and gray squirrels and raccoons and other creatures, seven in all. Because seven was a Lucky Number! "Here, try a little of this," she murmured, approaching an orange cat with a filled spoon of the concoction. The cat sniffed the brew, then lifted a paw to bat at the spoon, spilling its contents. "Bad cat!" snarled the old woman, bopping the cat sharply on the nose with the wooden spoon. The cat hissed at her and made to scratch the old woman but the chain round the cat's neck impeded her. This set off a woofing and barking and snarling and hissing among the other captives, so the woman soon quitted the room. Some time later, after the cauldron had boiled for hours, the old woman reemerged at its side and, taking up a pair of ancient steel tongs, extracted the fruits of her labor: a large, plate-sized, perfectly browned chocolate chip cookie. "Cookies," she drooled yet again. "An' there's more where that come from!" The old woman wielded the tongs again and again and eventually turned up a large platter of Magic Chocolate Chip Cookies. But her night's work had just begun. Entering the little room containing the pets and forest creatures once more, she began breaking off pieces of cookie and placing them before the little animals. The dogs and raccoon and squirrel ate immediately and voraciously, but the cat sniffed suspiciously, remembering the bop on the nose; but soon even she was placidly consuming the confection. Moving furtively, the crone unlocked and removed the collars from round the creatures' necks. Consumed with eating the cookie fragments, they paid her no mind. At length, the old woman grunted. "Huh," she said. "I s'pose you'd better have some more." And she continued feeding the seven inmates till all the cookies--the whole big platter full--were gone. She turned away, muttering gravely, when suddenly there was a loud Pop! like the sound of an emerging Champagne cork. The old lady swivelled her head at once, just in time to observe the gray squirrel change into a little boy of about 5. Another Pop! and the orange cat changed into a little girl. And so it went, with each furry little creature magically transforming into a young child. They wore no clothes, of course, but seemed upset by their nakedness not at all. They sat in a little semicircle facing the old woman, waiting expectantly. "Okay, Beryl," she addressed the former cat, "What is there to steal at the Dickens's place?" Beryl began speaking rapidly in a little girl voice, while the old woman tried to write down what she said. And so it went with the other children, who retailed what they knew of private treasures in the vale and how best to purloin them. "Now, I'll get the older children to actually clean the town out," she muttered to no one in particular. The children still stared up at her from their seats on the wooden floor. "But for you kids, I've got a new assignment: find out what there is to take in Shelbyville; it's only a half mile away." The seven little faces bobbled up and down in agreement. "Now," she said seriously, "as for your disguise." So she fed them chicken wings and beer and switched on a football game, turning them all into animals again. About the author:
Bill Tope is a retired Public Assistance caseworker who lives in Illinois (almost in the very shadow of the majestic Gateway Arch) with his mean little cat Baby. He has been a construction worker, a cook, a nude model, you name it.
Once upon a time there was a girl, she had a chronic illness that made her have balance problems and dizzy spells. It was very dangerous for her to just walk around like a normal person. She was a constant fall-risk. So one day, she met the sweet little prince who would be the one to save her. She ordered him online and he was sent out to her by airplane. She went to the airport and picked up her little prince. He was a cute fluffy ball of fuzz hiding in the back of the small crate he was in. She reached in and called him by name, for she had already named her little prince. His name was Amos. He inched towards her as she put her hand into the crate to try to get him to come out from his hiding place. The little prince crawled towards her and climbed gratefully into her lap. She gave him some water and a little food to comfort him after his long cross-country trip. She put a collar and a leash on him and took him for a short walk to stretch his furry legs. Then they climbed into the car together where the little prince met the girl’s husband who was just as happy to see the little prince. The girl’s husband drove them home while the little prince sat in the girl’s lap the whole way home. She held him tightly and scratched him behind the ears and spoke to him softly the whole drive to his new forever home. The man and the girl took the little prince to their humble home where prince Amos was allowed to sleep on the soft and warm bed with his two new friends. They slept together as a pack, which was something the young prince was familiar with doing, having recently left his litter himself. The little prince was so smart that within two weeks, he had already figured out what his job was supposed to be, and he taught himself how to alert the girl when she was having balance problems, and he would walk beside her and take her hand in his mouth and pull her to the ground gently, so she could avoid falling down. Amos then went to service dog school with the girl to learn how to do his job better. Amos was always at the top of his class. He learned very fast and outshone all the other dogs in his classes. He got to the point where could alert his girl with 100% accuracy. A feat unseen before by his trainers. Amos got so good that when his girl had to start using a walker to be able to walk, that Amos could use his front feet to kick the girl’s feet gently as she walked to keep her gait proper as she used her new walking aid. All of these things were instinctual for the little prince. And he consistently helped her with her ailments. Then a day came where the little prince sniffed his girl and he smelled something different. He alerted her and she checked where he was sniffing. She called her doctor and told her doctor that her precious boy had found a lump. Her doctor said to always trust the dog, especially Amos because he was so in tune with the girl. And Amos was right. The lump got checked and the girl was diagnosed with cancer for the second time. This time the cancer had metastasized, and had spread throughout her body. Amos was on constant alert for new symptoms and ways to care for his girl. The cancer had entered the girl’s brain and paralyzed half of her body. So Amos kicked up his skills on his own and started alerting her to various side-effects and issues. He continued to help her to walk as much as he could and he started helping her to move her wheelchair. One arm was weaker than the other, so Amos took on the job of trying to pull the chair straight. He continued to help her in every way he could with alerting her to impending seizures. And helping her on her left side whenever her muscles failed her. This is not a story about how a damsel in distress needs a man to save her. In this girl’s case, she needed a service dog, and Amos the little prince came to her rescue. He was the love of her life, and he rescued her every single day for as long as they knew one another. And they lived happily ever after as they cared for one another constantly. About the author:
Judy lives in Arizona with her husband and her Giant Schnoodle Amos. She is a former library clerk. She struggles with a chronic illness and stage 4 cancer. Judy writes mostly fantasy, but occasionally delves into other genres. She writes books and short stories for all ages. Visit her website at JudyLunsford.com.a |
