Anne Riley

Emily White over at Stepping Into Fantasy is hosting a great blogfest today, and I am determined to get it written and posted before the 8:00 bell rings (yep, I’m a teacher, if you didn’t know). That’s dedication, folks. Blogging at 7:37 am is nothing short of a triumphant feat.

The point of today’s Fairy Tale Blogfest is to write a short entry based on a fairy tale, but with a big twist of some kind. I’ve chosen Cinderella, and… well, just read to see what kind of twist I’ve put on it!

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“I hate this stupid dress,” Cinderella muttered as she hunkered behind the marble column. “It itches like crazy. Oh, and by the way, I’ll never forgive you for the shoes. Glass, Pete? Really?”

“Shut up and find the target, Cindy,” a deep male voice growled through her earpiece. “He’s gotta be impossible to miss. Just look for all the teeny boppers.”

Cinderella – or Cindy, as she was known among her fellow assassins – rolled her eyes. “This one is almost too easy.”

But Pete didn’t reply, so she took a deep breath, swallowed her pride, and stepped out into the sickeningly posh ballroom. It took all her willpower not to scowl at the crowds of obsessed fans who had somehow managed to finagle their way into the party. To her right was a gaggle of high school girls wearing matching t-shirts (screen printed with the prince’s face, of course); to her left, a group of tipsy middle-aged women cackled and swatted at each other, no doubt making disturbing, cringe-inducing comments about His Highness.

Finally, she spotted him: Surrounded by bodyguards, Prince Charming was making his way to the front of the room, where he would pick the lucky girl (Cindy emitted a small snort at the idea that such a girl would be considered lucky) for the first dance.

“Alright,” Cindy whispered into the hidden mic without moving her lips, a skill she’d been trained for at Assassin Camp the summer before. “I’ll have a clear shot during the dance. Unless… uh oh….”

“What?” Pete hissed. “Oh, no, don’t tell me he’s doing that. Don’t even say it.”

But Prince Charming was coming closer. “Yep,” she muttered. “I told you this dress was a bad idea.”

The prince was right in front of her now, so she gave him her most dazzling smile. Was there any way this could work to her advantage?

“May I have this dance?” he asked, hand outstretched. Every eye in the place was on her, including those of the miserable looking high school girls.

She gritted her teeth and let her hand graze the gun beneath her dress before replying. “Why, of course! I’d be delighted!”

“Knock ‘em dead, Cindy,” Pete chuckled in her ear. “Just don’t fall for him, whatever you do.”

Again, Cindy rolled her eyes. Like that would ever happen, she thought.

Quick reminder:

I’m co-hosting a flash fiction contest with awesome prizes. Have you entered yet? The deadline is TUESDAY!!

Dawn Embers is hosting the Word Paint Blogfest tomorrow over at her blog! And in true Anne Riley fashion, I’m posting a day early because otherwise I’ll probably forget about it.

The goal of this particular blogfest is to practice writing descriptively. Since description is one of my biggest weaknesses as a writer – no, check that, it is THE biggest weakness – I thought this might be a good challenge.

This particular scene comes from my current WIP entitled Synthesis. The basic story is that a plane has been hijacked – by its own crew. They’ve just landed on a strange, jungle-covered island, and the passengers are being led to an unknown destination by their captors. Enjoy!

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We start off down the trail and I immediately wish my hands were free so I could swat the ten million gnats that buzz around our heads. The jungle pulses with croaks, squawks, and screeches, and I’m positive that any minute now, I’ll get stung by a killer bee or jumped on by a poison dart frog. Something deep in the trees lets out a low growl, and the hair on my arms stands on end.

We walk for at least an hour. The terrain is covered in hills and valleys. At one point, we have to wade through a stream. The cold water is a welcome relief because we’re all covered in jungle sweat – I swear it’s more humid here than it is back in North Carolina, and that’s saying a lot. The buzzing and croaking and squawking in the trees around us never stops, not even for a minute, and after a while I almost stop noticing it. A thin film of dirt is gathering on my jeans and my body is screaming for water; I think about the stream we went through and decide I might give my right arm to go back and get a drink out of it. The other passengers seem to be thinking the same thing. I can hear Hippie Guy panting behind me and everyone in my line of vision is drenched with sweat.

Finally, just as my legs are about to give out and my vision starts to blur, we stumble up one last hill and emerge onto a large plateau which is covered in sand and exposed to the sky. Without the constant jungle canopy over our heads, there’s nothing to stop the sun from beating down on us. Everyone, including the people holding us hostage, lets out an exhausted sigh.

I hadn’t realized it before, but apparently we’ve been making our way up the side of a mountain. From the plateau, we can see over the jungle below us and out to the ocean, which sparkles in the early morning light. The mountain continues to rise above us, but it’s clear this is our stopping point for now.