Rapunzel

A/N: From an old exercise book of mine; year 9. But I've added major improvements to it (I wasn't as experienced when I was 13).

Disclaimer: Folly to suggest I was even alive when the real fairytale was made. I just added to make it more of a horror story…

A curtain of her hair slithered down. She took it in her hands and started to plait it. Whilst she worked, she hummed a sad tune, reflecting on the ruins that had once been a life. Her life. She hadn't always been sad—once she had been good natured. And now she was reduced to this; a life of solitude, murder, loneliness. It had begun with the witch—the witch who had traded a pittance of cress for her, baby Rapunzel. Rapunzel hadn't even been her original name; it was one the witch had given her.

She had murdered her own flesh and blood, her own younger sisters. She had been angry at the time. She regretted it now. They had taken her place, though! She was supposed to be in that village with her parents! So why was she in a god forsaken tower, left to rot alone with the smallest of mice and biggest of rats for company? She had spiders and insects for comrades, while others enjoyed the friendship provided by other humans.

While everyone else her age had played outside with the other children, Rapunzel had been stuck inside with only her hopes and dreams and imagination. But with every second falling fast, her hopes had gone up in flames, her imagination had retreated until the only reminder of it were her memories of pretend games and make believe—and one by one those memories had combusted until all that was left were dreams. Most were nightmares, and they lingered. All of the good went, but one pleasant dream prevailed, preserved by some miracle or travesty.

A horse as black as the witch's hat would ride through the brambly and rambling forest; it would amble past the lakes and canter to the tower. Its rider would be a prince; tall, handsome and searching for a damsel in distress with a perfect singing voice. She would be that damsel. And he would rescue her so bravely, and they would ride back to his kingdom where he would kneel and ask earnestly for her hand despite her past. And she would accept with such poise, and such grace and such beauty, that the entire kingdom would proclaim it a sin if their prince did not marry this enchantress! And after they had married, they would do what all respectable couples do: they would live happily ever after.

But it was a dream. And dreams disappeared with ease when you lived alone in a stone tower. Dreams disappeared easily when you had murdered. And lone dreams, outnumbered by the bad, faded with such ease that the dream had faded almost immediately after it was thought of longingly for one. Last. Time.

Rapunzel muffled a sob as this last dream faded. She had given up waiting, surrendered completely to her impatient side. She wound her long, blonde hair around her slender neck, and as this took a while, she thought of the simple pleasure in being free. She would be dead, but no longer a prisoner to her thoughts and feelings and her neglect. She would leave behind confused commoners—no princes to date, and now there never would be—who never had found out how she had lured her sisters to her tower and then killed them, but they would not be sad.

She had finished winding. This was it. Now or never. Preferably now. She leaned out of the window with her hand tightly gripping the end of her noose. She pulled down hard and went tumbling to the ground with a splat. Dead.

And then a horse as black as the witch's hat cantered toward the tower. Its rider was a prince; tall, handsome and surprised at the sight meeting his eyes. He had not bravely saved her. Instead he watched as the blood poured out of her mangled body. At his feet, the message appeared. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair, so I may climb without a stair."

And her brave and courageous prince fled cowardly past the lakes, and back through the brambly and rambling forest, to his kingdom where he asked a princess, the princess Nollie, to be his bride and where, at dinner, when asked of his day, he told his father, the King James, casually of the increase in suicide rates. And the entire kingdom proclaimed it would be a sin if the prince actually married the princess Nollie, and after they had married, and had two children together, he discovered Nollie was cheating on him—and as good princes do, he immediately executed her. And years later, after living an unhappy and unfulfilling life, the prince thought of that girl he had found in the forest. The dead girl.

Rapunzel.

And even as death embraced him, he knew deep down that she was waiting once more.

And this time, without a horse and without a forest or a lake in the way, without a stone tower or a past to incriminate them with, they would be together. She would wait no more.