Exercise in Forgetting
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Jim Henson.
I.
Take the child. But he wasn't and she didn't. Say the words, until she did, and then it was.
There's after, if it's chronicled back and she remembers. A dream within a dream, once before. It's a story that goes on forever, because it's stuck in its end, but doesn't stop. Said the words, and took the child. Repeat, reverse, rewritten.
Before. She wishes. There's words, and she used them cruelly, there's consequences, because speaking is an action. He told her, and she answered, made truth. Breathe in to speak, here it begins.
II.
It was a dark, cold night. You take care of your brother, and that was how it went.
There's singing in her mind now, which is a dream. There's a storm, but she dances and runs and kicks dust around that clings to this dress, and some parts are more dream than others. There's half remembering and make believe. Memories slip away like pieces of mirror and pour out to drown her again.
Because words hold power, and what is there to remember? It was cold, and she hadn't gone to sleep, but still, the storm during the crying, something about singing and it's still dark when she wakes.
III.
She finds a book, on the floor, and reads a page that isn't blank, reads to Toby. A book is found on the floor, it's thrown against the wall, and her head hurts, aches, thunders and the baby cries.
A frog is usually a prince, you know, and the princess holds the power. Lie there bent and silent, body hitting stone. The book does, the frog will. In the lamplight, there's shadows on the wall and there's laughing, which is a sound and means as much as seeing.
You have no power over me, she tells the stately frog, but not quite prince, once her crystal ball is retrieved. You fell in love, but it won't be returned. I fear you, but that shouldn't matter.
IV.
Oubliette originates from French, her stepmother says uncaringly when asked during dinner. To forgot. Forget the child, she hears, over the table. Take care of the child, her father had said and will repeat. Stay in your room, so she goes this time.
In her room is a vanity, where she can watch its mirror deepen. You put people in to forget about, hurts her head. But mirrors don't speak and you can't leave people there. In the forest, leave the child but bring her heart back to me. Most beautiful of the land, the mirror admits and will repeat.
Ordinary girl, an older voice says in a new dream, like the frog, like pain and the singing. Unfair, isn't it?
And the queen wasn't pleased, replaced by a child. Mirror, mirror. Take the girl and leave her. Take the heart and prove it.
A huntsman sets out to betray her.
V.
You're a dream, she says, lying on her stomach. Why do I keep waking up before it ends?
The man isn't pleased, inhuman man, mismatched man, stands close enough to touch the bed. Then, don't.
I can't sleep, she insists stubbornly in a younger week, the prince is supposed to tell me what is real.
Stop wasting your simple words. Forget all these stories.
VI.
Once upon a time a girl finds a little red book, both are like many others. But before that, a little brother, bother, was born, and before that, her father found her a stepmother and before that, her mother left her behind. That is how the stories begin, isn't it?
She can recite it from memory, and it's like wondering about the big eyes, but after the sharp teeth.
I wish, she says and her head thunders, feels like falling, is pulled by its hair. But I already wished, and it hurt everyone, and there's more everyone than I know about.
It's time to grow up now and leave it behind, the man, not-prince but more, orders repeatedly from across the table. They can't hear him, talking about weather, work, schools, Toby, tomorrows, but she thinks they'd agree.
Does it end happily, she pleads him when alone, holding the battered book as an offering and it circles.
VII.
She feels feverish with her sleep and dried tears. Crowded without friends, her shaded room is so busy in its silence and clutter. There is such little room left in her mind that she keeps pushing things out, so she pushes.
I can take it back, I will.
He laughs in scorning delight, until even that freezes. You already did, but for the last strike. Always taking.
I'm sorry.
And indulging me, he mocks, like I have you. So many of you are sorry, and why, none of them remember. Yes, you special one. At own peril, keep you're guessing games and wishes.
What is it you want from me? Why didn't I give it to you before?
He watches her, the smooth face she wants to explore with her hands but scares her. Because I have to take what you don't save yourself.
VIII.
My kingdom is as great as yours, she screams as the words burn her and torture her mind. It's expanding and she's running with Ludo and Hoggle, who are distant names to her but she wants to know, until the castle walls change to stairs and lead her up and down, sideways and nowhere.
That one Escher painting has a three point perspective like an optical illusion, it was in an art book her stepmother gave her, and caused her a dizzy spell.
Who would jump down such stairs, she wonders as white hot pain crushes her bones and rips through skin.
Stories punish their villains. Stepsisters lose their toes, wolves drown or get cooked, the witch goes in the oven and Bluebeard dies. One stepmother was made to dance in shoes like hot coals that burned her feet.
IX.
Is this still the teenager phase or a more serious complaint?
She's looking at her father tiredly. I'm an adult, she says, and hears invisible laughter behind her.
You're barely seventeen, her stepmother counters and touches her husband's arm gently. We hardly see you outside your room.
You're still having nightmares, her father adds promptly and somewhere she's glad they notice her still, because she has since long stopped.
Oh, I'm used to those.
X.
Sleep had grown to be a punishment, she seeks the more for it, and her every step felt like it cut her feet. Take my voice, but here she is screaming and fractured.
Do as I say, he is telling her, with hair sticking out but eyes so sharp. Before you make the world fall down.
Two worlds desperate to right themselves and failing, pulling at her while he sleeps next to her, so there's no need to stab him.
There's always a price to pay, he warns her with closed eyes. Take the child and don't look back.
Yet children spill so many tears that she'll be part of the sea forever, so how did this one end?
XI.
Dreams of a familiar castle, that is now wrapped up in roses, dust and silence instead of paths. She has slept for hundreds of years, and his eyes flick to her for a second.
Did you fight your way to the castle? she asks him, and finds it so funny it hurts her like tiny needle pricks. I remember who you are, I don't think I ever really forgot.
Such a pity that you don't remember what you made me do.
When have you ever done anything I wanted?
And then he's violence and presence, darkening eyes and sharpness, his gloves the only thing keeping her skin from forcing the bleeding outside. She doesn't wake when he kisses her, branded by his lips and anger, vengefulness, defeat.
The goblin king fell in love with you, he reminds as if it's an unbearable thing. But you've run out of time.
XII.
There were warnings she supposes, as she faces the hungry wolf alone. She cried for him, after all, cried out for this danger every night and felt it consume and burn, when better left alone. A labyrinth is different from a maze, in the sense that it inevitably leads to the center.
I wish for the Goblins to take me away, she says at last, through her tears and breathes in.
fin.