Fairytale of Gotham City
The school bell rang.
„Now class, please wait just another minute or two. I have something to tell you." Miss. Markov clapped her hands as soon as the bell rang, indicating the end of school day. Her pupils made pained faces of people who were in school for long. It was Friday after all.
„Don't worry, it really won't last long. Now, sit down Eleanor, Daniel. I only have a little proposition for you. I recently found out there is a writing competition for children your age. Our school principal green lighted the project. The awards are plenty. Apperently the first prize is a rether luxurious drone." She looked over the class, ensuring that she had the attention of all of her students.
„What kind of a writing competition is it?" Eleanor asked, her interest mildly piqued. She was probably the most competitive of all her students. Any chance to be better than someone Eleanor took gladly.
„ Glad you asked. The theme of the competiton is: Farytales."
The whole class instantly groaned, some of them even rolled their eyes. At eleven years old, most of them considered themsleves too old to read and love farytales. Only one face lit up. Mary Angela, the little dark haired girl that always sat at the far end of the classroom no matter how much Miss- Markov pulled her nearer to the board to see better. The girl was the shortest in the class. But also the smartest kid her teacher has ever met.
Mary's face lit up from it's usualy sendor look. The little one was a fierce reader, she read books way beyond her age group. Having that in mind, her essays were always 5 worthy, but a bit on the imaginative, creative side. A job like this will be a treat for her. Miss Markov was curious as to what her definetely-not-favourite pupil will pull up form her sleeve. It will surely be something else.
The rest of the class was far less enthusiastic. Comments started to shower, some of the students thought that with the theme of the competition said, they were free to go home. Those who werw a bit more studious asked questions before she had time to answer
„ Miss Markov, do we really have to write a farytale? Those are for little kids."
„ How long does it need to be?"
„ Do we really have to write it?"
„When do we have to give it?"
The last question Mary's. Her teacher gave her a small smile and clapped her hands once more to calm the full classroom. With a stern look perfected over the years she stoped the few boys and girls that tried to sneak out.
„Now now. I'll answer all of your questions. Your parent's have already recieved an email regarding the competition so they will be able to answer any extra questions you may have and help you with the story. And of course my email adn our class group is always available." She walked to the whiteborad and quickly started scriblling on it.
„ The fairytale must have the proprieties of a proper fariytale. We studied them so you should know what those are. Fabularity, batlle of good and bad, usually but not necesarly a happy ending, main charachters, fantasy elements are welcome and so on." She wrote those down and turned to face the class again when seh noticed Daniel's hand shot up in the air. „Yes, Daniel?"
„What do you mean it doesn't need to have a happy ending? I thought all fariytales had one."
„ It is more common if they do but remember (Djevojčice sa žigicama). Her story has a quite the bittersweet ending. That is all. Have a pleasant weekend."
the classroom cleared out in span of two minutes, as it usually did on Fridays. And as per usualy Mary Angela was the last one out. That little girl never did anything fast or hastly unless the situation called for it. Poor little one lived with her uncle, who was in a wheelchair and couldn't leave their home without help. Mary was his whole world and even dough he was unable to go to parent- teacher meetings he emailed her regularly.
„Bay ."
„Goodbye Mary Angela, have a nice weekend."
I wonder what kind of story will she write. I'd like to know what happens in that girls head. She reminds me of someone, well of two people I used to know so long ago...
Not wanting old memories to resurface from the dark pit she had buried them in, Tara took her purse, turned the laptop and the lights of and walked out of the classroom.
„Hey Midget! What's up with the weird boots?"
„ Yeah you goin on a rodeo or something?"
These kinds of comments are what followed her every walk back home. Stupid Jack and his band of morons. What she really wanted was to send them to an another dimension. But really, turning their hair into snakes would be just as effective. Immideatelly her Uncle's voice rang in her head, deep and friendly: „Remember Angie, not being in control of you emotions means not being in control of your powers."
And her powers could do some serious damage. They were already the cause of them moving multiple times and her changing schools countless more. Uncle wanted her to have as normal life as possible, and unfortunetelly that meant socialising with other kids her age. Introverted by nature, Mary had a hrad time with that. To her, kids her age were extremely noisy and often acted stupidly.
Ignoring the rest of the comments and preteen-level insults, Mary finaly came to her apartment complex. But before she typed the lock code, one more comment was thrown her way.
„ Oh and weirdo, just don't write a heartbreaking story about you parents' death, okay? We don't need teacher crayng over you even more!"
Mary opened the door and went for the elevator. The familiar buzz and crawl of the elevator calmed her somewhat. She thought a little about what Jack said. To think that miss Markov pitied her was simply ridiculous, her teacher was a kind woman who kept to her beliefs with a rock solid grip. She never favoritised anyone. Bit something other soon came to her mind.
The story of her parents. Why would she write their story? It's sad, and not at all faytale-like. Plus Jack only knew the polished, civilian- friendly version of the story.
Wel...the real version vas a bit like a farytale. There was a princess, a wich, a superhero and the battlle of good and bad, plus the good guys won. But the ending... now that was another thing. The ending was not exactly...kids appropriate. She found out about it only because she read her uncle's mind that one time. He was having a nightmare and she tried to help him by calming his thoughts, he told her her mother could do that and she always wanted to explore her powers. When she entered his sleep relam, she discovered the full sad story. How her parents died.
The elevator stopped, she shook the sad thoughts away. She can now be herself. Not Mary Angela, but Arella, a badass almost teenage sorceress. Tonight was foreign cousine for dinner, she wondered what country did her uncle choose. They've been thourght most of the North American countries, half Europeian and almost every Asian had yet to start South America, Australia and in Africa they did only Egypt. Uncle said it was good to know more foregin cousines, that it might come usefull to her later in life. But Arella thought he just liked an excuse to make a mess in the kitchen. Plus it kept him from getting bored when he couldn't make
„Hey Peanut! How was school?" her uncle called from their kitchen when she entered thh apartment.
„The usual. Althought we did get an interesting assingment from English today."
„oh really. Miss Markov gave you an essay to write over the weekend?" Uncle's voice always got a bit strained when he spoke about her favourite teacher.
„yes, she told us about a writing compettition. The challenge is tho write a farytale."
„well kiddo that should be no problem for you. You read more that even your mother did."
Knowing that they are on a sensible topic Arella quickly asked: „Did you start making dinner already? What's that smell?"
„dinner won't be for a couple of hours. But feel free to guess the country."
Having discarded her school robes for something more comfortable, a dark blue leotaard and lime green shorts, Arella steped into their huge kitchen where her uncel was peeling some potatoes.
„Is it a Eruropean one?"
„yup. But I'm sure you never heard of it.
Arella jumped on the kitchen counter, dandling her legs and peering into the biggest pot they had. It was filled with floating cabbage rools. It did not look very appetizing.
„Uh, could we have breafkast for dinner again?"
„very funny peanut. I spent the while afternoon looking for this recipe. We are eating it." he continued cutting the potatoes.
„Fiine.I'mm gona meditate for a bit. Holler when the... thing is done." Arella jumped of the counter and went for her room.
„Sure thing."
Arella came into her room once apartment was way too big for them, having three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Arella's room was actually the smallest, but it had the best view.
Don't write a heart breaking story about your parents, he said.
Arella sat turkish style in front of the floor-to-ceeling windows. She started the meditation process and the last thing she thought before slipping into her Nevermore was: Why that's exactly what I'm going to do. And I'm going to win that competition.
Monday morning came. Arella started writing the story on a Saturday morning and wrote all thourgh Sunday. Friday night's dinner was suprisingly tasty for something that looked like a vivisection gone wrong.