The following day Cinderella went to play at her mothers grave. On the way there she greeted the little birds bathing in the bird bath, catching one with both of her tiny hands and carrying it under her arm like a football. She picked little white flowers called oxalis, little yellow flowers called dandelions, and little pink flowers called chickweed. She gathered these weeds to decorate the two graves below her favorite tree.
Much to her surprise, when she arrived, Gus was happily waiting for her. He sitting on the large rock that marked her mothers grave, nibbling on leftover cookie crumbs. She threw her arms up with joy, shouting his name, and then immediately crouched away from the frantic flapping of wings coming from her armpit. The patient bird flew away as soon as it was free.
She picked up her friend who had come back to life and kissed his walnut-sized head. She sat on the ground and began talk to her mother. She told her stories of her new sisters and step mother.
It wasn't long before her new sisters and step-mother began asking for things. At first they were small requests for Jack to bring home things like new dresses and pearl necklaces. Or for Cinderella to make them cakes and puddings. But then their requests grew into something far more greedy and selfish and became less like requests and more like demands.
"Why should she get her own room when me and Anastasia have to share?" whined Drisella.
They compromised. Cinderella gave up her room all together. Her new sisters each got their own room, and Cinderella got the whole attic all to her self. The whole drafty, unfinished attic.
As Cinderella grew older she had less time to visit her mother because the demands of her family were too time consuming. She had to wake up early to light the fireplaces, feed the animals, and make breakfast. She spent her days cleaning up after her sisters and tending to their every need, or rather, want. And in the evenings, after making and serving dinner, she was allowed to eat a small bowl of lentils or grains. Alone.
One morning Cinderella knelt to light the fireplace. She carefully arranged the logs and kindling. Then she had to light the kindling and get it to burn hot enough to ignite the log. Just then Drisella walked by her kicked her from begging, pushing her into the fireplace. Cinderella burned her forearm, but Drisella just laughed and plopped down to eat a cookie.
On another occasion Cinderella was talking to Timmy Taylor, the oldest son of their closest neighbor, while she fed the chickens and horse. Anastasia saw them laughing from her bedroom window so she rushed downstairs in nothing but her bath robe to order Cinderella inside to prepare her bath. Even at ten years old Anastasia was a flirt and needed the attention all for herself.
Her step mother always had something to complain about.
"What is the point of having these animals if we are not going to eat them?"
Teresa argued her point while she stuffed a bite of egg into her mouth at breakfast. Jack surrendered and as he left for work he told Cinderella to prepare a chicken for Teresa's birthday dinner.
At only ten, she tried to fulfill the request as best she could. She was eager to please her father, especially after her mother died and he remarried. She felt a sense of competition to earn her family's love. She had never killed anything before, but wanted to impress her family. She asked their closest neighbor, Mr. Taylor, for guidance. He told her the basics: tie it's feet, chop off it's head, pluck the feathers, remove the guts.
Nervous but determined she went home and caught one of their hens that she had named Lucy. She stroked her back as she carried her to the shed where she got some twine. It took her several minutes to tie the feet because Lucy kept kicking, but she did finally get it tied in a knot around one foot. She then tied the other end to a hook, letting the chicken hang upside-down. Cinderella pulled the axe off the shelf, which dropped hard to the floor hitting her only big toe with the blunt end of the iron head. She yelped but tried to swallow the pain. She struggled to lift the axe again. She gripped the handle with both little hands, took a deep breath and held it as she heaved the axe up and swung in one continuous motion. She knocked the hen like a piñata and the bird swung back and forth. Realizing this was not working she lowered the bird to the floor and with one last try and all her might she lifted the axe to her shoulder and dropped it, driving it through the neck of the chicken.
Blood poured out for a long time, coving the ground in sticky red liquid. Exhausted she slumped to her knees and began pulling out the feathers. This was much more difficult than she had anticipated. She spent a whole hour trying to pull each feather out with little success. Her fingertips were raw and then she remembered Mr. Taylor had said something about hot water. Tears burst from her eyes.
"This is impossible!" she screamed at the blood-covered feathery-corpse.
She picked herself up and trudged back to the house to get a pot. She filled it with water from the bird bath on the way back to the shed. She started a fire with loose sticks and branches next to the shed. This was easy for her as lighting fires was one of her many daily chores. Having no idea how hot it needed to be or for how long to leave it in the water, she pushed the carcass into the water and left it as she laid on her back and closed her eyes.
Part of her wanted to sleep there for the rest of the day, but she could not. The throbbing in her toe drummed so loudly and painfully that it could not be ignored. Instead she unlaced her shoe and pulled her foot out. Her pain and toe both seemed to double. Horrified, she gripped her toe and rocked back and forth in attempts to soothe the growing ache and fear.
Tssss.
The pot overboiled. Indignantly, she crawled to the pot and pushed it over, dumping out the bright red boiling water. She pulled on the feathers which now slipped out easily. She spend the next ten minutes plucking and cleaning the hot flesh. At last she was done. She tried to put her shoe back on but it wouldn't go in. So instead she put both the chicken and the shoe in the pot and limped back to the house.
When she opened the door her sisters were playing marbles in the parlor. Drisella looked up and screamed.
Anastasia turned her head to see what was so shocking. "Eww! What is that? Blood?! Get out of here, you're disgusting!"
Cinderella walked around the house to the kitchen doors and got to work to get the chicken in the oven as quickly as she could for she knew she was short on time. First she rubbed it with butter and herbs and then she topped it with lemon slices. She chopped a few potatoes and put those in the dish with the chicken. It all went into the oven and she just hoped it would turn out okay.
While it was cooking she tried to clean herself up. She still couldn't fit her foot back in her shoe so she decided to keep both shoes off. Her sisters and step-mother had never seen her feet before and they didn't know about her condition, but when Teresa saw that Cinderella didn't bother to put shoes on when she served the dinner she had more than a little to say about it.
"Child, you neglected your duties today. My daughters were forced to wear their morning clothes all day because you were no where to be found. And now you don't even have the decency to put your shoes on when you serve me dinner on my birthday!"
"My toe..."
"Oh my! What is wrong with you? Look at her foot, my princesses, she's deformed."
"What a freak." Drisella mocked.
"You should cut off the extra part so you don't look like such a freak." Anastasia urged.
"Yes, that is a marvelous idea, Anastasia. Go, Cinderella, take care of that eyesore." Teresa handed Cinderella a knife off the table.
Gaping, Cinderella looked to her father, who averted his eyes and clenched his teeth. "Yes, step-mother." She took the knife and returned to the kitchen, but without stopping she bolted through the back doors. Still holding the knife she ran to her mothers grave. The pain in her heart outweighed the pain in her foot and body. She flung herself on the large rock hugging it as if it could actually transfer to her mother and wept.
"As hard as I try to please them I never can."
Her mind raced and hatred grew, not toward her family, but toward herself. She told her mother about her very hard day and everything she had gone through.
"I tried Momma, I really did. But it was too hard. I couldn't do it. I can't do anything right. I think I hurt Lucy's feelings and I hit her really hard. Mr. Taylor said They don't suffer if you just chop their heads off but I couldn't lift the axe. I couldn't pluck the feathers. I couldn't clean the house. I couldn't even help my sisters get dressed. I can't do anything right. And now I can't even fit into the shoes you gave me. I'm worthless!"
She sniffled and sat up. Determined to do something to fix the turmoil inside of her. She stabbed her toe. There was a release that came with the act so she stabbed it again. And then began to saw at joint until it was completely dethatched.
"There. At least I did that right."
This time the pain was welcomed. She preferred the physical pain over the emotional pain. At least it made sense. She cut off part of her dress with the knife and wrapped up her bleeding toe.
She dug a small hole in the earth and placed the severed tip of her toe in it. She pushed dirt back over it and topped it with a smooth stone as if it was a grave.
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Come read more of The (fictional) True Crime Story of Cinderella next Monday!
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This was really difficult for me to write. It hurt my heart.
I do research on each part of what I put into my story.
So I want to share this information about
self-harm.
