Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #13 April 2015 - Page 72

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, but they turned out to be decent if bizarre mugs. So they took me in. At first I took care of the house, but that had half the guys in a political dust up because of all this negative stereotyping and bending to outdated gender roles and crap, and the others were insisting that it wasn’t them subjecting the young female to household slavery, it was prudence to keep me out of sight. Upshot of it was I ended up working the mines along with them and really loathing the fact I had to find the only seven dwarves living in a little commune of politically correct socialist hell. But I can crush a fucking melon between my thighs. So the day it’s my turn to do the household chores and cook the meals, this old bird shows up. She looks like the little sister God had that He created the paper bag as head wear for. Selling apples. I don’t need any damn apples, I’m baking peach pie, and the dame goes on about how men folks love them some apples which was going over like a steel balloon. Hey, old woman, we don’t abide by your insensitive and unenlightened antique man-woman social class opinions. I was desperate to get the old bag out of the yard so I could get back to work when she starts on insisting her damn apples are magic. Take a bite, make a wish, ta-da, Bob’s your bloody uncle. So I took a bite of the apple and wished she’d get her wrinkled liver spotted ass out of there. # And that was my last memory. I finally tore through the cobweb fog and found myself staring at some dude. You know the sort. Tall, handsome, blond wavy hair begging for you to run your fingers through it, shoulders just right to lock your arms around, blue eyes you could set sail in. ‘Prince’ written all over him. A nice beefy place to rest my eyes a while. Then I realize I’m uncomfortable as hell made of cat claws and poison ivy. Why? I see a wad of half- PAGE 72 chewed apple on the ground, a fucking glass box tipped over, a big white coffin, and me half out of it. The guy tells me I was so beautiful in my undecaying death that he wanted to kiss me, realized my airway was blocked and performed the Heimlich manoeuvre instead. I had been found in a death-like state by my roommates and they built this monument to me and encased me in glass. This was a fucking year ago! So many questions. Like, why the hell didn’t it dawn on my idiot pals to see if there was anything in my mouth? They’re all about equal rights, I guess corpses also get the right to just lay the re and be dead. Why was I undecaying? My guys are good with building things, but even an air tight glass coffin isn’t going to keep my rotting carcass springtime fresh. And what the hell is going through Prince Handsome’s mind, necrophilia? God damn it, I wish the royals around here would stop finding their cousins so bloody attractive. The hunk’s name turned out to be Sam, and he wasn’t all about dead chicks in glass coffins. He had some book learning behind that pretty face. Said the apple I ate was enchanted. Usually can only be countered once eaten by true love’s first kiss. Then he admits his parents sent his toned and muscular ass off into the world to find a pretty princess and the easy way is to look into all the cases where it looks like the gal’s chugged some magic poison. I liked him a lot more when he was honest. So why did the old broad poison me? That was no skeezy old woman, my fine companions tell me. That was the fucking queen. Sacculina. Disguising herself as a harmless hag to get at me after discovering that her tasty snack of roasted princess heart was nothing more than a wild boar’s ticker. And that’s when I cracked, smash, like that fine porcelain cup that your great grandma slung into the wall while screaming at the maid for spitting into the tea. It was all a heady acid boil in my brain. Sacculina took it all. My Dad, my kingdom, my fuck-