This is something I previously posted to my now deleted blog (The Writer's Quill). I wrote it during my Creative Writing sessions at university. Do read. There are notes at the bottom for discussive purposes.
Golden long, luscious curls. Perfectly arched brows. Large twinkling blue eyes. A small but sharp nose. Red, full lips. Pearly skin. I had none of those. My first husband married me for my dowry, and my second for the role I could play as mother to his daughter. Even with his dying breath, he cared for nothing but his daughter. Was I not beautiful?Why couldn’t you love me?
My nights were tormented with anguish. Every time I’d kiss my daughters good night and bid them sweet dreams, my own dreams were anything but an endless, private hell. I was alone, again. Not that the presence of a husband had eased that loneliness, but the sound of rhythmic breathing next to me helped calm my nocturnal frenzy. Even the birth of my two daughters did not give me the happiness of companionship and familiarity that I so yearned. In their round, white faces, I saw my own loneliness, and the curse that followed my face – of being too insignificant to be loved. Perhaps my late husband chose me out of countless others because I was no rival for his affections.
Night after night, I’d teach my children to be wonderful proper ladies. I wanted to believe that there was a person who would love them for their skills and their nature despite their lack of looks. That there was a God who would deliver me from my torment, but how could that be when he puts me face-to-face with my tormentor every day?
My tormentor is an innocent child. Innocent? She bats her long lashes at the baker down the street and she comes home with pastry crumbs all over her frock. And when I’d request she bathe and change her clothes, she’d laugh and run up the stairs to the attic. How she torments me with that face! Her smile cynical as she silently mocks me, knowing that her father loved her more! I try and try to give her my love, to let her know the mother she never knew nor had but she would never accept me, nor listen to me. But God saw my sin and punished me with guilt – I hated her fervently, vehemently, with the same passion I prayed for forgiveness and redemption.
I pray to my God to release me from my hate, my pain, my jealousy. My God is a cruel God who laughs at me. Perhaps even God loves those who are beautiful. But I was born this way! My voice had quickly dwindled to a dull noise, and tears had long become dry as dust. As the years passed by quickly, my fears and dread doubled just as swiftly. The years had not been kind to my daughters for they were no more beautiful than before, although they were wonderful daughters and though I was proud of them, somewhere in my heart I was secretly ashamed of them.
My other child, on the other hand, was favoured upon by God and men alike. Time had softened her features, her hair no longer honey blonde but gold. She was an enchanting creature and I sometimes fell under her spell but when I’d awaken from my stupor, I’d curse my stupidity because as beautiful as she was, she was not my angel - to deliver me from temptation, to love and protect me. Her clothes were stained with soot from the chimney which I forbade her to go but the frequent stains were proof of her insolence. I know my neighbors think me evil – they think her dirty clothes are because of harsh chores that I impose on her - but I am only human, and slave to my ugliness. But my daughters had suffered from gossip too. They were the “evil stepsisters” who abused their innocent, beautiful, kind and loving sister. How I cursed my fate! For those whose form is so repulsive such as mine, could never be loved nor where they fit for love. There was none who’d speak for me.
Notes
I've always loved Cinderella, the fairy tale. In this version, as you've guessed, I'm writing from the stepmother's point of view. In this version, the stepmother suffers from a trauma about being ugly and unloved. She feels unloved because she is lacking beauty. Her first marriage was because of money and in her second, it was because of convenience. When she comes face-to-face with "Cinderella" who is beautiful and loved by everyone, she sees her nemesis in her. Her envy, jealousy, hate, anguish, regret are all embodied in her stepdaughter and it makes her feel worse that she has to confront all these ugly emotions.
Her trauma is worsened by the fact that her own daughters are not beautiful, and she sees the same fate in her children's futures. She becomes fearful of their futures and when she looks at her stepdaughter she can't help but despise her for she foresees a different future for Cinderella. Her lack of beauty as she perceives it is a constant source of low self-esteem, and it affects her social skills as seen in her relationship with her Cinderella. Because of her lack of social skills, her neighbour think she's cruel and mistreating her stepdaughter when in truth, she isn't. She doesn't even speak up for herself and defend. She is very disempowered, not only be her gender, her self-identity, but also by her looks.
You will notice that I hardly made reference to Cinderella and her stepsisters and this is to force the reader to identify with the stepmother. Also, I don't write too much because I want to provide some sense of ambiguity about their character so that the reader may question the stereotypes of these characters and ponder on them. For example, I'm sure that right now, my readers must be thinking, "Hmm, what is Cinderella really like?"
No comments:
Post a Comment