Short Stories

Wicked

It was a cold winter night the first time she hit me. I had embarrassed her she claimed. I always knew I wasn't enough for her, for them, for the monsters I called parents. Perfection was key in that nightmare household I called home for too many years. Perfection was never a strong suit of mine. Punishments were frequent. I had earned their hatred and have still yet to earn their love, affection or pride.

"Let's have a baby!" My loving husband had suggested for the thousandth time. A baby. A family. That's what this kind man wanted from me. Me to be his perfect bride, perfect wife, perfect mother. He hadn't yet gotten the memo that I was far from perfect, but I would try. I would try for him.

"Okay, darling. Let's have a baby." I agreed. I was foolish to agree. Misery is what came next. A difficult pregnancy that could have killed me. Nursing the little girl who was supposed to be the light of my life according to others. Nursing made my breasts sore and the hungry baby could never get enough. Slowly I lost my husband to our child. Finally, I lost my perfect husband forever when he fell to his death. He left me with our spoilt girl who only grew more and more beautiful. As she grew older I watched her become everything I couldn't be. She was graceful. She was gorgeous. She was smart. She was quiet. She was funny. She was perfect. My parents loved her. Everyone started to ignore the woman who had birthed her. She grew and grew. Her body developed. Perfection continued to follow her. Nothing I did, dimmed the light that everyone seemed to think shined around her.

I locked the girl away in our house, largely confined to her room. My suitors would come to the house, delighted with the elegance within my home, I copied my daughter, but it was never enough. I was never perfect enough. My beauty was never enough. Each man left me and my daughter alone within the walls that held us together. I was reminded, I was not enough. My parents would give me the look of distaste I had come to fear in my youth whenever I showed up to a gathering without my daughter. I'm ashamed to admit I still fear that look, a look clouded with hared that often led to punishment, often a beating. What would they do to me if they knew just how twisted I was?

It was only a year after my daughter's fourteenth birthday that I realized I needed help. Help to be beautiful, strong and perfect as my daughter naturally was. I found a witch who was willing to help. She gave me a potion, but this potion came with strict conditions. This potion would make me beautiful, strong and as perfect as my parents had always hoped I would be. However, I was only given six viles, when the last vile ran out I would be as ugly and haggard on the outside as I was on the inside. I believed back then that I was good. I deeply believed I was kind, good-hearted, and sweet-natured, and just needed a push to be the gorgeous person my parents wanted me to be.

Suffice to say I was wrong. I kept my daughter locked away, despite being fragile and pale she became increasingly beautiful, generous, and kind-hearted. Everything I now know I wasn't. My daughter grew and I could never find a man to replace her father. Bitter and alone, I now could've had my parents' approval, if only they could see my child. Of course, people asked questions about where my daughter was, I always had excuses.

I was cruel to my daughter. I pushed her down and tried to break her spirits. I wish I could say I regret what I did to my daughter, I don't. I thought I was doing what I had to do. I had to be the best. I had to be perfect. Trapped in a house with memories of my deceased husband, I only had a mirror for comfort. One by one each vile disappeared. I became increasingly desprate to achieve my end goal. Now, looking back I realise that I'm not sure what it was. Perhaps it was to finally find a good man to replace my perfect husband. Maybe I just assumed I would be beautiful and charming and my lovely daughter would diminish and decay in her natural beauty as mine grew. Childish notions I understand now.

It was a cold winter night when it happened. My daughter left, running from the cage that was our home. My mirror showed me where it had been a gift from the witch and I could see whatever I wanted through the reflective glare of the mirror. She was safe, something that made me boil with hatred. She was taken in and protected. I watched as her kindness kept her in the warmth of the seven dwarfs' home. Her beauty infatuated the group and they all kept her as comfortable as possible. I wondered if they would do the same for me. She met a nice young man out in the woods. I watched them fall in love. It reminded me of falling in love with her father. My hatred grew.

I had none of my magic left now. Slowly I watched myself slowly wither. I had to do something. A daughter could not be allowed to flourish while her mother slowly disintegrated. I prepared my trick. Hiding in rags, armed with a poisoned apple I made my way to the dwarf's home. I arrived when they were out and knocked on the small door. It opened, and my daughter wore a sick smile on her face as she gazed at me, her mother, with no acknowledgement.

"How may I help you?" She asked, her eyes gazing innocently at me. As innocent as the day she was born. She had yet to mature yet I was deciding to take her life away. I told myself I was allowed, I had the right to end her life as I was the one that gave it to her.

"I'm so sorry to trouble you dear, I had just been apple picking and stumbled upon this house. When I saw you through the window I just knew this apple was made for you!" I put a crock in my voice which made my throat hurt, but it did the trick. There was no suspicion in her innocent gaze.

"How lovely, but I really couldn't take it." She smiled at me, and I frowned. Of course, she couldn't.

"Please I insist, I will be ever so upset if you weren't to take it." I offered her the apple with my hand outstretched. She relented.

"Thank you for your kindness. I feel I must give you something in return." She searched endlessly around with her eyes, looking for anything that she may be able to offer. But nothing within the walls was hers. Something I felt a sick joy. I will always have more than my daughter.

"Just watching you take a bite of the juicy apple will be a reward for me." I insisted. She took the apple and smiled. She slowly took a bite. Too slowly. When she finally did, she chewed for hours and swallowed. She fell. She hit her head. Asleep.

I smiled to myself and fled the scene. I reached home again and picked up my magical mirror. My reflection was dreadful. I looked dead. I lost all colour. I begged to see my daughter and my mirror relented. Showing her concerned friends around her. The young man was back.

"No!" I screamed as his lips touched hers. She awoke and I was sucked into the magical mirror that had once shown me companionship. Today I sit in this mirror. My daughter has started a family of her own. They're beautiful, it's sickening. I sit on a shelf. Trapped for eternity. Trapped looking ugly and haggard. I deserve it. I know I do. But I would do it all again for a few more years of beauty.