Once upon a time (a really boring opening) there lived a girl with brown hair, brown eyes and brown skin. She wasn’t a princess, she wasn’t a pauper, she had no abnormal sleeping patterns in which one would sleep for a century (that’s stretching nap time a little, isn’t it?), her feet were too big to fit into hazardous glass shoes, she had legs instead of a fish tail, she wasn’t two inches tall, her hair was of a reasonable length, she was only mildly fond of apples and didn’t fit into any “fairytale girl stereotype” that people of today may or may not have.
She really loved weapons and explosions, having a special affinity for dynamite. For this reason she was called Weapon Girl, although her real name was Sue.
When she was twenty-one, she was invited to a giant party at some pretty boy’s castle. She shrugged and decided to go; she wasn’t going to let the teenagers have all the fun.
She got dressed in a bearskin cape and a leather suit (she had shot the bear herself when she was twelve) and wondered whether she should take her warhorse or her chariot.
Suddenly there was a flash of really sparkly light. A fairy dressed in a pathetically pink dress appeared and smiled a creepy smile.
“You have no dilemma, Weapon Girl, for I am your fairy godmother! Just bring me a cucumber and six hamsters and I’ll turn them into a gorgeous gold-gilded coach and six white horses.”
Weapon Girl drew back in disgust and looked gown at her tough-girl apparel.
“Dude, I don’t think I’m dressed to suit a ‘gorgeous gold-gilded coach’”, she drawled mockingly. “I ain’t going in any sissy vehicle, anyway. And what a waste of a perfectly good cucumber! No thanks! I think I’ll just go on my chariot.”
“Well, I never!” The fairy was shocked. She usually got tearful and hysterical gratitude.
“You never what?” Weapon Girl retorted.
The Annoying Pink Fairy disappeared in a flash of indignant pink smoke and Weapon Girl shrugged and began preparing her chariot.
“Sue, darling!” Weapon Girl’s mother (who was alive and well, as was her father, in case you’re about to ask) came racing into the stables.
“Mum, you know I hate it when you call me that.”
“Dear, why don’t you wear the nice dress I bought you?” her mother asked, holding up the offending garment.
Weapon Girl grimaced at the ribbons, frills and that accursed colour… pink. “Mum, I love you very much, but wearing that… thing wouldn’t be good for my reputation.”
Weapon Girl’s mum smiled slyly. “The boys will like it.”
Weapon Girl wanted to throw up. “Never mind, Mum. I’m not going to flirt with guys. I’m going to drink beer and play darts.”
Her mum sighed. “Why can’t you be like other girls?”
Weapon Girl rolled her eyes. “Because I have brown hair, brown eyes and brown skin. I’m not beautiful, I’m not a princess, I’m not a pauper, I have no abnormal sleeping patterns in which I would sleep for a century, my feet are too big to fit into hazardous glass shoes, I have legs instead of a fish tail, I’m not two inches tall, my hair is of a reasonable length, I’m only mildly fond of apples and therefore don’t fit into any “fairytale girl stereotype” that people of today may or may not have.”
Weapon Girl’s mum blinked. “Wow, you really thought this through, didn’t you?” She shrugged. “Okay, then. Out with the dress.”
Weapon Girl grinned. “Thanks, Mum,” she said before she grabbed a small store of dynamite and leapt into her chariot, setting her two horses at a wild gallop. “Now, let’s see if I can get to Prince Pretty Boy’s castle on time.”
On her way to the castle, she passed many fancy coaches containing prissy princesses, unintentionally splattering them with mud as she passed. She didn’t even turn around when she heard a shriek.
“Remember her, Prince Charming no. 5!” the unfortunate princess inside a particularly bespattered coach screamed. “We’ll get her back for this!”
Weapon Girl was out of earshot to clearly hear the prince’s response to his wife’s outburst, but she could tell he sounded bored and ready to thrust the spoiled princess out the window.
When she reached her destination, she was relatively unimpressed by the extensive grounds and the pristine marble of the walls of the building. She left her chariot in the care of a doorman and marched inside.
Everyone was shocked, staring at her as she stood, hands on hips, surveying her lavish surroundings. After a brief observation, she nodded, sufficiently pleased.
She glared at the gaping masses. “What’re you staring at?”
They turned away abruptly, but Weapon Girl knew that they were only pretending interest elsewhere. She could still feel their prying glances. The men looked at her with curiosity, the women with fascinated distaste.
Weapon Girl didn’t mind; she had little respect for the girls, anyway. She laughed at the way they pinned their curls on their heads and their silly, frilly frocks with the ridiculous trimmings.
She moved over to where Prince Pretty Boy’s bartender was serving the drinks. “Gimme a mug of ale,” she demanded.
She ignored the bartender’s raised brow as he poured a glass of beer. “Hey, you,” he whispered. “Shouldn’t you be dressed up all nice ‘n’ pretty like the other girls?”
“Look, mister,” she said, glaring angrily at him. “I don’t like dressing up ‘all nice ‘n’ pretty’,” she mimicked.
“You’re not like the other girls, are you?”
She rolled her eyes and looked down at her leather catsuit and the belt of weapons at her waist. “Gosh, I guess I’m found out. What gave me away?” She smiled slightly.
The bartender laughed and held out his hand. “Name’s Bill. Yours?”
“Weapon Girl,” she replied as she shook his hand.
Bill grinned. “Nice to know that there are girls other than their kind around,” he said, jerking his head almost contemptuously at the floor of giggling ladies dancing with stiff gentlemen. His eyes narrowed as he spotted one in particular that drew his disdain. “Look yonder,” he said to Weapon Girl, pointing at a pretty blond with blue eyes in a ruffled pink-and-purple gown that was spotted with mud. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
Weapon Girl snorted and then nodded reluctantly, silently noting the mud splatters on her dress, certain that she was in the coach that she’d passed on the way to the castle.
“Also as dumb as a post,” Bill continued.
“Isn’t the saying ‘as deaf as a post’?”
Bill shrugged. “Whatever. Anyway, she giggles and flirts with about each and every guy she sees, battin’ her pretty baby blues and gigglin’ like there’s no tomorrow, despite the fact she’s married.”
Weapon Girl almost laughed when the blonde almost tripped over her own feet.
Suddenly, the music ended and the dancers came to a confused stop.
“Wolf! There’s a wolf outside!” one of the girls screamed.
“If it’s outside, it oughtn’t be problem you’d think,” Bill mumbled.
Weapon Girl rose and selected a whip from her belt, seeing that none of the fine gentlemen wanted to get their pretty coats dirty by hunting the wolf.
“Fine. You cowards stay here, then. I’ll take care of the wolf.” Weapon Girl said disdainfully.
“Wait!” a girl said, pushing her way through the crowd. She had blue eyes, black hair and perfect white skin. “I’m Snow White. I’ll deal with the wolf, she said arrogantly.
“Suit yourself,” Weapon Girl shrugged. “But I’ll come with you to give you back up.”
“Not that I’ll need it, though,” Snow White sneered, tossing her perfect black bob proudly.
Weapon Girl rolled her eyes and followed the stalking princess out of the castle. They followed the loud snuffling sounds of the wolf, which was rummaging around in the bushes nearby. Snow White cautiously approached it as it turned around, creeping closer toward the great grey beast. All the while Weapon Girl leaned indolently against a statue of a knight.
Snow White began to sing in a high-pitched voice and Weapon Girl quickly covered her ears, certain that the off-key sounds could rouse fossilized dinosaurs.
The wolf obviously thought so, too, because it reared up its head and howled, scaring poor little Miss White senseless. Snow White screamed and ran back into the castle, sniveling behind her husband, Prince Charming no. 3.
After Weapon Girl had completed a fit of hysterical laughter at the pathetic princess, she replaced the whip and pulled out a very small stick of dynamite, lighting it with her lighter.
“Oy, Fur Face!” she mocked. “Over here!”
Furious, the wolf turned toward her and prepared to charge. Weapon Girl quickly threw the dynamite at the wolf’s feet. It promptly exploded, but the stick was so small that it did little more than produce a small mushroom cloud. The wolf yelped with fright, then turned on Weapon Girl, angrier than ever.
“Fine! No more… Miss Small Explosives!” she finished lamely.
She pulled out a larger stick and took out a rifle, sending a shot up into the air. The wolf quickly tucked tail and ran. Weapon Girl threw the lit dynamite after it and both the dynamite and the wolf exploded, splattering blood and wolf’s innards everywhere. Fortunately, the castle was untouched, but the courtyard and garden were covered with grisly gore.
However, despite her making a terrible mess on his grounds, Prince Pretty boy was delighted that the wolf was dead.
“It’s absolutely fabulous that you killed the wretched wolf, even if you did ruin the gardens,” the Prince said to Weapon Girl. “He’s been hunting my castle for years! You, my dear, are one of a kind. You’re unlike any other girl I’ve ever known. That’s because you have brown hair, brown eyes and brown skin. You’re not beautiful, you’re not a princess, you’re not a pauper, you have no abnormal sleeping patterns in which you would sleep for a century, your feet are too big to fit into hazardous glass shoes, you have legs instead of a fish tail, you’re not two inches tall, your hair is of a reasonable length, you’re only mildly fond of apples and therefore don’t fit into any “fairytale girl stereotype” that people of today may or may not have. Will you marry me?”
Weapon Girl stared at Prince Pretty Boy incredulously. “Pretty Boy” was right. Weapon Girl’s gaze wandered over his flawless face, noticing that his skin was extremely white and his eyes were yellowish.
“Uh, in a word, no. Dude, I just met you. We don’t even know each other’s names. Besides, you seriously need a tan.”
Pretty Boy smiled. “Well, my name is Edward McCullen and my friends have told me that you’re real name is Sue, but people call you Weapon Girl.”
“Well, then you’re one of those perfect-faced ‘vegetarian’ vampires. Whatsa matter? So desperate that you have to settle for one of us lowly humans, Edward? Besides, I’m twenty-one. What’re you? Like, fifteen or something?”
“I’m seventeen.”
Weapon Girl rolled her eyes. “Whatever, ‘vegetarian’ vampire dude. Ya know, I think the term ‘vegetarian vampire’ is the biggest oxymoron ever.”
Edward “Pretty Boy’s” eyes flashed. “I think it would be best if you leave.”
Weapon Girl bowed mockingly. “Whatever, Pretty Boy. I wasn’t gonna stick around anyway. Imagine a vampire who couldn’t protect his castle from wolves. Besides, it’s be a relationship where I would have to determine how much you love me by your resolve to not eat me… Weeeeeeeeeeeird. And really gross. See ya round, Pretty Boy.”
And Weapon Girl rode off into the sunset in her chariot.
THE END
Note: This wasn't written by yours truly (man, do I wish it had been) but my friend Aleisha Ferrari, a whimsical fantasy novel-reader and compiler of fascinating words. Of course we don't really have anything against beautiful people with pale skin, blue eyes and blonde hair. Just mucking around after we noticed that trillions of silly princess ALL LOOK LIKE THAT. Hope you enjoyed weapon girl! Because we all love (and are continuously exasperated by) fairytales!