Here we go again. That is what sixteen-year-old Charles Donovan thought as he woke up. This five-syllable notion was the first thing to cross his mind every morning. His brain could never muster up anything more complex, it was always the same, but that’s life. Actually, that is his life, an elementary routine that never faults. Every day feels as if he is just going through the motions. The day is March second, 1913 and the sun was streaming through the small, square window opposite Charles’ bed. He forced his eyes open and as they adjusted to the light he sat up and looked around. It was the same view as yesterday. From the baseball cards and his marble stone collection, all lined up on the wooden shelves his father made him for his birthday last year, to the news clippings pinned to his bland white walls praising his favorite player, Ty Cobb. His room was a shrine to baseball and he designed it that way, but something about his room always seemed bland. As if he was in a trance, Charles swung his legs over the edge of his bed and walked towards the hall, turning left to enter the bathroom. He then proceeded to get ready, he did all the basics and finished off by putting on his cotton button-up, he chose a light blue color, which he tucked into his tan khakis. He ran down the steps leading into the kitchen where his brothers and father we already seated for breakfast.

“Good morning Sir,” he said as he nodded his head slightly towards his father, who was reading the paper, passed by his mother that was cleaning dishes at the sink, and sat down in his usual seat, left of his father.

William, the second eldest, gave a mischievous grin and spoke in a silky smooth voice, “So Charlie how is Becky?” This was not abnormal for he asked every morning just to hear how Charles, once again, struck out trying to obtain his heart's true desire.

“Ah yes, Rebecca Stornel” Father said without looking up from his paper, “Have you made any progress?”

Have I made any progress? What a joke. Charles couldn’t help but feel discouraged. Rebecca Stornel has been the source of so many headaches and sleepless nights. The lovely girl that lived three streets down caught his eye two years ago and every day since she has refused his affection. He meant absolutely nothing to her, which was unfortunate because she was his everything. He spent all of his school days thinking about her and watching her longingly during class. He couldn’t help but stare. Her long auburn hair brushed her back slightly and was always sectioned off with a baby blue ribbon. Her dresses were a variety of pastel colors. He tried to get her attention but she denied him, time after time. She would always ask him the same question “What do you like about me” and every time Charles would reply “You are beautiful.” She would smile as if she felt pity for him then reply the way she did a thousand times before, “That is not what I wish to be.” She would say this then walk away, no further explanation, nothing, but he did not believe in giving up.

“No Sir, not yet but I am sure she will come around” Charles replied, slightly embarrassed.

Father peered over the paper before he glanced back down and turned the page to the national news. “Strong-willed girls do not find husbands, she will learn eventually that receiving a man’s attention is something to celebrate, especially one of high social standing such as yourself Charles.” With that Mother dropped a bowl into the sudsy water, causing a rather large splash and leaving droplets of water all over the pristine window. Father, in a loud and slightly angered tone, screeched at Mother, “Elizabeth! Do your hands no longer work?”

“I-I am sorry Edward Dear, it must have slipped, I’ll get to cleaning the window after breakfast,” she said with an obviously forced smile plastered across her red lips. Father, either not noticing or caring that his wife was faking her apology, scoffed and went back to reading. Charles looked at his mother. She was perfect, her shiny white teeth shimmered when she smiled like the polished china she was putting back into the cupboards. Her strawberry blonde hair was always pinned back into tight curls and her nails were never chipped and matched her red lips. Father always says women must always look presentable. Charles could not think of a time his mother was dressed down or a day her lips were not painted the same color as the roses out front. Her eyes were light blue like crystals, she always said he inherited her eyes. He does not have the distress and sorrow hers attempted to hide from the world.

“For the love of God!” His father’s voice boomed like thunder and in response the whole room got silent. He threw the paper down and stormed out of the room. Elizabeth slowly walked over to where the disheveled paper lay on the floor and picked it up. As she read the article her eyes lit up like stars on a clear night. She tried to contain her joy but Charles knew his mom, she was undeniably delighted. She carefully ripped out the article, slid it into her apron pocket and went back to the sink as if nothing happened.

Charles’ curiosity about the paper clipping was interrupted by Edward’s stern voice, “Charles! Joseph! William! I am leaving, let’s get a move on.”

He looked at his brothers and the three replied in synchrony “Coming Sir!” They stood up and before Elizabeth could say goodbye they were out the door.

The car ride started off silent until Father decided to share why he was so upset. “Boys, the world is attempting to change before our very eyes. Women now believe they should be able to decide how our government works as if they have the proper knowledge to even be able to form opinions on such matters.” He chuckled “They are forgetting their place and today, the day I take you three, my sons, to learn about bonds and the company you will be taking over in a few years, they decide to fill the streets and the community minds with their idiotic ideas. Women are for cooking, cleaning, and birthing. There is no place for women in politics. They will learn.” William and Joseph, Charles’ oldest brother, laughed along with their father in agreement. Charles didn’t laugh, he didn’t even crack a smile, something about what his father had just said felt wrong even though he knows it to be the truth.

After a forty-minute drive, the car pulled up to a massive stone-like building that was like nothing Charles had ever seen before. Getting out of the car was a blur as he was in absolute awe of the sights around him. There were hundreds of people shuffling down the street, all with a destination in mind. The buildings were like nothing he had ever seen before, tall and cold looking with a feel of power sound them. He found himself wandering towards a crowd of people to his left, they all seemed to be in discussion and on their way to the same place. Before he knew it he was swept into the frenzy, pulled into the sea of people unable to get back to shore. Suddenly the crowd began to part, Charles saw this as an escape route and readied himself for the break. He lunged out and into the open space only to bump into a small woman holding a rather large sign.

“My deepest apologies, Ma’am, I meant no harm as I was just trying to regain my footing,” Charles said, he was feeling a bit embarrassed of his lack of balance. He looked at her as she dusted herself off. She couldn’t have been over twenty, her black hair was pinned up under a white hat that matched her shockingly very clean dress. A string of flowers was draped around her neck and shoulders and her auburn eyes were ablaze. Her eyes burned with the fierceness of a thousand men and it scared him. She nodded her head slightly to his apology and began chanting.

“Votes for women! It is time to right the wrongs!” her voice boomed louder than he had ever heard a man or woman speak. He then realized it was not just her. He looked around him as thousands of women marched with signs and strings of flowers just like the one he saw before. It then occurred to him that he might have escaped the rough sea but he just entered the eye of the storm.

I do not belong here... Charles thought as he watched the women pass him by. His head was spun so fast all he could see were large blurs. He darted from one side of the road to the other for he wasn’t sure what to do. The crowd of onlookers was so thick and he knew there was no way that it could be used as an escape. Suddenly he saw his chance, an angered male stormed away from the edge of the road leaving a small window that would be soon filled so Charles, without considering his surroundings, lunged forward with everything in him. He would have made it but a woman happened to cross his path and got impaled by Charles in his desperate attempt to exit the parade. He and the woman hit the ground and both rolled away from one another. Due to his rush of adrenaline, the fall did not even faze Charles, so within a few seconds he was on his feet rushing over to help up the poor lady that he so rudely ran over. “Ma’am my deepest apologies, I should have looked before I ran. I was just overwhelmed and wanted to get out of you and your sisters way… It appears I have done the opposite, again I apologize.” He offered out his hand and after a minute of deciding if she actually wanted his help, the woman took his hand and let him help her to her feet.

“Why are you in such a rush to get away from us in the first place?” the woman said cooly as she dusted herself off.

“I just do not belong here, I mean” he motioned to the rest of the parade that had continued as if nothing happened “I am obviously on the wrong side of this. It would make more sense to be watching from the sides, which is what I was trying to do” The woman pressed her lips together and scrunched her eyebrows together as if something he said upset her.

“Why do you say you are on the wrong side?” She looked at him with a look filled with an emotion that he couldn’t quite name.

“Well Ma’am you see, I am the only male over here, all the others are on the side of the road while you and your fellow women march through the middle of the road”

“Do you know why they are on the sides?”

“No Ma’am, I do not”

“They do not support us,” she said as she looked over her shoulder at the men yelling at her fellow marchers. “They don’t want to hear what we have to say.” This time he knew the emotion on her face, it was sadness.

“Pardon me but who are you and what do they not support?” Charles asked for he had no idea why she was so upset.

The woman turned to him and a small smile formed on her lips. “I am Phoebe Hawn of New York and they do not support women’s rights” Her words hit him hard.

“What do you mean?” he asked, somehow feeling as if he already knew the answer.

“Women’s rights are human rights. We stand together, recognizing that defending the most marginalized among us is defending all of us.” she said with the most confidence and pride he had ever seen a women muster.

“Why did you come all the way from New York? Isn’t that a long drive?”

Phoebe looked into Charles’ eyes and kept direct eye contact as she spoke. “I walked here from New York, it took me nine and a half days and I would do it again. Over and over because this is the most conspicuous and important demonstration that has ever been attempted by suffragists in this country. Because this parade will be taken to indicate the importance of the suffrage movement by the press of the country and the thousands of spectators from all over the United States gathered in Washington for the Inauguration. I will march for women and I will march for the equality of basic human rights. Women’s vocabulary should not be limited to yes dear and dinner is ready. They should be allowed to have their own opinions and be a part of deciding how the country they reside in is run. Someday there will be a woman that will captivate this country and lead it to greatness. This is our first step. This is for her.” She stood tall and proud as these words left her mouth and began to overcome him. The thoughts of his mother taking that clip of newspaper with a dainty smile on her face, the way she accepted his father always speaking down to her with no complaints. He thought of all the times he dismissed his mother or didn’t thank her for dinner because it was expected of her to make it. The way she reacted when his father spoke his opinions of Becky. Suddenly, all he could think about was Becky, beautiful, angelic, uninterested Becky. Then it hit him. She was like Phoebe she wanted to be more than a wife that cooks dinner, she did not wish to be only seen as beautiful, she desired more than superficial compliments. She wanted to be really seen. Rebecca Stornel wished to be more than a beautiful accessory, she wanted to be called smart, she wanted to be independent, she wished for more than Charles had been indirectly offering. The realization of this made his stomach turn because he realized he was his father. He came across as only caring about the looks of a woman and whether or not she could be a good wife. His head began to feel heavy on his shoulders and before he could say anything a man lunged at Phoebe.

It was a whirlwind of chaos. A man heard what Phoebe had said and felt as if standing on the side, yelling hateful words, was no longer working. His hands collided with her left arm, pushing her to the ground with such force it knocked her unconscious. The man’s actions were greeted by cheers from other male onlookers as Phoebe’s fellow suffragists watched in horror. Without thinking Charles’ fist connected with the man’s face and sent them both tumbling to the ground. He hit him for Phoebe, for his mother, for Becky, for all of the women that just wish to be thought of as more than a pretty vase inside a windowsill. He pictured his father when he hit him, his brothers mindlessly laughing in agreement, all the men that wish to keep women from achieving anything close to greatness. Charles knew that the women strong enough to rally 8,000 of their sisters together to close down a city did not need anyone fighting for them, but he decided then that he will be one to fight with them. Someday there will be a woman that will captivate this country and lead it to greatness. This is my first step for her.

A few more children from my elementary school disappear from the memories of people every year. Today, we have organized our desks, in a circle, and Mrs. Witherspoon reveals that Tracy Peters has gone to a better place. While riding her bike, Tracy was struck by a car. Until our next dose of Altered State, she will be remembered. Then, I'll just remember her. Altered State does not work on me. Okay, the anti-aging part does: I'm nine, but I'm never going to forget just like the others do. I'm the fifty-five-pound elephant in the room.

I puff a lengthy blonde lock of hair out of my eyes so I can better see Mrs. Witherspoon scowl at me because of my disruptive noise. The gold color upon my head comes from my mother's side and the length from my dad. He always insisted that my hair should be kept long, for I looked like a boy when it is cut short.

I miss them, my parents.

The best friend of Tracy, Charlie, whimpers next to me. Charlie’s real name is Charlene but nicknames are for kids and that is what she is. A kid. That is what we all are but shouldn’t be. The name Charlie always sounded boyish but somehow it fit her perfectly. She had this bright glow about her but today that glow was like a dark cloud.

I'm patting Charlie on her shoulder. "I miss her too." She smiles politely, and a deep sadness overcomes me. Charlie will not recall Tracy after our next dose of Altered State. She will return to her carefree self, but I will always remember the short-haired brunette who loved the thought of being a mermaid and— "But Altered State is coming," said Mrs. Witherspoon with a positive energy blast cutting off my thoughts. "We're going to have a cure for aging soon, and we're not going to ever lose our friends or parents." She looks at me. She can recall that I had parents, and she is aware that they're gone, but what she doesn't remember, is their names.

"Accidents will still always happen," I said with spite and all the puffy, teary eyes in the room glared at me. The recess bell rings and my fellow classmates run outside. I follow slowly, dragging my feet as I walk.

I look around as I lean with my hands stuck in my tightly patched corduroys during recess against the once blue but now rusty monkey bars. The air holds the incoming winter's scent and gentle breezes shake yellow and orange oak leaves free from their branches. Fall. The ideal season for introducing the world to Altered State. At least what's left of it, anyway. I kept up with the declining population of the world for a while, but my computer was rotting away and I couldn't afford a new one.

"Adalie, do you want to play kickball with us?" After the first dozen years or so, Kickball lost its luster. A gust of wind blows through my hair, leaving a slight freezing sensation on my face. I look at the home run wall, and in spite of my disinterest, I can't help but wonder, with the wind, could I finally make that sucker clear with a nice, quick kick?

"Sure," I say, and take my once usual outfield position.

"By Kyle Nelson, what Altered State means to me." I slump into my little wooden seat. The speech by Kyle is my least favorite. He wants Altered State to have been able to save his pet, Spotty. He doesn't remember Spotty, but all over his room there are pictures of her, so at some point, he knows he had a cat named Spotty. Sadly, Altered State isn't for animals. They wilt around us and fade into aging picture frames just like the family members we’ve lost but don’t recall.

In front of the school, two gray fortification-sized buses rumble into the cul-de-sac. My classmates and Mrs. Witherspoon, with their faces pressed against the glass, fog up the window. For the beginning of autumn, today is unusually cold. Below freezing actually. It was weird to me but it might have also just been my blood icing over, making it feel colder than it actually was. It was Curing Day.

The CDC came with our shots, the oh so wonderful Altered State.

Mrs. Witherspoon covers her heart with one hand while her Rosary beads are thumbed with the other. Altered State is her salvation.

We take turns receiving our shots. Mrs. Witherspoon puts her hand in ours, one after another. We get Band-Aids covered in little cartoons for our shoulders and I'm wondering what my character is going to be this year. It is one of Curing Day's few remaining unpredictable events.

"Adalie, it's your turn. Don't be afraid." For the first time, I hesitate to sit in a familiar chair.

"I'm not scared," I say, covering up my real fear. Am I through with Altered State? Am I going to become the next empty desk? Are they going to forget me like the others? My little break leads me to wonder if I have become really tired of the same routine, living alone, nothing changing. I sit down and look deep into the eyes of the CDC man. He's the same man who gave me my first shot. I burrow past the irises of blue and try to read his thoughts. Can he see the wisdom in my eyes? Does he know that I have not forgotten a single person that has been removed from my life? Can he tell?

Altered State was meant to stop us from getting older and dying, but froze the world instead. I like to think that somebody out there is looking for a cure for this cure. Sometimes I still hope that I will grow up to be a wife someday, have a husband and maybe my own children. Not like Mrs. Witherspoon.

"There you go, sweetie." He sticks on my shoulder a Scooby-doo Band-Aid and gives me an empty smile. He is also an Altered State survivor.

Our desks are aligned in a circle. On the fringes, there are several seats coated in sheets of dust. For many years, they have not been part of this circle.

Kyle Nelson died last night in a fire in his home. I find that I am exceptionally saddened by this. I considered Kyle a friend despite his maddening yearly speech and his lack of maturity. I sift through the memories of Kyle that reside in my mind and cover a slight grin with my hand so no one sees. I remember that first day when Kyle rolled the kickball my way. There was a powerful wind blowing and the ball sailed over the home-run fence after making contact with my foot and echoing that unique rubber sound. When was that? I countback. Maybe a decade ago?

I'll have to try again. Make a new memory with a new pitcher. Maybe then I'll forget Kyle, just like all the others. I feel my face scrunch up and tears begin to form in my eyes, and I allow myself to cry for Kyle with the others.

I cry with them - while they are still here.

Once upon a time, in the city of Brittany, France, not so far away, within a large chateau along the countryside, there was a young maiden by the name of Ella. She lived with her stepsisters and her step mother. After her father passed away, the widow and her daughters turned bitter and vile towards her. She went from being a sister and daughter to a servant in her own home. The young girl, who always seemed to be covered in chimney soot and dirt was no longer called the name her parents gave her but Cinderella after the cinder that decorated her clothes. To make matters worse, the beautiful, rustic chateau belonged to Cinderella but when her beloved father died, Lady Tremaine, the stepmother, took over as if it was her own. She neglected to take care of it, so the once extravagant beauty fell into disrepair. The broken hearted Cinderella did not have the strength to claim her father’s home. After a short while, the way things used to be, when she was still Ella, became a distant memory.

Six years later, on a bright April day, a letter came to the house decorated with a royal seal. Cinderella graciously accepted it from a short man in fancy clothes. As she flipped it over to examine the rather prominent seal, only to be interrupted by her obnoxiously curious stepsisters

“My oh my! A palace letter?” Cinderella’s oldest stepsister, Drizella screeched as she reached towards the envelope.

“It obviously wouldn’t be for you dummy!” screamed the other, Anastasia as she grabbed at the mail. A strong voice came from the other room,

“Girls. Enough.” Lady Tremaine, the deviant step mother, walked over and snatched the letter out of Cinderella’s hand. She broke the seal and slid a piece of embroidered, ivory paper out of the envelope. “It is a letter from the palace and according to this the Prince is looking for a bride. Every eligible maiden is invited to a ball tonight!” The girls instantly began buzzing with excitement.

“A ball!”

“With the Prince!”

“I need a new dress-”

“And shoes!”

“That is what I was going to say Anastasia!”

“Well I said it first Drizella.”

The girls began bickering and while her step mother tried to intervene, Cinderella picked up the letter. Any eligible maiden? This means I can go too! Cinderella smiled to herself as she read over the letter again.

“Don’t even think about it. I’m not letting you show up and make our family look less desirable. Now scurry along. The girls only have two hours to prepare and you are making the room a bit stuffy.” Lady Tremaine’s face contorted into a stomach turning grin and waved Cinderella out of the room. Cinderella spent the next two hours crying to herself in the foyer.

When her stepsisters left for the ball, Cinderella watched the carriage drive down the dirt path and she sat weeping, thinking how unfair her sisters were to her, she heard a voice from the garden calling her. She dried her eyes and went out to see who was there. She was surprised to find a large man, about 70 years old, standing outside the back door. He was wearing a stylish suit and had a fedora on his head, he clenched a large cigar in his right hand and under his left arm was what looked to be a violin case.

“Hello, who are you?” asked Cinderella.

“Hey, Doll, stop with the crying will ya. I’d have thought you’d’ve guessed. I’m your fairy godfather an’ I'm a here to make you an offer ya can’t refuse.”

“Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else if anyone came to help me I would expect my fairy godmother to show up,” Cinderella said meekly.

“I’m from the MAFIA, that’s the magically associated fairies initiating aid, we’re an equal opportunities organization, that’s why you’ve got me, your fairy godfather, rather than some random dippy old broad of a fairy godmother. The MAFIA seeks to help out the magically deprived, such as yourself. It works on a quid pro quo basis, we help you out on the understanding that when the time comes you owe us a favor. That time may never come but if it does you’ll promise to do what we ask, capisce?”

“Yes, yes, anything, I want to go to the ball desperately and it’s just so unfair that my cruel step sisters get to go but I don’t, especially when all the ladies in the land have been invited”

“As I said, don’t cry Ella, you shall go to the ball. Hey, you’re a good kid, you deserve to go.” With that, the fairy godfather opened up his violin case and took out a magnificent wand. Chewing on his cigar he waved the wand through the air leaving a trail of sparkling pixie dust in its path.

“Okay, kid, I’m just warming up here. What do we need? Well, I guess we need to get you to the ball in style. You’re gonna need a limo. How’s about a nice big Caddy? No? Perhaps a Lincoln Continental?’ Cinderella looked at him blankly. He continued, ’What about one of doze fancy foreign imports? A Rolls Royce or a Mercedes-Maybach?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. If I’m going to go to the ball in style I need a fine carriage and attendants.”

“The old fashioned way huh! You’ve got the moxie, sister. And you know what they say, ‘When you’ve got the moxie, you need the clothes to match’ – I’ll get to that in a moment but first we’re gonna need a big pumpkin.”

Cinderella went off into the garden, wondering to herself how it would help her get to the ball, and came back shortly with a fine ripe pumpkin. The fairy godfather eyed it suspiciously, “Jeez, that’s some squash you’ve got there. That’d make one heck of a jack o’ lantern come Halloween. Stand back while I turn it into a carriage fit for a princess”. Pulling out a large switchblade he hollowed out the pumpkin with a few deft flicks. Puffing on his cigar he blew out a great cloud of smoke obscuring the pumpkin, he then reached into the cloud with his wand, touched the pumpkin whilst muttering something indiscernible under his breath and there was an explosion of pixie ash. As the smoke cleared away a magnificent gilded carriage was revealed.

Next, the fairy instructed Cinderella to go off and check the traps set about the house and to come back with at least one rat and six mice. As she went about her task the Don, as he was known to his family, admired his work, grudgingly admitting to himself that it was a more impressive means of transport than any limousine he’d ever seen. She returned with a rat and six mice as requested and presented them to the fairy. Taking the rat by its nape the fairy godfather inhaled on his cigar then gently blew a stream of smoke over it. He placed the rat on the ground and touched it with his wand, there was a sparkle in the air, and all of a sudden there was a tall handsome coachman standing in its place. The fairy repeated the process with each of the six mice in turn and presently there was a fine set of six horses of a beautiful mouse-colored, dapple gray. The coachman busied himself hitching the horses to the carriage. As the fairy godfather watched him work he mused that something was missing. Surely Cinderella could not travel in such a coach without a retinue of attendants?

“Now we need footmen to attend to you and accompany you to the ball. Go and look behind the potting shed Ella, I think that you'll find a group of lizards basking there, bring me four of them.” Taking the net that she used to hunt butterflies in the summer, Cinderella went and caught four lizards and brought them back to her fairy godfather. He looked at them and muttered something to the effect that they reminded him of a bunch of Goodfellas that he used to know. Once again he breathed cigar smoke over the animals that Cinderella had brought to him and touched them in turn with his wand, sparks flying everywhere. Four smartly liveried footmen stood beside the coach ready, waiting to escort her.

“You’re a spirited young lady, you’ve fetched me all we needed for me to get you to the ball in style. As I said before you’ve got moxie, now I’ll give you the clothes to match.”

“I hope you’re not going to breathe that horrid cigar smoke over me,” said Cinderella, backing away.

“No need beautiful, just stand still a moment and I’ll see what I can do.” The fairy traced Cinderella’s form with his wand and as he did so, with a faint shimmering, her clothes changed from rags to the finest satin and silk. He studied her for what seemed like a minute before leaning in with his wand to touch her hair, leaving diamonds shining there. He hesitated then touched her neck and her wrists leaving her with a jeweled necklace and matching bracelet.

“Looking good, kid. Looking like a million dollars. Just one final touch,” and with that, he wove his wand over her feet leaving her shod in a delicate pair of glass slippers.

“Now off to the ball with you, Sweetheart, enjoy yourself. But remember, youse gotta leave the ball before the clock strikes twelve otherwise your dress will turn back to rags. I’m happy for the opportunity to give you some pleasure, but things mustn’t go too far on a first date. I expect that you will show your respect by obeying me, capisce?”

Cinderella kissed and thanked her fairy godfather for all his help. He blushed then said, “Let me know if you want anything done with your step sisters. One word from you and they could be sleeping with the fishes.”

“Oh, I could never ask for anything like that. They might seem cruel but it’s just unthinking foolishness. I’m sure that they’ll grow out of it. I must go or the ball will be over before I get there. Thank you again for all your help.” The footmen helped her into her coach and then jumped up behind her before they drove off in great style. He called me Ella. She thought to herself as she rode off to the palace.

Once Cinderella arrived at the palace she was instantly captivated by its lavish decor. There were chandeliers made of crystals and drapes of satin. She looked down and to her surprise where usually a slumped over and ragged looking girl stood, a lovely girl with sparkling eyes smiled back at her. She traced her face with her fingers as if to check if the reflection was really her own.

“Excuse me Miss.” A man with the same uniform as the one that delivered the invitation, cleared his throat. “How would you like to be announced?”

She looked up at him as if his question confused her. How would I like to be announced? “Cinder-” she stopped herself. I don’t have to be Cinderella here, I can be me and that is what they will call me. They don’t know the difference. This is a fresh start. “Ella, my name is Ella of Brittany.” The man smiled at her then blew a trumpet that she hadn’t noticed before. Her heart raced as he spoke.

“Now introducing the lovely Miss Ella of Brittany.”

Butterflies filled her stomach as she stepped out into sight of the multitude of guests. Before she knew it she was descending down the marble staircase that led right into the dancing festivities. She felt invincible, the stares didn’t mean a thing. She glided to the middle and danced. She didn’t dance with a prince or the king, just by herself, until a familiar sickening voice interrupted her.

“CINDERELLA!” her stepmother screeched. “What on EARTH do you think you are doing here? You do not belong here, you belong in my kitchen with the rest of the measly help.”

“You mean my kitchen.” She had not meant to say that, she didn’t even realize it until the words flowed out of her mouth.

“Excuse me?”

The two ladies stared at one another as all the outside music and laughing dulled into a background until suddenly her fairy godfather’s voice popped into Ella’s mind.

Sweetheart, stick up for yourself. I said you have moxie but I wasn’t talkin’ about your automobile choice. No, I meant you have guts kid, you’ve got spunk in your smile and dauntlessness in your dimples. Take what is yours, stop letting them walk all over you. I came to show you what you're made of because let’s be honest, I don’t really care about a ball. I care about you, the girl you really are, not this meek servant that you’ve been for the past few years. Get what is rightfully yours back. Give her a piece of your mind kid.

“You heard me. I’m done being a servant in my own home. You have no right to my father’s home or to me. When my father died, I was devastated and I let you use my grief to control me but no more. I want you out of my house. I don’t want the prince, I don’t want to be a royal, I want my life back,” and with that she turned on her heel and left. The prince had kept his eyes on Ella the whole night but that didn’t matter to her. She did what she needed to do

From the corner of the room the Don smiled at her then returned to Fairyland and the MAFIA with a smile on his lips and the feeling of a job well done. For he did not dress her up to get a man or to go to a ball, but to show her that she is beautiful and that she can do anything she wants, she just had to embrace the moxie she’s always had within her.