The Other Slipper - retelling the story of Cinderella.

Authors Avatar by 34444 (student)

Suriawinata/Cinderella/

The Other Glass Slipper

By

Jesseril Suriawinata

Ms. Placer P7

English 10

        Once upon a time, there lay a young girl who was forced to heat herself from the cold, against the snug fireplace in the basement. Her clothes, in dust and stains from her day-to-day menial house chores, were in addition coated with cinders. When she was little, her father would tuck her in goodnight and kiss her forehead, leaving her with an innocent smile. Her father was a gentleman, whom after several years grieved over his wife’s sudden death. He was desperately vulnerable, looking for someone to cushion his sorrow. Until, he met a woman one day out when he was eating at a diner. He had always gone there after late hours at work with his only company as the intolerantly cheerful server of the table. Chairs were wrapped in moss velvet, tables were waxed clean and polished, while salt and peppershakers were seated on the edge of every table. On occasion, when he felt an extremity of loss, he would drown himself with hunched shoulders, sweat strolling down his face, and a constant phrase, “One more, bartender.” Chicken soup and hot coffee was his go to dish, otherwise, and it was served at his diner table one afternoon. He quietly scarved down the thick, lumpy appetizer and looked out at the cars racing back and forth. She was sitting at the corner booth with a novel in her hand and it simply took his breath away. He was never a romantic until he met her. To him, her face was every bit angelic, unable to resist. The very sight of the woman he had fallen in love with so quickly sent his heart careening against his rib cage, besotted by her splendor. Yes, he loved her. He looked into her deep oceanic eyes, seeing a galaxy of possibilities and hope. It was the color of the sea after a brutal storm. Oddly enough, everything about her was, in his glittering eyes, exemplary; no wrinkles, no scars, no flaws of such existed. She was only attired in a simple dress, but seem sot over addicted to her presence. He knew from the start, he was going to marry her, crystallizing at the very image. His heart was beating faster than it should and he couldn’t catch his breath. He smiled at the relish of her beauty, unconsciously looking like a clown. With the chicken soup cooling and the metal spoon hanging at his fingertips, he knew his vows at that very moment. I would never let you go, with our hands intertwined, because this is true love and nothing can surpass it. Age is only a title and death will only delay it, nothing more. I love you forever more and will always be there for you… His thoughts went on for minutes until he realized the woman had come over and slid at the opposing seat of his booth.

        “Hi.” She said.

        They got married a few months after in an intimate event and the mysterious woman brought home her two coddled daughters to stay at the mansion. Cinderella’s face dropped. It was like her beloved childhood, unicorns and rainbows, were swiped away into a black and white Annie exposition. It was at first a happy story to tell their neighboring families, until Cinderella’s father died. It wasn’t true love and he was wrong. The woman was cruel and despicable, and all along she was masked by beauty.

        Cinderella was trapped in the materialistic and vain world of her stepmother and stepsisters. She could not drown in sorrows of her father’s death for long because of her stepmother’s punishments referred to as chores, rendering her hopeless and weak. Her name was Cinderella and she was beautiful. Her stepsisters, Anastasia and Drizelda, on the contrary, were cursed with quite the unappealing appearance, mirroring their ugly personalities and bloodcurdling looks. Her stepmother was no exception; she was very unkind with a soul that seemed as if it was out to get her. What scared Cinderella the most were her stepmother’s pitch-black flashing eyes that reappeared to feature in her recurring nightmares.

        It was sufferable living in a house of narcissistic characters, forced to manage the cleanliness of a mansion. Mornings were beginnings of Cinderella’s labor with the sun signaling the start of a long mundane day, bells are ringing and complaints accessibly went on and on. Her sisters were spoiled as children, which kept their immature and overindulged behavior as adults.

        Anastasia whined, “Wash the basket of clothes over there. Clean my bed. Where is my breakfast?!” Complaints and orders were shuffling in Cinderella’s mind.

Join now!

        Her days ran regularly with sneers of her stepmother’s and her stepsisters’ dissatisfaction but to her, it was simply just something she was immune to.

        One day, a royal messenger arrived, unanticipated and in hand with a scroll. He was a joyful little man and had ridden in a royal carriage with a bouquet of white horses. Without needing an introduction, he began citing what was handwritten on the scroll, which was evidently a royal invitation from the prince.

        “Attention to all living tenants in this household. You have been cordially invited by the Prince of the land to ...

This is a preview of the whole essay