Cinderella left Mawking Manor on
July 18th at precisely 5 o’clock of the pm. Of course, Cinderella
wasn’t her real name. It was an affectionate title indebted to her by her close
friends. She was granted this nickname due to her profession and personality;
cleaner for the wealthy members of society, with big hopes and ambitions for
her life. She was a daydreamer, and was frequently punished by her employers
because of her tendency to escape into fantasy while on the job.
July 18th was no
different. While in the downstairs bathroom of the empty manor, she gently
stroked her duster along the cold marble surfaces, her heart barely in her
task. She had an audition for a soap opera the next day. She dreamed of fame;
the echoing clicks of paparazzi cameras following her every move; the toy boys,
or hopefully dream husband, trailing in her wake as she gracefully strides up
the stairs of her very own manor. Maybe even this one. It would be like that
movie Sunset Boulevard, which she
vaguely remembers seeing when she was younger.
As she was about to leave, she
caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Standing perfectly still, she
stared. Her stained tracksuit bottoms, crop-top and apron were not particularly
enticing, nor was her mussed hair and fading make-up. She screamed dramatically
at the figure before her, and then started giggling. Humming optimistically,
she locked the manor’s front door and left for the train station.
She returned to her flat in the
city centre. It was Friday night, and she was going clubbing with her girlies.
After applying her make-up, clambering into her glass heels, and changing into
something less comfortable, she then caught herself in the mirror. ‘You’re
drop-dead gorgeous’, she thought to herself. ‘You’re going to find your Prince
Charming tonight. I can feel it’. She confidently pouted to herself, then left
to meet her friends at the train station.
Suzanna and Megan were already
there. They exchanged warped screams of joy at the sight of one another, and
hugs made awkward by 7 inch heels. ‘Hey honeys’,’ she declared enthusiastically,
‘how are you? Where we going tonight?’ ‘Megan’s found this great place that
does 2 for 1 voddie shots on a Friday. I thought we could give that a go. I
know how you like your voddie shots...’ replied Suzanna. There was an eruption
of incessant giggling. ‘Just stop me if I have one too many like last time,
girlies.’
In the taxi, their conversation
turned to more serious matters. ‘Did you hear that John cheated on Emma?’ ‘No?’
‘I know!’ ‘I always said that he was a dick. I never even knew he had a girlfriend
when I went home with him. Though, in my defence, I was very drunk, and he is
soooooo hot.’ ‘Megan, I warned you about him. Jesus, I’m like the godmother to
you two. I will admit that he is pretty much fairytale-handsome.’ Megan leaned
her head, while giggling, on Suzanna’s shoulder; ‘We love having you as our
godmother though.’ Cinderella smiled. She asked ‘what’s this club called
anyway?’ ‘The Ball.’
They managed to get in with
minimum fuss. It was quite dark, an unnatural blue light acting as the only
illumination; glass tables were distributed along the walls of the club, with a
large dance-floor at its centre. The night was still young at this point, and
the girls decided to pass the time by occupying a table and taking advantage of
the Vodka Shots Friday Deal. An hour or two later, when the club was reasonably
full, the girls, after putting on their less inverted shoes, took to the
dance-floor. The club opted for underground drum-and-bass, rather than chart
hits, which suited the girls, and Cinderella in particular, perfectly.
Feeling
the rhythm circulate their tendons and muscles, they danced, the regular
thump-thumps of the bass composing their decadent impulses. The LED lighting
began. The song reached its climax; laughing and screaming with every
hedonistic impulse, they gazed into each other’s crazed faces every millisecond
the club vanished from light to darkness and back. It was at this moment, at
the climax, that Cinderella caught a man staring at her. When the song ended,
she laughed characteristically, and drew her hair away from her face. She
perceptively noticed that he was still looking. She noticed that it was the
‘fairytale-handsome’ John. He looks especially ‘fairytale-handsome’ tonight,
she thought to herself. In a schoolgirl gesture, she drew her finger to her
mouth in accompaniment to a sly smirk in a half-intoxicated attempt at
seduction. This telepathic flirtation continued for a few minutes until Megan
became aware of what was happening. ‘Cindy, no. Please don’t.’ ‘What?’ Suzanna
inquired. ‘Cindy and John are having eye-sex.’ ‘Oh for God’s sake, Cindy.
Please promise me you won’t get mixed up with that?’ ‘Oh come on, it’s
nothing.’ ‘Please, Cindy. You’ll only get hurt.’ ‘Fine, if it makes you feel
better, I promise. Okay?’ John glanced at her again, and putting down his pint,
licked the foam from his lips slowly, and contemplatively.
Megan and Suzanna ventured to the
toilet to reapply their make-up. Cinderella checked her phone, changed into her
glass heels, and pretended to be busy as John inevitably sat down, grinning.
‘Alright?’ Cinderella returned the grin, ‘yeah.’ ‘Cool, cool. Do you... wanna
dance?’ Every word was uttered with a terrible bluntness masquerading as charm.
‘Sure.’ She took John’s offered hand and, together, they danced. Like peacocks
attracting a mate, they showed their colours at a distance, but after a few
minutes they crept closer together. She became immersed in his deep brown eyes,
and she stroked his chest. She turned away and backed into him, his hands
clutching her waist as she lifted her own onto his shoulders behind her. His
hands moved over her body, grabbing everything, and she let him do so. He
started to kiss her neck; she giggled and playfully drew away. He pulled her
back and whispered sweet nothings in her ear; ‘you look well fit’. She smiled
and grabbed her prince’s hand, dragging him through the crowded room towards
the fire exit. She quickly glanced back to her table in time to see Megan shake
her head in disbelief. They exited into the alleyway outside.
John immediately began to kiss
her and, grabbing everything he could, gently pushed her against the wall
opposite the door. Cinderella wallowed in sheer lust and allowed him. She
started to slip her hand into his trousers, and drew him closer. John responded
in kind, and slowly climbed her thigh with his hand until it was under her
mini-skirt, and hard at work removing the final obstacle. She had descended
into illusion, and being so enamoured, had no mind to stop him. His eyes told
her that she loved him. He stopped suddenly, and drew back; hideous confusion
and bewilderment etched on his face, followed by horrified realisation. ‘The
Fuck...the fuck...? You’re one of...oh my god. That’s fucking sick. Get...get
the fuck away from me. You...you fucking sick fuck.’ ‘Please.’ He grasped onto
his arm as he tried to retreat. ‘Please don’t leave, I’ll do anything to you,
I’ll...’ Reality hit Cinderella the same moment that John did. He spat on her
collapsed body and, shaking his head and murmuring in shock, left the alleyway.
Cinderella coughed up blood, and began to cry. She saw her reflection in one of
the tops of the glass tables, which had been left outside. The drop-dead gorgeous girl pitied her. She
screamed as she threw one of her glass heels at that condescending figure, shattering
the image. She lay in the alleyway, weeping, as a clock-tower somewhere in the
city struck for midnight.
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