The Tale of Emmeline & Stanley

The flickering candle did nothing to enhance the passed-out lump Emmeline called Husband.

The stink-cloud of booze and old sweat coming off him infected the air. Wrinkling her nose, she plucked the bottle from his hand and locked it away in the poky little kitchen. It wouldn't do for Them to get their little hands on it.

"Come on, Stanley," she said, heaving at him and gritting her yellowing teeth. "Time for bed, darling mine." He mumbled and blinked his bloodshot eyes .

"Why hadn't I been a spinster!" she muttered.

It'd seemed like a fairytale when she was young and pretty. He'd seemed princely and charming. He'd worshipped her, then. Promised her the world. When had their story turned sour?

She was determined to escape this life, have nice things, not be hungry all the time. It was difficult when he drank away what little they had. But she had a Plan.

Once he was relocated to the lumpy mattress, she took a pair of scissors from his workbench, which was scattered with half-finished and poorly-made shoes, and paid a visit her little hostage. The little blighters had so far refused to do the tasks she set them. Tonight, they would get some extra motivation.

Its screams were shrill, and it almost got her with it's sharp little teeth, but she got what she needed. Before she retired to bed, she left out a saucer of nearly-fresh milk for them, as was her custom. This time, she lay the bloodied ear next to it, on the little pointed hat.

In the morning, she rose with the sun, and hurried to the workbench. At last, it looked like they'd been busy; A gorgeously made pair of shoes sat proudly on it. Good. It's always nice to know what motivates people.

Stanley slept late, of course, and when he woke, he beamed.

"It seems, dearest," he said "that I do my best work drunk!"

The shoes sold quickly, and fetched a high price, which Stanley promptly squandered in celebration. No matter. There'd soon be more. There were plenty of other little bits that could be cut off.

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Word count: (excluding note): 366

Submitted on: 2nd April at 12.00 noon

*Quick Author's Note*

First, and most importantly: thank you for reading! Especially if you are one of the people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you 😁

A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one makes an 93 day streak since the 1st January. I'm collating them all here.

The Prompt: I wrote this for my unofficial challenge, "Fucked Up Fairytales". Didn't you ever wonder why the elves worked so hard without pay and let the old man take all the credit?

If you'd like some more prompts to get your inky juices flowing, please have a look at my prompts for April.

Thank you

Thank you again! I do my best to reciprocate all reads. Leaving a comment for me makes that easier 😁