Challenge: Rewrite a fairy tale from the bad guy’s point of view.
When he stole from me the first time, I could hardly blame him. Truth be told, I took it as a compliment. Who could resist my lush green garden?
The second time, I took a breath, made a bit of tea, and checked the property line. Maybe the poor bumbling fool had gotten confused and mistaken my rapunzel for his own. But I found the stones stacked just as they belonged, dividing my estate from his dinky cottage.
The third time? Well, I made room for a new lawn ornament—right between the man who’d made me drop my basket when he bumped me in the town square and the woman who’d shrieked at me when I’d trod on the train of her dress.
His groveling was near immediate, which came as a surprise to me. I suppose I’d thought a man bold enough to steal from me three times would have a little something more—more nerve, certainly. But no. He cowered in the soil like an unearthed mole. How disappointing.
He raised his grubby hands to shield his face. They all do that at this stage, a last-ditch effort to save themselves by trying to block my curses with tiny paddles of inch-thick flesh. Or maybe they thought I had the object permanence of an infant and expected they could peekaboo their way out of death’s clutches.
Infant. The man’s pleading began to register; he was going on about needing the rapunzel for his pregnant wife. Impending starvation of a little one—now that’s something that tugs on the heartstrings.
In that moment, I devised a solution that would keep the little one and her parents from starving.
In an effort to start the summer strong, I’m doing Writer’s Digest’s 12-Day Plan.
Miles Away 