Mother Hell
Once upon a time a mother had two daughters. One was beautiful and hard-working while the other one was pale and fat from spending all of her time in front of a video game console and chatting on facebook. The mother favored the ugly daughter because she reminded her mother of how lucky they were to have such wonderful things. The hard-working daughter made her feel guilty and lazy, so she forced her to sit by the well and spin 35% nylon/lycra blends all day.
One day as she was spinning she accidentally pricked her finger on the spindle and a drop of blood fell onto the mint-green threads, staining them. "Oh my!" she exclaimed, not a single swearword entering her pure little head. She reached over the lip of the well to rinse the spindle off quickly in cool water, but the water was very cold indeed, and the shock of it made the girl's grip loosen, so the spindle dropped slowly to the bottom of the well.
She ran to her mother, ashamed but honest, and told her all that had happened.
"Do you know how much I slave to get your spinning supplies!? Do you know how much that costs!? You'll go fetch that mint-green 35% nylon/lycra blend thread RIGHT NOW! AND DON'T RETURN WITHOUT IT!!"
The beautiful, hard-working daughter could not but obey. She returned to the well despondent. How could she ever retrieve that little spindle from way down there? She couldn't even see the mint-green thread, squint as she might. It was all darkness and mosses and big, black stones down there. But wait! Was that a glimmer in the depths? It looked almost golden.
"I'll just go see if I can reach it by diving, shall I?" and she carefully removed her military boots and stripped down to her early-American-style bloomers and corset. Without another thought (which might have been extremely helpful under less fairy-tale-like circumstances) she jumped in, head first, with her hands above her head, just like she'd seen them do in the Summer Olympics.
As she reached the bottom of the well she realized that that other thought might REALLY have been helpful, and she really couldn't see a thing down here, and there wasn't enough room to turn around and swim back to the top. As her air ran out she started thrashing and grasping at the stones around her, and twisting until the water was turgid and she no longer knew which direction was up, but she knew her time was.
Up at the well the lazy sister had just found her sister's boots and dress. She surmised what had happened, waited for the air-bubbles to subside, and ran to tell her mother that they were free. Her mother welcomed the news, and they decided to celebrate with an X-box tournament and killer brownies.
Meanwhile, the handsome sister awoke in her undies in a big, yellow meadow. She sat up, brushed straw from her hair, and looked around. There was nothing for it, but to set out in her bare feet in search of clothing, shelter, and maybe some food. She began walking.
Soon she came upon a tree whose branches were drooping with apples the size of pregnant watermelons. She looked up and heard a rustling, and a windy voice say: "Shake me! Shake me! or my fruit will spoil!" Without considering the possibility for humorous inuendo, she took pity on the tree and shook its trunk until all the apples had fallen. Then she took one as payment and set off quite satisfied.
A few miles later she came upon an oven in the middle of an empty field. As she approached she heard a couple of falsetto voices say, "Take us out! Take us out! or we will burn!" She took pity on the little voices, up a pair of hot-pads, and out the loaves from the oven. She set them on the sideboard and accepted their thanks. It's a little more difficult to eat something that can speak to you, so she bid her edible friends good-day and continued on her journey.
Finally she came upon a little cottage where a little old lady was dead-heading roses.
"Old Mother," said the young, underdressed stranger, "Do you know where I might find some shelter for the night?"
"Why, little naked girl-stranger, yes I do. You may stay here, but you must promise that in return you will make up the beds, and shake my down comforter until the feathers fly like snow, for I am Mrs. Hell!"
She agreed immediately and set to work. If the little old lady was okay with a servant who only wore underwear, she could tolerate a little craziness about the subject of hades and snow.
The little naked girl-stranger stayed for a long time (several months in fact, while up above, in the real world, it snowed and snowed and snowed, and her sister was forced to play X-box until she had beaten every game in the house), and the little old lady was very pleased with the girl, but they both knew she couldn't stay forever.
"Mrs. Hell, I need to go home. I miss wearing clothes and shoes, and living in a house that doesn't always smell of lavender soap."
"I thought you might. I'll show you the way home," and the little old lady took her by the hand and led her to a giant door-frame shaped like a perfect Gothic arch. She handed her a spindle of mint-green nylon/lycra thread and pointed to the gate saying, "there lies your way, and there is your reward for your faithful service." As the little naked girl-stranger stood under the doorway, a rain of pure gold fell upon her, which clung to her underwear and skin and would never come off
When she returned home her mother was so annoyed (and somewhere in the distance, a rooster was singing "cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo, your golden girl's come back to you!" Which is enough to give anyone a headache) that her unfavorite had arrived at good fortune (not thinking the whole thing through to its logical conclusion) that she urged the lazy sister to try her hand as well, "for you're fully as worthy as she," she said. The lazy sister absolutely refused, until the mother turned off her X-box and refused to cook any more food until she came back covered in gold.
The lazy sister piled on her best clothes, sat on the edge of the well, and then slid slowly into the frigid water like a penguin dressed as Santa. She found drowning most unpleasant. When she awoke, she sat up in the same field and began walking in the same direction, but when the tree pled with her, she made the obvious joke and refused to play bloody Isaac Newton or volunteer for a concussion. She walked on. When the apparently emancipated kitchen appliance appeared she merely rolled her eyes and walked on. Apparently, bread speaks in a range too high for some human hearing. She spotted the cottage with little enough trouble and volunteered her services as a down-comforter-shaker.
The lazy sister did quite well for two or three days, but then she began to get bored with all of the feather-flying like snow stuff. Up in the world, it was a very mild Winter indeed, and the golden sister was able to sit outside and spin quite often, which she found satisfying.
Finally, Mrs. Hell had had enough. She grabbed the girl by the ear and dragged her out to the great, free-standing, gothic door.
"There you go, dearie, and don't forget to write," she said in a tone so sarcastic she was afraid she'd pull a muscle. When the lazy sister stood under the door, a rain of pitch fell on her, which burned her skin and could never be removed from that day to this.
In consequence of their adventures, the golden sister married a very prestigious, but greedy man who tried to have her flayed, while the sister covered in pitch lived out the remainder of her days in a little hermitage where she wrote paperback novels and collections of inspirational quotations. She still occasionally plays a game of hexic on her X-box.
The morals of the story include: intelligence is a virtue, but not all virtue is intelligence; one should learn from blessings as well as trials; the difference between work and play is often simply a matter of opinion; and you can't always trust a judgment that is written on the skin. There are more, but I'll leave them up to you.
One day as she was spinning she accidentally pricked her finger on the spindle and a drop of blood fell onto the mint-green threads, staining them. "Oh my!" she exclaimed, not a single swearword entering her pure little head. She reached over the lip of the well to rinse the spindle off quickly in cool water, but the water was very cold indeed, and the shock of it made the girl's grip loosen, so the spindle dropped slowly to the bottom of the well.
She ran to her mother, ashamed but honest, and told her all that had happened.
"Do you know how much I slave to get your spinning supplies!? Do you know how much that costs!? You'll go fetch that mint-green 35% nylon/lycra blend thread RIGHT NOW! AND DON'T RETURN WITHOUT IT!!"
The beautiful, hard-working daughter could not but obey. She returned to the well despondent. How could she ever retrieve that little spindle from way down there? She couldn't even see the mint-green thread, squint as she might. It was all darkness and mosses and big, black stones down there. But wait! Was that a glimmer in the depths? It looked almost golden.
"I'll just go see if I can reach it by diving, shall I?" and she carefully removed her military boots and stripped down to her early-American-style bloomers and corset. Without another thought (which might have been extremely helpful under less fairy-tale-like circumstances) she jumped in, head first, with her hands above her head, just like she'd seen them do in the Summer Olympics.
As she reached the bottom of the well she realized that that other thought might REALLY have been helpful, and she really couldn't see a thing down here, and there wasn't enough room to turn around and swim back to the top. As her air ran out she started thrashing and grasping at the stones around her, and twisting until the water was turgid and she no longer knew which direction was up, but she knew her time was.
Up at the well the lazy sister had just found her sister's boots and dress. She surmised what had happened, waited for the air-bubbles to subside, and ran to tell her mother that they were free. Her mother welcomed the news, and they decided to celebrate with an X-box tournament and killer brownies.
Meanwhile, the handsome sister awoke in her undies in a big, yellow meadow. She sat up, brushed straw from her hair, and looked around. There was nothing for it, but to set out in her bare feet in search of clothing, shelter, and maybe some food. She began walking.
Soon she came upon a tree whose branches were drooping with apples the size of pregnant watermelons. She looked up and heard a rustling, and a windy voice say: "Shake me! Shake me! or my fruit will spoil!" Without considering the possibility for humorous inuendo, she took pity on the tree and shook its trunk until all the apples had fallen. Then she took one as payment and set off quite satisfied.
A few miles later she came upon an oven in the middle of an empty field. As she approached she heard a couple of falsetto voices say, "Take us out! Take us out! or we will burn!" She took pity on the little voices, up a pair of hot-pads, and out the loaves from the oven. She set them on the sideboard and accepted their thanks. It's a little more difficult to eat something that can speak to you, so she bid her edible friends good-day and continued on her journey.
Finally she came upon a little cottage where a little old lady was dead-heading roses.
"Old Mother," said the young, underdressed stranger, "Do you know where I might find some shelter for the night?"
"Why, little naked girl-stranger, yes I do. You may stay here, but you must promise that in return you will make up the beds, and shake my down comforter until the feathers fly like snow, for I am Mrs. Hell!"
She agreed immediately and set to work. If the little old lady was okay with a servant who only wore underwear, she could tolerate a little craziness about the subject of hades and snow.
The little naked girl-stranger stayed for a long time (several months in fact, while up above, in the real world, it snowed and snowed and snowed, and her sister was forced to play X-box until she had beaten every game in the house), and the little old lady was very pleased with the girl, but they both knew she couldn't stay forever.
"Mrs. Hell, I need to go home. I miss wearing clothes and shoes, and living in a house that doesn't always smell of lavender soap."
"I thought you might. I'll show you the way home," and the little old lady took her by the hand and led her to a giant door-frame shaped like a perfect Gothic arch. She handed her a spindle of mint-green nylon/lycra thread and pointed to the gate saying, "there lies your way, and there is your reward for your faithful service." As the little naked girl-stranger stood under the doorway, a rain of pure gold fell upon her, which clung to her underwear and skin and would never come off
When she returned home her mother was so annoyed (and somewhere in the distance, a rooster was singing "cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo, your golden girl's come back to you!" Which is enough to give anyone a headache) that her unfavorite had arrived at good fortune (not thinking the whole thing through to its logical conclusion) that she urged the lazy sister to try her hand as well, "for you're fully as worthy as she," she said. The lazy sister absolutely refused, until the mother turned off her X-box and refused to cook any more food until she came back covered in gold.
The lazy sister piled on her best clothes, sat on the edge of the well, and then slid slowly into the frigid water like a penguin dressed as Santa. She found drowning most unpleasant. When she awoke, she sat up in the same field and began walking in the same direction, but when the tree pled with her, she made the obvious joke and refused to play bloody Isaac Newton or volunteer for a concussion. She walked on. When the apparently emancipated kitchen appliance appeared she merely rolled her eyes and walked on. Apparently, bread speaks in a range too high for some human hearing. She spotted the cottage with little enough trouble and volunteered her services as a down-comforter-shaker.
The lazy sister did quite well for two or three days, but then she began to get bored with all of the feather-flying like snow stuff. Up in the world, it was a very mild Winter indeed, and the golden sister was able to sit outside and spin quite often, which she found satisfying.
Finally, Mrs. Hell had had enough. She grabbed the girl by the ear and dragged her out to the great, free-standing, gothic door.
"There you go, dearie, and don't forget to write," she said in a tone so sarcastic she was afraid she'd pull a muscle. When the lazy sister stood under the door, a rain of pitch fell on her, which burned her skin and could never be removed from that day to this.
In consequence of their adventures, the golden sister married a very prestigious, but greedy man who tried to have her flayed, while the sister covered in pitch lived out the remainder of her days in a little hermitage where she wrote paperback novels and collections of inspirational quotations. She still occasionally plays a game of hexic on her X-box.
The morals of the story include: intelligence is a virtue, but not all virtue is intelligence; one should learn from blessings as well as trials; the difference between work and play is often simply a matter of opinion; and you can't always trust a judgment that is written on the skin. There are more, but I'll leave them up to you.
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