once upon a time . . .

                                    

                                              


                          
            
                          
Fairy tales are banned where I live.

                          
You're burned at the stake if you breathe the words Once upon a time.  
                          
So I keep a secret journal filled with amazing tales of fairies, princesses, sleeping maidens, and mermaids. But I can't let it fall into their hands.
                          
Who? you ask.
                          
The Crimson Bishops.
                          
Sharp-nosed, long-necked demons who see all, do all, checking to make sure no one dares dream of a happily ever after.
                          
How can that be? 
                          
They have this computer, Queen Aye. She spies on us everywhere we go, but there's one place she can't.
                          
Where?
                          
In our minds.
                          
That's where I find my stories. I secretly talk to women, some over a century old, who remember books made from paper and red leather and golden embossing. I held such a book once, marveled at the raised, black print pricking my fingertips. The crackly, ivory paper peppering my ears when I turned the page. It belonged to my grams. Then the minions of Queen Aye came and took her away, burned her and her fairy tale book.
                          
Now it's my job to write down the stories for my children.
                          
I haven't much time left.
                          
I'm nearly eighteen. Soon I will appear before the Bishops to find me a mate.
                          
Seriously?
                          
Yes. I want a prince. A man to love me, not mate me. Like in the fairy stories. But I've no time for such thoughts. I must finish writing this fairy tale before the clock strikes midnight.
                          
My birthday. 
                          
Then I'll be locked up with other girls. Kept there until I'm mated. Quick, I must hurry. The words come fast as I write down the fairy story on my white screen, the blue ink flowing like curling, satin ribbons.
                          
What's it about?
                          
It's the most awesome tale of a princess who runs away from a wicked queen like Aye—
                          
Why don't you run, too?
                          
Me? I can't . . . that would upset the order of society. I write down the fairy tales, but have the courage to live my own? I couldn't.
                          
You must. Girls will never dream they can be smart and powerful and find true love if you don't escape with your book.
                          
Let another girl try. Not me.
                          
Wasn't your grams burnt at the stake for her beliefs?
                          
Yes . . .
                          
If you don't carry on her work, once upon a time will die with her.
                          
Oh, no!
                          
Then run, girl. Run for your life. And for those who come after you. So they, too, can find their prince.
                          
I can't. I hear them coming for me. 
                          
You can. The window. Cut off your long braid, secure it to the sill and . . .
                          
Do I dare?
                          
Yes. Now!
                          
What will I fail?
                          
You'll never know until you try. Spread your wings and fly! 
                          
Yes, yes. Down I climb.
                          
Go. And never look back. Find your happily ever after.
                          
For once upon a time is now.