A Sure, Swift Demise
by Amelia RobinsonApril 8, 2013
Stung (Day 1) Contest, Figment.com
Prompt: Re-imagine the moment when Cinderella must flee the ball. Your scene must be set in the future and be no more than 150 words.
Description: Cinderella faces possible death at the stroke of midnight.
Knowing I was to die in four minutes did wonders to shake away the evening's high. In the distance, the ball was reaching its peak and I could do nothing but wait for sure and instantaneous death. Fingers shaking, I tapped desperately at my unfamiliar EyeCam, and prayed for my miracle.
Three and a half minutes.
My borrowed EyeCam made the image frighteningly clear. That cursed automaton -- my supposed guardian in training -- pixelized into view, lying curled against my master's side wearing nothing but a sweet, sleepy smile.
"Ella!" she cried, alarmed. Guilt and horror passed over her digitized face in quick succession. "What--?"
There was no measurement known under the HydraDome that could describe my disgust. "It's nearly midnight, you noxious mix of metals!" I shouted.
"Oh!" Horror drained. Guilt built. Understanding dawned. "Your--" she whispered.
"In three minutes, you scrap heap, my dress is going to atomize!"
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