Clock Strikes Twelve

As light snuck through the cracked, smudged windows of a small shack, a woman awoke

languidly in a tangle of old, tattered sheets. To her left the sheets rose and fell in peaceful

rhythm. Her lover remained in slumber as she slowly slid out of bed and onto the floor. As her

bare foot grazed the wooden planks, creaks echoed throughout the mostly empty room waking

the dozer from his dreams. He rolled over onto his stomach and gazed with adoration at the

woman as she tried to orient herself. The sun was well over the horizon, and to her astonishment

the woman realized how late she was.

The woman never seemed to be able to keep track of the time. She feared the evil minute

and hour hands of clocks as they ticked and inched towards numbers and notches. As she threw

on the same gown she had worn the night before, the man sat up and stretched. He had to get

ready for work himself, for he had a long day at the shoe factory ahead of him, working extra

hours in order to afford food and rent. She found herself attracted to his arms and hands, strong

and callused from years of labor. Seven days a week, he made slippers, and each day he was

reminded of how perfect his beloved’s feet were.

“Good morning, Cinderella.”

After the two shared a small breakfast of buttered toast, Cinderella slipped on her terribly

uncomfortable shoes. Her toes smashed into the tips of the designer glass high-heeled slippers.

Honestly, she preferred to walk barefoot. She was always pretending to leave them places so as

to rid herself of their torturous, blister-giving presence. Somehow, though, they always seemed

to find her again.

“Farewell, Albert,” Cinderella said in a hushed tone as she slipped through the door. “I

love you.”

She had wanted to leave before sunrise, but alas, she had been remiss as usual. She

closed the door softly behind her and looked out into the village. The streets were littered with
bones from old scraps picked clean by dogs and other animals. The buildings consisted of

shacks with crumbling walls and leaky roofs. Old women begged on street corners. The ribs on

the horses pulling carriages poked out worrisomely, and they lumbered down the roads as if they

would fall down at any moment. Vagrants stole from peddlers selling rotting fruit and moldy

bread. Mothers wept and fathers held their heads in shame as their children, playing with rocks

and twigs in the street, starved.

Cinderella walked briskly through the streets. There were many villages like this one in

her kingdom. She thought for a moment. It was not really her kingdom, but Charming’s

kingdom. Cinderella felt powerless in her own castle, imprisoned by her new role in society as

housewife of the king. Sometimes she could not tell which was worse, cooking and cleaning for

her stepmother and stepsisters or playing “wife” at balls and meetings with other world leaders,

being forced to smile politely at guests each night and remain silent during important meetings

and even dinner conversations. In her heart, she knew she was better off at the castle, or at least

she thought she was.

Unaware of the many eyes staring at her, she traversed the sidewalks. Her dress, though

ripped from her careless trekking, was noticeably expensive, the elaborate patterns and shining

fabrics drawing the attention of the window washers, factory workers, street cleaners, merchants,

and beggars in the street. Her face, though makeup-less and dirty, was recognizable to the

public. Her golden hair was pinned up atop her head, a well-known trademark. She had gotten

used to this ordeal over the past several months and had begun to forget to feel out of place in the

village. The people living there, however, had not yet become accustomed to seeing their queen,

the woman who represented their struggles with her humble beginnings, back on their streets.

Finally, she reached the end of the village. Her last stretch of the journey home consisted

of a short walk through the woods and across the bridge that led to the castle. This part of the
original woods had been left untouched as a sort of barrier between the rich who lived in and

near the castle and the poor who lived in the villages.

After she arrived on the other side, Cinderella bounded up the stairs of the castle and

threw open the door. Once inside, she could see the tall, looming grandfather clock as the

minute hand and the hour hand met at the 12. DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG.

DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG. Cinderella hiked up her dress and

walked up the marble staircase.

Charming was waiting for her in their bedroom. He sat upright in bed, reading glasses

balanced at the tip of his nose. He held a book in his hands, the same book he always held while

in bed. She knew it was neither a novel nor any religious book; many times she had snuck a

glimpse at the vulgar photographs that filled the pages. He looked up at her blankly as she

breathed hard, worn from her journey.

“Are you ready for the ball tonight?” Charming inquired lazily, looking back down at his

book.

“Of course, dear.”

He looked up again to study her sloppy attire. “I assume you will wear something a little

less…filthy for the ball.” Cinderella knew Charming had been suspicious of her affairs, but this

mattered little. Their marriage had been for neither love nor money. Of course, Cinderella had

naively thought that it was for love at the time of their nuptials, and it wasn’t until about a month

after the wedding ceremonies that she realized the true reason for the marriage. The tender,

loving prince she had met the night of the ball had been replaced with a greedy, ungrateful

tyrant. Charming knew that if he wanted to retain his rule, he would need to keep the poor from

forming a rebellion. To do this, it would be imperative to become likeable to them. In their

eyes, he was no more than a spoiled prince who threw parties year-round. By marrying

Cinderella and sharing her story, Charming could become a kind king who had taken in the poor
orphan girl imprisoned and overworked by an evil stepmother and stepsisters. The poor people

could feel as if they had someone on their side near the throne, someone who could truly

empathize with them.

Little did these people know that Cinderella’s power was next to nothing compared to

that of their covetous king. Still, it put Charming’s people at ease. They continued working,

using what little earnings they had to pay for food, clothing, and shelter—the bare necessities—

while Charming and the nobles in the kingdom ate like kings at every meal, received only the

best tailor-made gowns and suits, and lived in mansions on huge, rolling properties with statues,

fountains, and gardens.

“Make sure that the ballroom is cleaned and the dining table is set for the guests,”

Charming murmured, “and be sure to bake that chocolate cake before they arrive. I expect you

to greet them when they come through the doors.”

Cinderella nodded and walked slowly out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind

her. Each day, she considered speaking out, leaving the king, and going to live with Albert.

What was stopping her was the fact that she was scared—terrified, even—of going back to how

she lived before, struggling each day to get by. It was true that she hated her life, but she could

not deny the enjoyment and comfort of knowing when her next meal was coming and being

waited on and cooked and cleaned for.

Cinderella put a hand on her belly and sighed as she walked down the staircase. She

needed a safe, stable life, now more than ever. She walked down to the main floor and continued

past the ballroom, past the dining hall until she reached another staircase that led down. When

she got to the bottom, she walked down a narrow hallway and knocked on the third door on the

right.
 “Come in!” cried a woman’s voice. Cinderella entered a room filled with books and

medical supplies. The woman lifted her head from the book she was reading and smiled at

Cinderella. “Is everything alright?”

Marie was the only female doctor in the castle and probably one of the only ones in the

kingdom. She was more of a midwife, but was also extremely educated in the field of medicine.

Cinderella spoke quietly to her, and she nodded.

“Everything seems to be in order then!” she exclaimed. Cinderella winced at the noise;

she did not want others in the castle to know where she was. The two spoke for a few more

minutes before Cinderella left.

As Cinderella walked down the hall, Marie stuck her head out of her room.

“The baby should come in about seven months, my lady!” she whispered down the hall.

Then she smiled and closed the door. Cinderella would soon tell her husband that she was

expecting, but she was unsure of whether or not she should tell Albert, the baby’s father. Only

one thing was certain—the child would grow up in the stable environment of the castle. What

other option did she have?