Status: Discontinued.
Sleeping Beauty: A Modern Retelling
Part One
Once upon a time in a Kingdom far, far away . . .
Her name was Margaret Queen. Her parents were well-off socialites in her Kingdom of New York City. Her boyfriend was an artist from her Catholic school. He loved the hearts she drew on her stockings and pursued her until she lost her virginity to him in the backseat of his car. Then the artist found a girl with stars on her stockings and left Margaret Queen waiting at her house, seven ‘o clock on Friday.
Margaret Queen was devastated and kept to her room for days on end, until she realized that her period hadn’t started. The pregnancy test from the drugstore confirmed that she was pregnant with the artist’s child. She kept it a secret until she started to show. The Socialites withdrew her from school and kept her in her room, ashamed that the elite of New York City would know what Margaret Queen had been doing within steamed up car windows.
But at long last nine months had passed and Margaret Queen gave birth to a boy. After a quick kiss and the mumbled name, Brandon, the baby was taken to her and sent to another kingdom, far away. She didn’t know where and The Socialites told her not to worry about it.
Three months later Margaret Queen hung herself.
Deep into the forest the child went, to be protected the fairies.
His nickname was Bam and the forest of Cheridan Hills lay to the back of the house. He was fourteen and prepared to start high school with his court of followers: Ryan and the two Brandons, called by their surnames so as not to cause confusion.
He rode on a chariot of four wheels and board, yelling at anyone rude enough to get in his path. He was the son of a Queen, after all. Thought it was unbeknownst to him, the Queen blood was apparent to all who knew him. One does not have the breeding of socialites to blend into the background.
School was due to start in three days and the boy was prepared to start his walk toward the gallows. A rebel Queen is always sainted after death, but death must come first.
Before the sun sets on his sixteenth birthday . . .
Her name was Margaret Queen. Her parents were well-off socialites in her Kingdom of New York City. Her boyfriend was an artist from her Catholic school. He loved the hearts she drew on her stockings and pursued her until she lost her virginity to him in the backseat of his car. Then the artist found a girl with stars on her stockings and left Margaret Queen waiting at her house, seven ‘o clock on Friday.
Margaret Queen was devastated and kept to her room for days on end, until she realized that her period hadn’t started. The pregnancy test from the drugstore confirmed that she was pregnant with the artist’s child. She kept it a secret until she started to show. The Socialites withdrew her from school and kept her in her room, ashamed that the elite of New York City would know what Margaret Queen had been doing within steamed up car windows.
But at long last nine months had passed and Margaret Queen gave birth to a boy. After a quick kiss and the mumbled name, Brandon, the baby was taken to her and sent to another kingdom, far away. She didn’t know where and The Socialites told her not to worry about it.
Three months later Margaret Queen hung herself.
Deep into the forest the child went, to be protected the fairies.
His nickname was Bam and the forest of Cheridan Hills lay to the back of the house. He was fourteen and prepared to start high school with his court of followers: Ryan and the two Brandons, called by their surnames so as not to cause confusion.
He rode on a chariot of four wheels and board, yelling at anyone rude enough to get in his path. He was the son of a Queen, after all. Thought it was unbeknownst to him, the Queen blood was apparent to all who knew him. One does not have the breeding of socialites to blend into the background.
School was due to start in three days and the boy was prepared to start his walk toward the gallows. A rebel Queen is always sainted after death, but death must come first.
Before the sun sets on his sixteenth birthday . . .