Elastic Death

A dark retelling of the first attempted murder of Snow White through different eyes

Thinly dangling on a sparkling white bodice, never too tightly pulled onto the bodies of courtly folks. I rest on a sturdy oak stake bedazzled with crystal-like gems. A mirror reflects back at me. Look at me! My little ends sway as a large body passes with a gust of air touching me softly.

Under the mirror is a little boudoir with my elegant many-toothed friend resting sweetly. Absent of voice, I swing left to say ‘hello’ to my dearest mate and my bristled friend vibrates excitedly. Jiggly floorboards send the message my way. Pop, pop, pop I feel in my tips as my true friends bid me a good day.

A warmth swells inside my little ends, my tassels — I love being loved. On wonderful days soft hands conjured me to life. Gentle hands pulled me tighter…tighter…and alas a thing of beauty emerged. Every princess wanted me to make them beautiful.

Shaking floorboards startled me, no friendly message this time. The mistress stomped while spurting firey words from her lips. She aggressively grabbed the bodice and shoved us inside a blackened cloth bag.

I couldn’t take a breath no matter how hard I tried. Thick and moist with dew dripping on my string — yuck! It was odd to be in a bag instead of kindly resting my strings on a body.

Endlessly tossed back and forth in this sauna, but finally, stillness. I gulped in the air as the mistress pulled me from my purgatory. Alas, I could do my work of beauty.

I was slipped onto the body of a pale-skinned little girl. I did not feel bulging fat, only small inward curves. I knew this was a young girl, a princess!

Roughly I was touched by the mistress. OUCH! It hurts! What is this hell? I cannot stretch like this, I cannot, I must no…AH! Tiny hairy pieces of string pop off of me left and right. I was a dainty lace being pulled like sailors lifting the sails at sea.

Tighter…tighter…tighter…tighter…I am on the rack! Why are you killing me!?

In the wake of the laces’ expirations, there was nothing but silence until the little men arrived home. They saw the girl lying unconscious on the ground and quickly unfastened the corset. The little lace slumped to the floor never to breathe again.

Never to feel the soft hands caress.

Never greet and feel love from their only true friend.

The mistress, the Queen, stretched the poor dear too thin. The friendly comb would sit alone in the dressing room of the Queen anticipating the return of their mate.

The little bristled rectangle will wait an eternity — friendless and safe…for now.