Snow White: The Real Story by Karen Fried “ Pure as the driven snow,” so they thought. All day long, I cook and clean up their mess. Shifty, Stupid, Dumpy, Frumpy, Loser, Smoker and Late to dinner are turning my hair gray. I could wring my lovely stepmother’s neck! Hi ho, hi ho, out the door you go with a shove shove here and a shove shove there. What I wouldn’t give to slip a cigarette in my ruby red lips. If this forest had a little sun, I wouldn’t have to endure this creamy white complexion. Oh, an old woman in rags begging at my door. Get off my porch! I don’t want your rotten apple. Here’s one for you. Bull's-eye! Now about that perfect prince, I’ll let you in on a little secret: He snores, throws his royal robes on the frozen stone floor and never cleans up after his horses. He also never stokes my fire, if you get my drift. From Karen Fried: “ I was born in Indianapolis and have lived here most of my life.” ...
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.