(Note: this blog post represents part of a Fairy Tale Trial for my Mock Trial team.)
My relationship with my stepmom has always been rocky. You know, since she married my dad five years ago, she’s starved us, beaten us, and mistreated us almost every day. She lies to our dad about us, too. One time, she was too stupid to pull her curling iron out of the fire and managed to set her hair on fire. She blamed me for that one. What a jerk.
Anyway, on the night in question, she was railing at my dad again. This time, she was claiming that we had eaten the food she’d set aside for him to eat for dinner. What a laugh. We knew she hadn’t cooked anything that day but water. But Dad took her side, like he always does. He demanded that we head out that night, in the cold, to replace the food we “stole.” And so, with nothing for dinner but stale bread, we set out in the woods.
Dad said he knew of a place where there were some truffles. Since truffles meant money and money meant more food to eat, my sister Gretel was all for looking for them, even at night. She’s a little gullible like that. I knew better. I saw the look that women shot Dad as we left. I knew what his evil scheme was. It was up to me to outsmart her.
So as we walked through the woods, I did what I could to mark our trail. How was I to know that birds love stale bread? I never thought he’d leave us in the woods, but that’s what he did.
Boy was Gretel mad at me when she realized I’d crumbled our dinner and lost it to the birds!
As we wandered through the woods, trying desperately to find our way back, we stumbled upon an amazing house. It had candy embedded right on the walls. Before I could stop her, Gretel had climbed up on the roof and started pulling candy out. No sooner had she tossed me a piece of candy when this old woman burst from the front door. She grabbed me and threw me into a cage, saying something about fattening me up for supper.
Days past, maybe weeks, I don’t know. She wouldn’t let me out, and she kept feeding me sweets. I think I must have gained at least fifty pounds while she kept me caged up. I kept begging her to let me out, to let me exercise, or at least to let me eat some wholesome food, but to no avail. She kept grabbing my arm, pulling it through the cage and feeling me up to see how much weight I’d gained.
I don’t think I’d ever be free, if Gretel hadn’t pushed that witch into the oven. Now I have a 40 BMI, and all I can eat is Weight Watchers food. Disgusting!