The Princess And The Woodcutter
The Princess walked through the trees. From a long way behind her she could hear the voices of the ladies of her retinue as they chattered and giggled like schoolgirls. She wondered how long it would be before they noticed that she had gone. There would undoubtedly be hell to pay if her father ever discovered that she’d disobeyed his orders to be with her ladies-in-waiting at all times - and she shuddered as the thought of the flogging block and the birch twigs fleetingly crossed her mind - but she was desperate to escape her boredom. Her life was suffocating her: she felt that all the luxuries in the world were inadequate compensation for the loss of her freedom to do as she pleased, to escape the routines of ritual and duty that defined every moment of her waking day, to have adventures, to be alone.
The tinkling of a forest stream drew her onwards through the blossom-perfumed gloom to where a break in the trees allowed a bright shaft of sunlight to stand in the summer air like the column of an insubstantial but glorious temple. Within it pollen danced - millions of golden sparks blown from some celestial fire - and the wings of a dragonfly blazed with the momentary richness of an artist’s dream. At its base the stream widened into a languid pool which shone like silver in the light.
She stood above the pool, watching her reflection trembling in its depths, and she thought I am beautiful. Her red hair fell in an autumnal tumble over her shoulders and her eyes were as green as the leaves that framed her image in the water.
As she stood and looked at herself her fingers moved almost of their own volition to the pearl buttons that held her summer gown closed and undid them one by one until it fell at her feet. Her fingertips gently teased her nipples and stroked the amber down that surrounded her sex.
The breeze chilled her skin and caused delicious shudders to run through her. She kicked off her slippers and carried them in her hand as she waded through the cool water, her gown slung across one shoulder in what she imagined was a nonchalant fashion.
The trees thinned out on the other side and she soon found herself walking through a meadow. Swaying daisies punctuated the grass, and golden butterflies crowded the air in dancing flurries. Ahead of her a grey horse - freed of its cartload of logs - contentedly champed at the grass, and she could hear a cuckoo calling from the forest.
The Princess adored horses. She had been drawn to them helplessly: hopelessly in love with them since she could first recognise them, long before she had ever learned to pronounce the word ‘horse’. This wasn’t some sleek thoroughbred from her father’s stables, but nevertheless it was a horse, true scion of the King of Beasts. Dropping her gown in the grass she stroked its mane and kissed its nose, murmuring her love in its ear.
"And what would you be doing there, missy?"
She turned, her heart suddenly hammering in her breast.
He was dressed in a brown leather jerkin which was open at the front to reveal the thickly matted, glistening hair of his chest. His long chestnut hair fell nearly to the waist of the canvas trousers and he was darkly bearded. His face bore a look of almost cruel amusement as he dropped the axe he was carrying and moved towards her.
As he approached she could smell him, an acrid animal odour of mingled sweat and woodsmoke that took her breath away. Suddenly conscious of her nudity she folded one arm across her breasts while a protective hand fell to cover the mossy gateway between her thighs.
Uselessly.
As he reached her he took one hand in each of his and drew her arms open with a strength and self-confidence that stilled her struggles before they had even begun. His mouth moved powerfully against hers, and as he drew her to him she could feel the hardness of his manhood against her thigh. Her senses swam as he pulled her to the ground and ...
The telephone rang.
Rachel hung for a moment on the edge of her dream, her fingers still working busily at her clitoris, before the telephone rang again and pulled her completely from the magic.
"Shit!"
She flung herself across the duvet towards the phone on the bedside table.
Who the fuck? ...
"Hello?" she said into the receiver, politeness smoothing her voice even as the anger boiled inside her.
"Rachel?" The voice was hesitant, pathetic in its uncertainty.
"Josh? What do you want?" The irritation broke free from her control and she could hear the sting in her tone.
"Rachel, I’ve really done it this time. I just wanted to say goodbye, princess." His voice held the pleading undertone that she’d come to detest so violently over the last few months.
"Done what?" she asked, her thoughts adding "you gutless little wimp" to the question.
"I’ve eaten all the sleeping pills the doctor gave me. I’m dying, Rachel."
Good! I might get some peace now.
She wrestled the thought into submission and tried to summon up some last dregs of sympathy.
"Listen, Josh, I’m sorry that you had the breakdown. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to help you through it, but I’ve got my own life to live. We had some fun for a while and I’ve tried to be a friend since, but I really don’t have time for this. Get yourself some help and LEAVE ME ALONE!"
Despite her best intentions she slammed the phone down on him.
***
He lay on his bed staring upwards at the ceiling. Waiting.
The phone was clutched in his right hand. He gripped it with a force that threatened to crack the plastic of the receiver.
It had only been a few minutes but he could feel the drowsiness sliding over him: a long, dark wave that started at his feet and washed gently to the crown of his head, before retreating and then returning with slightly greater force. Over and over.
His fingers loosened and the phone fell onto the bare boards of his bedroom floor with a clatter that set up a resonating throb in his temples.
He thought of Rachel and the dull ember of antipathy that had glowed sporadically within him since she had told him to go suddenly grew brighter. In his mind’s eye he could see it turn from ruby to orange to yellow to a searing white heat that blazed through him and burned away his body as it lay dying.
As he fell forever into darkness a shining arrow of his hatred shot through the night towards its target.
***
She lay fuming in the pool of light shed by the bedside lamp, her hair a rioting red fan of wrath against the white satin of the pillow. She’d had quite enough misery as a result of Josh’s illness without wanting to bathe in it any longer; she had no patience left either for him or his morbid fantasies. And part of her anger sprang too, she knew, from a certain sense of guilt that no amount of rationalisation would quite overcome: after all it really hadn’t been her fault that the pressures of his work had pushed him into depression, and she just wasn’t the kind of person who could sustain a relationship through that kind of strain. Ending it when she had was undoubtedly not the best thing she could have done from Josh’s point of view, but she’d had to put her own interests first - she couldn’t risk being pulled down with him - and he had other friends to support him.
She angrily kicked the giant stuffed panda he’d given her for her birthday off the bed, where it landed sprawled face downwards on an abandoned copy of A. N. Roquelaure’s 'Beauty’s Release', and swore. The stupid, weak arsehole! How dare he!
She was fraught. She knew it. The demands of her own work were unravelling her nerves and she desperately needed some rest, some support. She often woke from some uneasy dream to find herself grinding her teeth, a childhood habit which had returned in recent months.
The panda looked as desolate lying where it had fallen as Josh himself had come to look at the end. It awakened a disquieting sense of his presence - she could almost sense him watching her, and she shivered.
She relit the small joint that lay half-smoked in the ashtray and took a calming puff. She picked up the book of fairy stories that lay on what had once been Josh’s side of the bed and began reading where she’d left off.
Soon she allowed her fingers to wander, and her eyes closed as she sank blissfully into her favourite fantasy.
***
As she walked through the last of the trees the world grew sharp around her, impressing itself upon her senses with an immediacy that said "I am no longer a Dream; I am Real". The daisies hurt her eyes with their brightness, and the butterflies flew in such numbers that golden lights danced everywhere on her skin as their wings reflected the sunlight. Ahead of her the grey horse grazed, snorting and tossing its head as the flies buzzed around it. Dropping her gown in the grass she stroked its mane and kissed its nose, murmuring her love in its ear.
"And what would you be doing there, missy?"
She turned, her heart suddenly hammering in her breast.
He was dressed in a brown leather jerkin which was open at the front to reveal the thickly matted, glistening hair of his chest. His long chestnut hair fell nearly to the waist of the canvas trousers and he was darkly bearded. His face bore a look of cruel amusement as he moved towards her, seeming changed from her previous dreams, as though someone she knew from another place or time lay concealed beneath the beard.
"Josh?" she whispered as the recognition struck her.
The last sound she ever heard was his axe singing through the air. Her head lay where it fell among the green grass and the golden butterflies crowned her brow with their wings.
The tinkling of a forest stream drew her onwards through the blossom-perfumed gloom to where a break in the trees allowed a bright shaft of sunlight to stand in the summer air like the column of an insubstantial but glorious temple. Within it pollen danced - millions of golden sparks blown from some celestial fire - and the wings of a dragonfly blazed with the momentary richness of an artist’s dream. At its base the stream widened into a languid pool which shone like silver in the light.
She stood above the pool, watching her reflection trembling in its depths, and she thought I am beautiful. Her red hair fell in an autumnal tumble over her shoulders and her eyes were as green as the leaves that framed her image in the water.
As she stood and looked at herself her fingers moved almost of their own volition to the pearl buttons that held her summer gown closed and undid them one by one until it fell at her feet. Her fingertips gently teased her nipples and stroked the amber down that surrounded her sex.
The breeze chilled her skin and caused delicious shudders to run through her. She kicked off her slippers and carried them in her hand as she waded through the cool water, her gown slung across one shoulder in what she imagined was a nonchalant fashion.
The trees thinned out on the other side and she soon found herself walking through a meadow. Swaying daisies punctuated the grass, and golden butterflies crowded the air in dancing flurries. Ahead of her a grey horse - freed of its cartload of logs - contentedly champed at the grass, and she could hear a cuckoo calling from the forest.
The Princess adored horses. She had been drawn to them helplessly: hopelessly in love with them since she could first recognise them, long before she had ever learned to pronounce the word ‘horse’. This wasn’t some sleek thoroughbred from her father’s stables, but nevertheless it was a horse, true scion of the King of Beasts. Dropping her gown in the grass she stroked its mane and kissed its nose, murmuring her love in its ear.
"And what would you be doing there, missy?"
She turned, her heart suddenly hammering in her breast.
He was dressed in a brown leather jerkin which was open at the front to reveal the thickly matted, glistening hair of his chest. His long chestnut hair fell nearly to the waist of the canvas trousers and he was darkly bearded. His face bore a look of almost cruel amusement as he dropped the axe he was carrying and moved towards her.
As he approached she could smell him, an acrid animal odour of mingled sweat and woodsmoke that took her breath away. Suddenly conscious of her nudity she folded one arm across her breasts while a protective hand fell to cover the mossy gateway between her thighs.
Uselessly.
As he reached her he took one hand in each of his and drew her arms open with a strength and self-confidence that stilled her struggles before they had even begun. His mouth moved powerfully against hers, and as he drew her to him she could feel the hardness of his manhood against her thigh. Her senses swam as he pulled her to the ground and ...
The telephone rang.
Rachel hung for a moment on the edge of her dream, her fingers still working busily at her clitoris, before the telephone rang again and pulled her completely from the magic.
"Shit!"
She flung herself across the duvet towards the phone on the bedside table.
Who the fuck? ...
"Hello?" she said into the receiver, politeness smoothing her voice even as the anger boiled inside her.
"Rachel?" The voice was hesitant, pathetic in its uncertainty.
"Josh? What do you want?" The irritation broke free from her control and she could hear the sting in her tone.
"Rachel, I’ve really done it this time. I just wanted to say goodbye, princess." His voice held the pleading undertone that she’d come to detest so violently over the last few months.
"Done what?" she asked, her thoughts adding "you gutless little wimp" to the question.
"I’ve eaten all the sleeping pills the doctor gave me. I’m dying, Rachel."
Good! I might get some peace now.
She wrestled the thought into submission and tried to summon up some last dregs of sympathy.
"Listen, Josh, I’m sorry that you had the breakdown. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to help you through it, but I’ve got my own life to live. We had some fun for a while and I’ve tried to be a friend since, but I really don’t have time for this. Get yourself some help and LEAVE ME ALONE!"
Despite her best intentions she slammed the phone down on him.
***
He lay on his bed staring upwards at the ceiling. Waiting.
The phone was clutched in his right hand. He gripped it with a force that threatened to crack the plastic of the receiver.
It had only been a few minutes but he could feel the drowsiness sliding over him: a long, dark wave that started at his feet and washed gently to the crown of his head, before retreating and then returning with slightly greater force. Over and over.
His fingers loosened and the phone fell onto the bare boards of his bedroom floor with a clatter that set up a resonating throb in his temples.
He thought of Rachel and the dull ember of antipathy that had glowed sporadically within him since she had told him to go suddenly grew brighter. In his mind’s eye he could see it turn from ruby to orange to yellow to a searing white heat that blazed through him and burned away his body as it lay dying.
As he fell forever into darkness a shining arrow of his hatred shot through the night towards its target.
***
She lay fuming in the pool of light shed by the bedside lamp, her hair a rioting red fan of wrath against the white satin of the pillow. She’d had quite enough misery as a result of Josh’s illness without wanting to bathe in it any longer; she had no patience left either for him or his morbid fantasies. And part of her anger sprang too, she knew, from a certain sense of guilt that no amount of rationalisation would quite overcome: after all it really hadn’t been her fault that the pressures of his work had pushed him into depression, and she just wasn’t the kind of person who could sustain a relationship through that kind of strain. Ending it when she had was undoubtedly not the best thing she could have done from Josh’s point of view, but she’d had to put her own interests first - she couldn’t risk being pulled down with him - and he had other friends to support him.
She angrily kicked the giant stuffed panda he’d given her for her birthday off the bed, where it landed sprawled face downwards on an abandoned copy of A. N. Roquelaure’s 'Beauty’s Release', and swore. The stupid, weak arsehole! How dare he!
She was fraught. She knew it. The demands of her own work were unravelling her nerves and she desperately needed some rest, some support. She often woke from some uneasy dream to find herself grinding her teeth, a childhood habit which had returned in recent months.
The panda looked as desolate lying where it had fallen as Josh himself had come to look at the end. It awakened a disquieting sense of his presence - she could almost sense him watching her, and she shivered.
She relit the small joint that lay half-smoked in the ashtray and took a calming puff. She picked up the book of fairy stories that lay on what had once been Josh’s side of the bed and began reading where she’d left off.
Soon she allowed her fingers to wander, and her eyes closed as she sank blissfully into her favourite fantasy.
***
As she walked through the last of the trees the world grew sharp around her, impressing itself upon her senses with an immediacy that said "I am no longer a Dream; I am Real". The daisies hurt her eyes with their brightness, and the butterflies flew in such numbers that golden lights danced everywhere on her skin as their wings reflected the sunlight. Ahead of her the grey horse grazed, snorting and tossing its head as the flies buzzed around it. Dropping her gown in the grass she stroked its mane and kissed its nose, murmuring her love in its ear.
"And what would you be doing there, missy?"
She turned, her heart suddenly hammering in her breast.
He was dressed in a brown leather jerkin which was open at the front to reveal the thickly matted, glistening hair of his chest. His long chestnut hair fell nearly to the waist of the canvas trousers and he was darkly bearded. His face bore a look of cruel amusement as he moved towards her, seeming changed from her previous dreams, as though someone she knew from another place or time lay concealed beneath the beard.
"Josh?" she whispered as the recognition struck her.
The last sound she ever heard was his axe singing through the air. Her head lay where it fell among the green grass and the golden butterflies crowned her brow with their wings.
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