Imprisoned: #StoryADay May; Day Twenty-Eight

The Prompt:

  • Write a story with a Cinderella structure.


Marilyn wants to scream, but her throat is too raw – and, besides, Ophelia’s wearing those damned noise-canceling headphones, so there’s really no point. Maybe it would be worth it if her damned monster of a half-sister would just look at her; but instead she keeps her focus on that book – the one Marilyn’s words exploded in.

She’s never said a word about that destruction, but now she doesn’t let Marilyn near it – or anything else she cares about.

Marilyn tries to tell herself that it doesn’t matter, that she doesn’t want any of the lameass things her naive little bitch of a sister cares about – but even she knows she’s lying to herself.

She wants to get back to that magic feeling they had together when she first got to Hawaii, when Ophelia didn’t know too damned much about her life and what it was really like. She’d stayed at a resort, there, and it had been easy to create an illusion that she was glamorous and sophisticated.

Back there, she’d had the upper hand, and could arrange things however she wanted them.

But it’s different here.

Ophelia isn’t nearly as naive as Marilyn thought, and she’s way too damned smart.

When Marilyn wrecked her little apartment, Ophelia waited until she nodded off again, then somehow got her right back here, to this damned hateful hollow house. She won’t let her have the ragdolls, or her couch.

“I’m sick.”

Ophelia gets up, brings a wastebasket lined with a plastic bag. She’s not smiling, and she doesn’t look directly at Marilyn. “Take care of it when you’re done, or it will stink.”

Then she goes back to the chair she’s backed up against the door – the door of the guest room. She keeps Marilyn right in here, locking the door if she ever has to leave.

“You don’t have any right to lock me up.”

The damned brat lifts the headphones off her ears. “You didn’t have any right to deny your baby what she needs to be healthy, or to scribble all over my home and my things. But that didn’t stop you. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else who wants to help you get better, so that just leaves me. I’m not going to let you hurt or destroy anything or anyone else – not if I can help it.”

“Who died and made you God?”

“Your mother, apparently.” Cold. She’s so damned cold, she slices at Marilyn’s skin like an icy wind. “And I don’t want to be any kind of God, but if there was ever someone who needed someone to get tough with her, Marilyn, you’re it.”

She wants to argue, but she really can’t, because the brat is right. She does need someone to be tough – if she’s going to live. But she doesn’t want to live here. She wants to be someplace else, somewhere she can get away, hook up, find something to give her back her illusions.

Or at least keep her from getting sick –

Ophelia goes back to her chair. She doesn’t even go running anymore.

Marilyn picks up a magazine – Ophelia smashed her phone when she found her trying to score with it, so old-fashioned magazines are all she has left.

And there, staring back at her, is the answer. She feels it like a body high; she knows it’s perfect. Like her own personal fairy godmotherput it here just for her.

“Ophelia, look at this.”

“What?” She’s wary, and keeps her distance. Marilyn tried to go through her a time or two, in the beginning of her incarceration here. Ophelia’s stronger, though, and damned determined.

“This place. It’s perfect for a new start. If we go here, I promise I’ll stay clean.”

“And why should I trust you?”

She shouldn’t. Marilyn knows it; she’s sure Ophelia does, too. But her sister comes closer, takes the magazine from her, looks at it. “I don’t have the money a place like this costs – and I’m not sure you do, either, given the bill collectors who keep calling.” Still, she looks like she wants to go. Of course – she’s from a tropical island.

“Didn’t you see? It’s all free. They’ll even fly us there.” Finally, finally, freedom is just around the corner. Marilyn can feel it, and she almost sobs for wanting it. “It’s going to get cold here, soon enough –” It’s working, but not fast enough. She needs something more; something Ophelia can’t argue with. “I want my baby girl to live and die someplace beautiful – even if she won’t ever see or hear or smell it. Please, Ophelia – it’s the only thing I can give her.”

Her half-sister’s choked-out sob damned near makes Marilyn grin, but then the waves of sickness roll her under again.

She’ll have to wait to do her gloating.

What will Ophelia say?
What is Marilyn planning?
How will things work out?

Any guesses?

Come back tomorrow for another installment, and we can explore this new story seed together!

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