Phersephene, the Great

“This story was a ‘challenge’ at last May’s Writers Group for Prince Charles III Coronation. He only pops in at the end, but it’s still my version of a fairytale”

Some ten summers past, in a moment of fresh-air and apple pie sunshine, a wicked wind did blow. In the light of rippling sheets along a horse-hair clothesline, our mother was mid-Bearn with child. A raven’s call grappled across the yard and down the bubbling hairs of her neck while up the road and running fast- came a dog with a low tail- sallow to the ground.

Squinting as she did, a neighbor set out to warn the woman whose children playing in the yard, yelped & laughed for all their worth.

Pressing the long handled spade across her breast, Mrs. Cuttle tucked behind the hedgerow, counting heartbeats & captured breaths.

~ ~

In a previous lifetime, our mum worked for the circus. Using her thick legs and muscular torso, she could lug 2 cords of wood, 1 elephant and half a box of hammers, just for exercise. Strong as an ox, her boys, the alligator handlers, took on all comers anxious for the afterlife.

Spoiled throughout her childhood by her father, the King, Phersephone was used to getting her way. Though pregnancy had made her soft, she wanted more and set out to get it. Taking an advertisement in the county’s best newspaper, she elected to hire a pack of wild dogs for a special project.

Seemingly overnight, my grandfather’s uncle’s sister’s kids came out of the woodwork along with their housekeeping staff- who numbered eleven. People we hadn’t seen in years; ripe with old warts, bulging eyeballs and misshapen faces and teeth -all laying claim to the offer of a hefty payday.

Burping & flatulent with a hint of Lordly, the troupe did enter the dwelling. Following suit from the stench of ripe- came the Lobo, the Waya -the wild almighty. Behind velvet curtains, at the door of the Kingdom, our grandfather- The King didn’t know what hit him.

Standing like that in a row as they were, it was easy to find the resemblance to the curt, belittled old banshee bride -he’d married such a few short years ago. Her namesake; the heathen, the quiche, the frog –her prince, The King, my grandfather; mum’s very own popps, frowned into their bibs.

Acting on cue, the troop of characters, the actors and acts did twirl and dance upon the dais. With ear pressed to glass, Mrs. Cuttle, her eyes a horror, stepped back off the step, tripped on her shoe and down into the puddle she went. No picnic along the Mall today.

As hags go, the very best had to be that old nag of yore: my sister’s cousin’s brother’s girl; the one whose lopsided eye and postulant warts, cast that awful spell, when Phersephene was lost to us forever. Oh, Glory be- of bluest eye and golden hair. Of pups that yap and babes who suckle; oh, but we’ve missed you so.

And the more she wished it, the more it puddled, and pooled and swam around her.

And to Patsy or -Pat as she was known to her friends, gave birth to the most beloved babe the land had ever seen. Borne of a great good laugh, of intrigue, mirth and brute strength, she took on all comers and threw the world a party.

In perfect Grimm tradition, Pat’s sons became parents to three girls-strong. The step-mother was eaten alive and regurgitated by the gators while the King was forced to watch, and who finally, received his lessons (in penmanship no less) . . .

#136 Story for Writers – May 2023
Copyright © May ~ 2023
Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm sought to collect “Fairy Tails” in order to write a history of old German Poetry and preserve the common moral history of the day. Gathering stories from European oral tradition passed down through generations, the Brothers met with harsh criticism in referencing sexuality and violence. © Wiki

Banshee: A female spirit who heralds the death of a family member, usually by screaming, wailing, shrieking, or keening