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    Dancing in the Ashes
    Dancing in the Ashes
    Dancing in the Ashes
    Ebook42 pages37 minutes

    Dancing in the Ashes

    By Richard Friesen

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    About this ebook

    When Ally ran away from home, she went where every girl wants to go—to find her prince.  It didn’t hurt that her mother had built a dimensional transporter and had found a place with a quaint village and a nearby palace.  When Ally got there, though, the filth surprised her, and the rats.

    Dancing in the Ashes, a science fiction retelling of Cinderella, is drawn from the less familiar Tattercoats version of the fairytale.  The most popular modern version came from France, where they took out two of the balls and added the fairy godmother.  In the process, they removed any initiative, courage, perseverance, and intelligence shown by Cinderella.  In short, they robbed her of her agency—let’s give it back.

    Dancing in the Ashes was originally published in the anthology Once Upon a Galaxy, where it garnered this review:

    “Richard E. Friesen's "Dancing in the Ashes," in particular, shatters the romantic aura of palaces and princes and knows how painful a happy ending can be.”

    Regina Schroeder
    Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRichard Friesen
    Release dateMar 9, 2016
    ISBN9781524204808
    Dancing in the Ashes

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      Book preview

      Dancing in the Ashes - Richard Friesen

      Ally confronted the woman with a fur coat and gold jewelry. Pardon me, Ma’am. Ally had only been there an hour—long enough to walk to town from the grove where her mother’s dimensional portal dropped her.

      The woman glanced at Ally and motioned to the servant following. The man stepped up and hit Ally across the arm with a riding crop. He aimed a second blow at Ally’s head, but she danced away. He gave chase. Ally spun out from under his next blow and slipped on a pile of manure. He kicked her in the side then in the arm. Ally tried to crawl away from the pain—against the wall, under the mud, away.

      The blows ceased, and Ally looked up. The man said something. She understood most of it. The implant with her mother’s dictionary supplied the rest; Learn not to address your betters without permission. He walked away.

      Ally laid her head back on the ground and tried to breathe. Her ribs cried out against even that. Biting her lip, she fought to regain control. Instead she cried.

      A rat came over and sniffed her leg. Another joined it. Ally blinked, having never seen a rat, save in a pet store. A third one sniffed her hair.

      Ally screamed and jumped up. Then she stood, breathing hard, as the rats vanished. People walked by. Her bruised arms and side throbbed. After a bit she flexed her limbs and took a deep breath. Nothing broken. Nothing clean either. Mud caked everything from her matted hair to her canvas high-tops.

      Her shivers competed for attention with her growling stomach. It wasn’t terribly cold, just wet and miserable. With few choices, Ally gritted her teeth and took a step closer to the street. She tried again. Pardon me . . .

      No one paid the slightest heed, but she kept trying. The third man raised a mahogany walking stick. Ally ran.

      In an alley, she stopped and sank to the ground with a whimper. Holding her bruised ribs, she rocked herself for comfort and to ward off the chill.

      They could understand her—at least she understood them. Her mother had studied this place the year before she died. She’d even spent hours and hours teaching Ally the language. Ally knew enough to get by. She’d done something wrong.

      Getting up, Ally walked out of town, back to where she’d arrived. Not that it would help. She couldn’t go back. Ally just needed a chance to think. What was she going to do?

      On the way, she stopped at a stream and washed as best she could, which only made her colder. Her stomach growled again.

      She looked back toward the quaint medieval city and the palace beyond. At last Ally sat down to eat the sandwich she’d packed. Even the raisins and granola bars wouldn’t last long.

      To avoid thinking for a bit more, she fished one of the little metal cases the size of a walnut from her pocket. Opening it in the palm of her hand, she reached inside to pull out her mother’s black starlight gown. She

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