I was plucked from my brothers when I was five days old. From what I could remember from the garden that was once my home, I had assumed we were there for the sole purpose of just... being there.
I was wrong.
I was plucked from my brothers when I was five days old. The first Queen, whom was just then, the first princess, took me as a souvenir from her travels to the Land of Make-Believe. Why did she choose me? We were there, hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions! Why me?
I was plucked from my brothers when I was five days old. Oh, what grief! What sorrow! I had wanted to see the world outside the garden, but not like this. Not like this.
I was passed down from generation to generation as a family heirloom. In this small, dark, cramped, wretched jewelry box I had learned to wait, wait, and wait. There was not much to do. All I could do was—you guessed it—wait.
I can hear thunder outside. I can hear... water slashing. Is it raining? I can’t tell.
Do I hear the loud creak of hinges? Did they open the door?
I hear voices.
I am a princess from a neighboring kingdom. I was wondering if I could spend the night? Please, I’m drenched and I have lost my way. I don’t want to catch pneumonia and I most certainly don’t want to die. Please?
A princess?! Oh no, this is bad news.
Mother, dear mother, this beautiful princess needs our help. Let’s take her in and provide her with... LOVE AND COMFORT!
Oh shut up, you flirt.
Mother, please, with your pride as Queen, would you not take this pitiful lady under your wing? Mother, oh mother!
Son--
MOOOOTHHEEERRRRR!
Alright, alright! Just shut up, okay? You talk like a sissy! No wonder—oh never mind, jeez! It’s hard to be a queen and a mother these days! MAIDS! Take this little girl to the guest room! And make sure you prepare the bed!
Let me out! LET ME OUT! LET ME—my jail is opening up! OH NO!
We are going to use... THE PEA.
Yes. Every time some girl comes up claiming she is a princess, I have to do the exact same thing over and over again. I would have to be a useless, motionless, round thing staying under numerous thick, and not to mention, heavy mattresses. The unsuspecting girl would sleep on top of this giant monstrosity and I would have to put up with her weight until morning, if I wasn’t already dead yet. Apparently, I have the power to determine if someone is a real princess or not. If the girl could feel me, then okay, she’s an authentic princess. If she couldn’t, then goodbye, off to the gallows for lying. I know, it’s silly. Whoever thought of this idea must be out of their minds. Poor me, I have been buried countless times, abused, tortured, and suffocated. (I remember this one time when some heavy-duty girl claimed she was a princess. God, that was traumatic.)
But this time, things are going to be different.
--
The next morning, the royal family found the princess lying lifeless on the cold, marble floor. Dead as dead can be, her head was smashed to bits after falling from her 20-foot bed.
Looks like she was a princess after all.
--
The Princess and The Pea
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