Cinderella - In The Style of Holden

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CINDERELLA – IN THE STYLE OF HOLDEN Well, if you’re reading this now, you’d probably want to know everything about me, who my parents are, what they’re like, all the stuff about my twin sister and my little stepsister. The truth is that this stuff kinda gets repetitive and dull, besides my father probably wouldn’t want to read a famous book which talks all about his tendencies to smoke and get drunk. He’d probably have a heart attack and all in a place like France, because he ditched us like five years ago. He’s a goddamn moron, ditching my beautiful mother like that, leaving her in such a poor state of mind. He claimed it was because she would do no work and just sit at home all day getting her hair done and all. Actually, she was writing a terrific anthology of short stories called The House of Horrors. The best story in there was called The House of Horrors. It’s where a man buys a house and it’s haunted. The ghosts tell him to find a wife. The man does, she manages to drive the ghosts away and they lived happily ever after. It killed me. It was a nail biting romantic horror story and it showed how mother’s talents went to waste after her nervous breakdown. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s that man. Don’t even mention him to me. Even so, my mother had since found a new husband. He’s so handsome and kind to mother, but his daughter – my stepsister – is so annoying. She walks with her head up all the time, as if she owns the place. And she’s really ugly and all. She has no social skills. But what really makes me sick is that she loves to order Drizella and me around. She makes me want to puke so much. So our lives carried on, the usual family sort of crap, until my stepfather died. We weren’t even tol... ... middle of paper ... ...ut I guess we were pretty lucky when she forgave us and told us to live with her in the palace. She married the Prince in a massive wedding at the new palace, blah, blah, blah, the usual fairytale kind of crap, and we all lived happily ever after. No, actually, we didn’t and all. But that’s another goddamn story. I don’t want to write another story. The thing is when you write about your life, you kinda start liking everyone. I really don’t want to start liking the man who ditched my mother. That’s the problem. When you write a whole goddamn book on your life, you also kinda start feeling sorry for everyone. Like that guy in the fifth year who I gave a black eye to- that goddamn Edward- because he was bullying these little kids. Precisely those kinds of goddamn idiots. Don’t go writing you own life story, because you’ll start missing those morons as well.

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