A Hundred Sleeps

spinning-wheel

(Photo: © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields)

 

It will only be a hundred sleeps. They said.

What length a sleep would be, they didn’t speak.

She will awaken once the sleeps are done. They said. With eyes that darted and rounded shoulders that hid words and fingers that kept fiddling with the thread.

Nothing, she observed, of how she’d be upon awakening. What she might become. Who would tend her.

If she’d dream.

Will she still know herself? Know them?

“Only a hundred sleeps,” they said.

She turned sixteen.

They pressed her finger to the quill spindle.

Blood bloomed. Dark came.

The curse.

A yarn. A spin.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

41 thoughts on “A Hundred Sleeps

  1. As much as I enjoy such tales, I’m thinking “99 bottles of beer on the wall, take one down, pass it around. 98 bottle of beer on the wall….” I also noticed that the best for outcome is “and they lived well for the rest of their days.” None of that ever after Disney nonsense.
    Well told, Na’ama. 🙂

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