Now it was September 27th, more than two years later. Or so said my nightstand alarm clock's calendar. December 31st would mark the third year he'd kept me here.
Wherever this was. The Mojave, maybe? Something told me that despite the dry air and golden sand all around his stone fortress, I was still on American soil. I hoped. That was all I had left, you know?
“Scheherezade, my love.”
I gritted my teeth and looked away as he wrapped me in his arms. That was the price for having hippie parents. “I’ve told you a thousand times. It’s Sherry.”
See, Stockholm syndrome? Not really my thing.
He shook his head at me. “No, dearest. Tonight is our thousand-and-first.”
I suppressed a snort. His gaze cooled, reminding me of the torture tools in the dungeon.
“Y-yes, darling,” I simpered. “And what tale would you hear from me tonight?”
Once I was a children’s librarian. Now I tell this nutjob stories.
“Your namesake,” he breathed, clasping my hands tight. “Please.”
Nodding, I guided him to the bed. Our bed, unfortunately. Seated between him and the clock, I began:
“Once there was a sultan whose first wife betrayed him. In anger, he took a new wife to bed every night, then had them beheaded the next morning. Until Scheherazade. Each night, she told him tales, but she never finished before sunrise. Each morning, he would let her live so that he could hear the story’s end. When on the thousand-and-first night she ran out of tales, she expected him to kill her, but the sultan realized he’d fallen in love instead. They were happy to the end of their days.”
“And you, love?”
I blushed. “Of course.”
At that, he fell to nuzzling my neck, so passionate, so sure of himself. So foolish. I smashed the alarm clock against his skull.
Damned if I’d live with him another night.
This was my entry for Yearning For Wonderland's Once Upon A Time flash fiction contest. Be sure to check out other entries below, and feel free to join in!