The Princess is Dead

I'm driving by the river. The sky is grey. There are no clouds, no stars, but it's night. I'm in our Lexus; the car he got me for our anniversary that's really become his again. I should expect no less. I'm the princess, the trophy. I remember the days when I was the most beautiful thing in the world, the reason that he went through hell or high water with no complaints. Don't know where the hell that sentimental, romantic man went but I wish he'd come back. He isn't going to, though. He was killed a long time ago, by the new persona, perhaps the lurking persona, that took over him the day he became my prince.

It takes me about three hours after I left to feel like I am far enough away to park. Along the countryside road a mile away from the city I had wandered into from god knows where is a empty patch of thin grass. I decide to park into that rather than let my car stay in the narrow road. With a level of reckless abandon, I speed into the field, hoping that I screwed up the bumper a little bit.

I hop out of the car and pull out four suitcases from the backseat and trunk. They're each frilly, pink, and disgusting, except the last in line, which was plain and black. I line them in a row with an evil sneer, liking to think they and their contents are oblivious to what I'm about to do to them.

Usually whenever people realize they're about fed up with life, they go and have a big cry and reconcile and write some sad heart-tearing story to make you feel sympathy for them. Trust me, I've tried the first part and not a damn thing happened. I'm also not going to wallow in self-pity and shame any longer. I'm going to take action. My action isn't exactly what one would deem correct, but I know the people who like to deem things correct or not, and they're the bastards I want to get away from.

I open the first pink one and I pull out a handful of objects. They're all small, colorful and really damn expensive. I pick the first jewel out of the pile. It's a bold ruby, my second least favorite color right now after pink. I walk over to the river. It's not so much of a river as it is larger than a creek, but it'll do, because it's rushing away from here. I turn towards the ruby just to sneer at it and then toss it into the river like a skipping stone that a homeless man will find and cash in with glee provided he doesn't die of a heart attack.

I remember when I first got that ruby. Back at the moment that was just perfect at the time but turned out to be the start of all my nightmares. It was atop a ring, an engagement ring, that my hero, my knight in shining armor, my love- the sentimental, idealist, loving, wise, caring Knight Eric gave to me. I loved that man more than anything. I still do.

But he's dead now. The new Prince Eric is what lives now. He's why I'm leaving. Therefore it is true that you can love and hate a man at the same time.

Pretty much all I'm holding in my hands right now are some of the jewels that I was given or had obtained as part of my kingdom's wealth back when I actually owned my own damn kingdom. Nauseating, the absolute greed that seems to be colored within them. I start madly throwing the gems out of my hand, one after another, until they're all gone. Except one.

In the broach of my putrid dress is a light teal jewel, which I yank out with anger. I examine the jewel, seeing my own dolled-up reflection in it, and I spit on its surface. I get ready to throw the object when it hits me.

This jewel has nothing to do with anything that happened. I had this jewel before Eric ever was around. My mother gave it to me.

I need to give myself an ounce of caution. My mother had nothing to do with this. Because she's dead. Not like Eric, whose soul died in place of his present one. She's dead dead.

Hesitantly, I place the jewel in the car by the driver's seat. This impractical dress hasn't any pockets so that's all I can do. With a sigh, I run a hand through my elegant blonde locks and go back into my suitcase.

It's all uneventful jewelry that didn't mean a whole lot to me before this but were simply a token of how much of a materialist I was. After a quick run-through to make sure there are no largely offending objects I need to send a special kiss-off to, I throw the whole damn suitcase in the river and hope the bastard who finds it does something good with the money.

That reminds me...

I reach into my purse that I had set next to me. It's- guess what- pink. I get my wallet out and count the ungodly sum in it, a sum more than anyone would make in a year that was just some pocket cash for me. I want to throw it in the river but that'd be such a selfish waste, so instead I set the stack of bills by the road- first come, first serve.

I truly believe that Eric asked me to marry him because he loved me. And he went through with it because of the idea of that stack of bills filling at least one whole room. Like I said, he changed. He became so serious, all the time, and not the wise, thoughtful soul he was. It was his own fault. I wish it hadn't happened, but this would have happened no matter what. It's one of the perks or one of the problems that comes with me- take your pick.

As a last notion to material value, I take the ring off of my finger- this one my wedding ring, and I look into it. Oh how much of a disgust it is to wear this. Not exactly how a wedding ring should feel. I don't throw this away for fear that someone will recognize it from the worldwide broadcast of our wedding. Instead I put it in the glove box of the car as part of my grand finale later.

Consider this an annulment, you son of a bitch.

The second piece of luggage I open to find my dresses in. All so nice and frilly and colorful and god I hate them. I end up sorting through them, because there could be some very recognizable dresses- apparently I'm a fashion icon.

But I'm not gonna let them go that easily.

On top of the black suitcase is a pocket knife. Greedily I snatch it off the top and take the first dress out. What a dress. A red ballgown from the ballroom social where I first found out things were going downhill.

I remember that I was with Eric, under the ongoing feeling that something was feeling off lately. I think I had a drink or two and was somewhat of a frisky dancer. Without Eric, I went to the dance floor and danced alone to the music- mind you, I wasn't being slutty, I was simply dancing alone. I got a few odd glances, but deep down I didn't care.

Eric did, however. He walked down to the floor, and grabbed me by the arm, easing into a dance with me which was really a facade to lecture me about my behavior. Great. Because that's all I need. Another person; my own husband, no less, telling me how to behave.

He leaned onto my shoulder and as we danced he hissed “You should not be dancing alone like that. Did you see the other men staring at you? What if one tried to make a move on you?”

“As if there's a damn soul in the world who doesn't know I married you?” I retorted , with the egging on of the liquid courage.

He dug his nails into my arm, and it took everything I had not to yelp in pain and surprise. “You are mine. No one else's. You will not make it seem any different.” I decided against replying and instead just let him dance with me. He held me much too close- not romantically, but defensively; protecting his prey from any fellow hunters. He almost suffocated me- physically in addition to mentally.

I knew from that day that the old, romantic Eric was gone and all I had in his wake was the insecure, uptight, unfamiliar man who nearly broke my neck to make me be polite.

After I remember that scene, I take the pocket knife and tear through the center of the dress, the silk being rendered worthless as it is split in half from top to bottom. For good measure, I cut it in half horizontally as well before throwing it in the car. The rest of the dresses I only cut vertically, if I cut them at all, because they do not mean anything to me. My wedding dress receives four haphazard cuts.

I open the third suitcase, and in it is pretty much everything else. Mementos I no longer wanted, papers, letters, pictures.

I take out one of the top pictures of my favorite hypocrite, the Duchess of Malifice, Bella. How much of a backstabbing two faced little whore she was. It filled my heart with glee how much she acted as my closest friend to my face and then pretty much screwed Eric behind my back; the man who was defensive of letting me out of his sight in a social event.

This is pretty much new news to me, and the final straw. I confronted him on this happening a few hours ago. I didn't play up the whiny, screeching harpy route, screaming his infidelities at him. I was trained better than that by all the people who loved to use me as their marionette. People like Advisor Lumiere who think they knew what a princess should act like when all they know is what they've seen in a fairy tale.

I remember it well. I had simply addressed Eric by saying “I've heard absolutely foolish rumors about a sex scandal between you and Duchess Bella from the commoners. Surely it would be wise do debunk these fools before it gets out of hand?” You see, I was playing it up on the sly. Not declaring what he had did. There was still that sliver of me that wished, hoped that this was a lie.

He was furious, and immediately proved the rumors true by slapping me in the face for the first and only time. He leaned into my tear-stricken face and growled “You will not speak a word about this. Is that clear?” Out of fear, I gulped and nodded, and he went on acting like nothing happened, and so did I. But I wasn't going to lie down and die.

Because I had realized that although my captor was no longer the wicked king of the dragons Jafar, it was now the man who had saved me from him on his own selfless will. The dead man.

I had my cry, broke the stuff he gave me (while I was alone mind you), but then what was I supposed to do? Fake a smile and go on with life with a captor who I no longer loved and who no longer loved me except for the kingdom I had that he now ruled as well?

I was the princess locked away in the towers; the towers of her own castle. But I did not wait for a prince to come and save me, I saved myself and made my silent escape during the night.

And here I am.

I take the pocket knife, and cut Bella out of the picture of the two of us. I look around and find a picture of Eric and myself and cut him out of it as well. I take the two pictures of myself and throw them into the suitcase, and after retrieving some clear duct tape out of the black suitcase, I take the pictures of Bella and Eric and tape them together. Now they can live happily ever after. Which begs the question- why would I be so selfish as to leave my kingdom?

Simple. They never truly loved me ever since the royal wedding. I remember back when I was a free woman, and I could do what I wished as a princess. And they loved me then.

Now, they only love the illusion of being a princess like myself, ruling the kingdom with the love of my life. And I was going to shatter that illusion and let everything pour out of the patched up wound our royal life was.

And at the very least, Eric is a good ruler. He's just a horrible person. He can rule the kingdom just fine, because that's what he wants.

I'm not finished with the patchwork picture. I take the tape and attach it to the hood of the car, the top left corner. I take a second to work up an un-ladylike spit and hock it onto the happy couple.

Best wishes, you megalomaniac and you lying slut. So damn fit for each other.

I consider taping a picture of Advisor Lumiere to the car, but he's not worth the hate. He's a well-meaning idiot, nothing more. I throw the other pictures into the back of the car, scattering them all over the place like pellets for a hamster cage. Before I forget, I throw my wallet in there, and with it my identification objects and cards.

I lean back into the suitcase to see if there is anything else worth singling out, and I find one thing. It's a dried up rose, a rose Eric had picked before he had rescued and met me the first time. It was so sweet, how clumsily he had dug in his pocket for it after releasing me from the cage. I giggled and told him it was lovely because it was.

He shrugged, blushing, and said “Well, erm, Princess, I know that they don't last long. Perhaps there's something you can do to, erm... preserve it?”

How adorable he was, thinking that the idea of me holding onto something to remember him by was such a big ask. I giggled again, enjoying this man's company, and kissed him on the nose. “Of course!” I told him with a genuine smile. “I always like to keep flowers like this in books and such things for bookmarks. When this one loses its color, I'll be sure to press it in.”

“Thank you!” He grinned, blushed but his smile lighting up the room.

That was where it all started. And even though it ends now, the time I had spent with that Eric, the romantic, the adorable, blushing plumber with the brevity to rescue me when I fell into traps over and over with no complaints, it was worth it. It was worth the amount of mistreatment and suffocation that I went through before I finally woke up and smelled the dead roses.

I guess it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

I find myself fond of this object I had wanted to destroy. My last memento of the man I had loved so long ago. I put it in the black suitcase.

Quickly, I dump in all of the other items from the suitcase into the car, placing a newspaper article about the royal wedding on top of the pile. Then I throw in the third suitcase.

I grab my pocketknife before I continue.

I strip myself of my hideous pink dress and my kitschy heels and all my other clothes to take a minute and walk into the waist-deep part of the river, a section where the rapids are not going to take me away. It is cold, so very cold, but it will do.

I dip my hair in the water before taking out the pocketknife. Placing it against my wet, cold locks, no longer wavy but perfectly straight, I cut. I slice through it slowly, watching the locks drop into the pool of water limply. By the time I'm done, most of my hair is gone and it only goes up to just below my ears in a haphazard pixie cut.

Realizing I forgot something, I run back to the suitcase undressed and pull out some hair dye. It's not going to be officially done or look very good, but it's a start. I'm already bleach blonde, so I needn't worry about that. I squirt out the dye into a plastic gloved hand and I rub it through my hair until most of it is sloppily covered in black dye. I should have enough time to let it sit before I rinse my hair, so I step out of the water and back to the side of the car, my locks of hair in my hand. Don't want anyone to recognize me.

My attention now lies with the fourth black suitcase. Plain, rugged, undefinable. I open it up and first pick up a set of new clothes, all black as well. I had gone with black because pretty much all color at this point was unbearable. I remember digging this stuff out of the old boxes in the attic from my teen years. They still fit me, thankfully.

Feeling uncomfortable being naked in the middle of nowhere during the night, I quickly slip on a black shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, a pair of black, torn up leggings and a short black skirt. The only identifiable thing about me left are my blue eyes, and to solve that I put on some colored contact lenses. They are a dull green, a color I can deal with. It's amazing the things I have access too.

I take my former clothes and throw them into the car, except for my other dress. I spread it against the hood of the car, and bind it down with the duct tape by its arms and by the waist, like the princess I was before, trapped in the clutches of darkness, always waiting for someone to save her.

This time, she will not escape. The princess dies tonight.

Because the next thing I pull out is a lighter.

Before I get ahead of myself, though, I pull out a gas tank from the trunk- in case of emergencies- and I start to pour it over the inside of the car, over the luxurious seats and the papers and pictures, until it's covered enough to make a serious deal.

I dump the remainder on the newspaper article of our wedding, and my ID card next to it.

Those are the objects I light on fire.

I run away from the car as it sparks the flame, and when me and my suitcase are twelve feet away, I stop and watch as it slowly grows. It's a rush to see everything about my life- my former life now- being destroyed.

Eric died a long time ago. Prince Eric is in the castle.

Princess Ella is being killed in a car fire. Being born today is a new woman. I reach into the suitcase and pull out my new, equipped wallet with my new ID in it. How easy it is to get things when you're a princess without anyone knowing.

Today, Alicia Meter is born.

I take out my new phone, and before I can help it, I put on the music player. The song I choose is a industrial punk hip hop song with a bit of country. It's the exact opposite of the stuffy classical ballroom music I've heard so often before.

I play the song, and then in a final act of rebellion, I dance.

It's two and a half minutes of not being on this earth. As the far continues to burn on behind me, I dance alone to the music. I dance without Eric, I dance without the fear of being unladylike, I dance without a billion peering eyes. I dance with no one around me, and I dance however I want.

It's a good start, I suppose. Like the woman singing the song, I dance without those who controlled me, and I lose myself. A sort of fitting funeral for Princess Ella.

How could I make history with everyone treating me like their territory? I could not then.

Now I can do whatever I want. I'm going to leave here and go to a different kingdom, a different world. I'll leave it all behind.

After the song I stop to observe the car. I see the dress wildly flapping in the flames, and I start laughing madly at its attempts to resist. I think I'm genuinely losing my mind, but I don't care as I continue to dance manically, putting the song on repeat.

I know that I will have moments of regret for what I will have done, but that's the reason I destroyed everything, so that there is no crawling back. I hope that someday Eric may find his old soul again without me, finding the error of his ways.

It's too late for me, though.

It takes twenty minutes for the car to finish burning itself out until it is nothing but a near unrecognizable skeleton. I'm surprised at how well this worked; it's not like I've ever done it before. I take this as a time to gingerly dip my hair in the water, letting the dye wash out until all that's left is what sticks on my head. I look at my reflection in the water, and I look very much different. Perfect.

I take my suitcase and walk across the plains towards the city. Definitely don't wanna be found, perchance, near the car. I know that no one ever uses this busted-up road but I don't wanna take any chances. I hope to find a motel tonight and then to be out of the kingdom by tomorrow. It should all go well. The first day is what I'm worried about, getting out unrecognized, but the only thing the same about me is my body, and the only person who's seen my body out of the dress is Eric. And he's hundreds of miles away. And he'd probably get it mixed up with Bella's.

All I have are my clothes, some money, and my new identity.

Princess Ella is dead. Long live Alicia Meter.