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Author Message
 Prince Charring Part One

Joined: Wed Jun 11, 2014 7:09 pm
Posts: 23
Wed Jun 11, 2014 8:25 pm

Hi! I came up with this comical story about a princess who doesn't want to be one. Don't expect it to be fabulous or anything--frankly, I was bored, so I just kind of made it up as I went along to humor myself laugh. Tell me what you think in the poll or a comment. Thanks for reading! smiley


Okay. I’m just going to get this over with.


I’m a princess. Yeah, yeah, dresses and whatnot. Believe me, it’s not fun. All that foofoo stuff and servants; don’t get me started on servants. It’s like, “I can dress myself, thank you very much!”

             My father’s been the typical king—locking me up in a tower like I’m some ogre just for some dumb prince to come “rescue” me when I was perfectly fine. I would appreciate it if, like, a dragon was trying to eat me or something. But when I have all the things I need? No, thanks. Just hand over some cake. Maybe ice cream.

            You probably think I’m really… I don’t know, vain? But you think I’m really a bad daughter because I seem like, “Oh, no! I don’t want this, I don’t want that, I just want so-and-so!” But, honestly? If you were a princess, you would be begging for mercy. At least I’m tough. Sort of.

            You see, every prince that comes, which is so far about fifteen, I reject. Some of them are pretty dumb. Others aren’t so bad, but they’re all greater-than-thou type of princes. Today I had a pretty bad prince. He thought using fancy dialect was going to get me to ride off into the sunset with him or something. Here’s how it all went down.


“Be you Lauren, Princess of Fallore?” The prince asked.


“Yes. Be you a total failure?” I said.


He blushed. If you make a prince blush because of something you said, you are welcome to my humble, er, tower.

            “Does thy fair lady accept my valiant rescue?”

            Did he just call me fair? Oh, I was anything but fair.

            “Hm. Let me see… oh, look at that. My Rescue-Schedule is thoroughly booked. Whoever defeats the mean giant will get to rescue me. There is one spot left, though.” I lied. From the looks of it, that was an extremely believable lie.

            “I take it! Where’s this contest held?” At least he dropped the weird dialect.

            I racked my brain for somewhere far away. Somewhere that would take several days to reach.

            “In Fashulorlieberginsteinheim.” I decided to fake a place. That would be better, so that he wouldn’t crawl back to me.

            “Where’s that? East? North?” He asked.

            “Southwest.” I chuckled a little, but not enough for him to notice. Might as well refuse both of his guesses at the same time.

            Suddenly he remembered his dialect and turned to his horse. “Onward, my mighty and loyal steed!” Had he just said steed?


I almost felt sorry for the horse, having to carry such a weirdo on his back.






My reaction when I eat ham:

"It's HAM!" -Ponyo

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