But Who Will Save Me

Once upon a time, there was a scared woman. Every day she sat in her home and waited. One day she found a long-forgotten book tucked beneath the couch. The binding was cracked and the pages worn, but beneath the neglect were stories of rescued princesses and daring saviors. She imagined a brave knight in silver armor climbing through her window and stealing her away. So she drew the curtains and opened her window before bed, but not even an ant crossed the sill that night.

The next morning the scared woman sat glum by the hearth when a realization struck her square between the eyes. With a frantic laugh, she sloshed water over the flames until only a whisper of smoke was left. If her knight didn't want to use the window, she'd allow him use of the chimney. Deciding this would surely be the night of her rescue, she prepared her morning tea with a smile. But a wandering eye caught the warming kettle and caused her brow to furrow. Who was the woman peering from the reflection? Her hair, once radiant, now hung dull and tangled. And whose lips were those? Surely hers were once blushed and full. With a start, she rummaged through cabinets and drawers and grabbed whatever smelled lovely.

That night she lay prettily before the hearth, hair combed to a gleam and lips painted with berries. But by morning she was shivering, and still no knight. Because of that, she sulked by the mirror, pulling flesh this way and that until she was beautiful. If she tried harder her knight would come. If her hair was more golden it would catch his eye in the moonlight, and if she was lighter he'd be able to carry her to his waiting steed. For many weeks the scared woman ate sparingly and combed her hair scrupulously until bones poked from her skin and her hair shone like a silk ribbon.

The night came when she felt ready. With great effort, she drew the curtains and opened her window. Heaving the bucket of water drew nearly every bit of energy, but with a groan, she gently tipped it over the hot logs. Sighing, she carefully arranged her beaming hair around her face as she lay before the hearth. The moonlight slowly crawled across the floor, but still no knight. Cold and hungry, the scared woman rose to her hands and knees. With sunken eyes, she watched an orange glow peer from the seams of her door. The woman pulled herself to her feet and reached for the color. Warmth touched her fingertips, like touching a steaming teapot. It felt good and she wanted to touch more. She pressed both hands against the seams and grinned with relief. But still, she pressed her body closer, wanting the orange warmth on every bit of skin. Until finally she felt the cold knob press into her stomach. Gently she opened the door and stepped into the light. The sunrise greeted her between the branches and trunks of trees and the morning dew clung to her socks. With hands spread forward, she tried to catch the warmth and store it in her pockets. What was brittle began to mend as she leaned into the beams of sun. She wouldn't know it yet, but the scared woman alone in her home had saved herself.