The Revenge of Baba Yaga, draft 2

сиромах (siromah)

Раздел: Проза на чужд език  Цикъл: Story on English

The Revenge of Baba Yaga

Hi. My name is Baba Yaga.

" Stop," someone will say. " Aren’t you the same Baba Yaga from the Russian folklore who ate all… those kids?

Before you judge me, let me tell you this.

First: I am vegetarian.

Second: I never ate any kids.

And third: I am a writer.

After years of lies and deceptions I decided to come out of the shadow and tell the real story of baba Yaga.

Here we go.

Last month I hit the jackpot.

Mr. Tumbolino from " Happily Ever After" publication house told me that my book was accepted. Before I could jump in my caulderon, steering with the spoon to tell my sisters about the good news, my book come out and climb to number on the New York best seller list.

The next day I woke up and my beautiful dream vanished.

Instead I was looking at the pile of rejections from the day before.

" Not in this moment", " great story, but not for us", and so on.

I don’t surrender too easy, so I sat down and wrote a letter to the last publication house, where my hope was undressed again.

Instead admitting that my Hope is naked, I simply wrote:

"Dear Mr. William Morris,

I want to tell you that unfortunately I cant except your rejection notice. I can except so many of them. My chicken house is pilled up to the very ceiling and my needs are filled at this time. I am sending you a photograph and pardon the chicken droppings. We can discuss Monday morning at your office the details of how to publish my story."

Unfortunately I was thrown out of the office like a dethroned king out of his castle. The gentleman with the size of gorilla was very experience of tossing uninvited people out of the door. After sliding about 30 feet on a dry land I finally stopped across the street. I didn’t discover any new land, except that y butt cheeks were burning like a burger on a grill. Lucky for me I saved myself from the necktie party. Is so hard to find a proper tie when you have a bonny neck.

I rushed to the emergency room. D-r Kwak-Kwak tossed me a bag of ice and showed me the door himself. He kindly asked me to comeback , when I get my health insurance.

Well, I said to myself. I can try the next publication house. This one sounds promising.

This time I decided to try more inconvenient method. Since my butt-chicks were still pink-blue and the rest of the colors of the rainbow( I don’t know which one because is hard to see your butt-chicks without a mirror, you know!) from the last dethronement, I come up with something ...special.

" Who you? " asked me the man on the door. He was on one else but Ivan the Woodcutter from the Russian Falk story. I was surprise to see him here, but was even more surprise because I didn’t see his axe. (Don’t start me on this one, I still have bad dreams about his axe). I didn’t want to map the floor for the 1002 time (Shahrzad wasn’t around anymore to save my ass) so I said the true.

" I am delivering this box. Your boss ordered some shoes."

" Ok", he said it and opened it. I could see the disappointment on his face. I bet on my old broom that if was a pizza, would never get to his boss. " Go."

I didn’t move even a hair but he didn’t let me think again.

" You heeeer? Goooo."

For fear of further bruising of my posterior, I went. It didn’t sound fun to me sitting again in the ice bath. I went straight to the closest cathedral (in cathedral you have more chance to see Angels) and prayed to the all holy spirits of any religions ever existed.

I prayed that old stinky shoe ( hopefully was lucky, because its being in our family for 3 generations) I put inside the box will soften the heart of the editor, so he would give me a chance.

My letter started like this:

" Dear Mr. Joe Kaminski. Since I got my shoe on your doorstep, let me introduced myself properly. My name is Baba Yaga and I am a starving writer. Yes, starving I admit because no one wants to publish my stories. Until today 38,773 major publication houses have rejected me.. I am not counting the small ones. So I am trying my luck here..."

I don’t know what happen because I never got an answer.

I took the other pair and sold it to some homeless men for 12 cents, scraped all the rejection notices for paper and got myself $ 154.34 cent.

" This is the end." I told myself and decided to end it for good.

I bought myself a rope and went straight to the Enchanted forest. I was just kicking with my legs and gasping for air. It’s almost impossible to strangle yourself, when you have a bonny neck and you weight no more then a feather. The wind grabbed me and I rose in mid-air like a kite. Good the rope withstood the fury of the nature, other way I could end up in the Kingdom Far Away. Suddenly someone cut the rope.

" Are you the Sleeping beauty?" prince Charming asked me and before I could stop him he smooched me. " Forgive me my love for the waiting! I got lost in the woods."

At first I was ready to slap him, but than I fell aroused. Last time someone kissed me was Ivan the Woodcutter. He had so much vodka one night and he came to my house by mistake. Can you believe it, after giving everything from myself he tried to chop off my head? The prince mouth smelt like a fresh mint and my dry old tongue responded very enthusiastically. The prince lost patience because I wasn’t turning into the beautiful princess.

" You are not the Sleeping beauty. " Prince Charming said. " You are that ugly, old witch. What was her name?"

" Baba Yaga?"

"Don’t eat me please!" The prince cried and before I could stopped him he run into the Enchanted forest. I hear a scream or two, some munching and splashing noises and " Oh, no. Not the older sister!" and then everything got quite again. Damn. My older sister got lucky again. Poor Charming. He left the beast for the beauty but he didn’t know how much I would loved him. O, well.

The story of my lifetime. (Here is a time for a little melodrama pause and anyone feel like crying, he/she can do it now) Well, what is done – done, was time to move on.

"Now what smart-ass?" I asked myself. "You are coward, you can’t even kill yourself. But you can do something else."

One traitorous idea come up in my brain box. I don’t know why.

Either because I was eating too many Baba Yaga Veggie-Burgers or either some bolt or nuts or whatever got loose in the great brain box of mine.

I run to this place in the neighborhood. Was a small office, where people print business cards, fliers and all kind of things.

" Can you make me a wrapping paper?" I asked the old Chinese man.

" Ha", he said." Me print everything."

"How many sheets you can print for this?" I show him all my chicken bonds, foreign and local currency.

" Oh, lots.." He smiled and his tongue jumped out from his mouth like a wild beast.

" When will be ready?

" Busy today, you come tomorrow. Tomorrow you no sorry. Lot of paper!"

We shook hands and I left him.

I had one more thing to do.

I jumped in my cauldron, steering with the spoon again and stopped at all small neighborhood groceries, carniserrias, coffee shops, laundromats and so on.

" I got a business preposition my friend" I told each owner. " I will give you a free wrapping paper."

The storeowners thought I had lost my mind and gladly accepted.

I walked down the street, laughing maniacally.

If I cant publish my stories I will print them on a wrapping paper, so people will use it to wrap up meat and other products.

Now they will have my revenge.

The revenge of the unpublished writer!

I know today the only one reading my stories will be the hungry street dogs, leaking the blood from the wrapping paper, but one day.

One day I will be somebody, I promise you my friends.

I bet my old mop on that.

The end.