• The Ugly Princess, in fact, wasn’t quite so ugly as her appellative would cause her to appear. But it was so rare to see a princess that wasn’t beautiful in a country that was so perfect that it made the poor plain thing seem quite the little beast. The court, though fond of her for her charm and darling wit, couldn’t help but laugh behind her back. To them, it was funny. There was even talk of replacing her with her much more attractive cousin, Eugenia, although the King wouldn’t hear of it. The King was, perhaps, her only friend. Naturally, it came as a shock when he died.

    The writer sighed and stretched. If I have to churn out another fairy tale, I’m gonna puke. The thermos of coffee, her best friend, called to her in sorrow, a starving child, its stomach empty. She was out of coffee, dammit. How many times had she been forced to get up and get more coffee? She eyed the thermos warily. In a temporarily lapse of sanity, she had named it Jimmy. A mistake. Now even it was taking on a personality of its own. It would eventually find its way into one of her stories. For now, it deigned to hold the elixir of life. Groaning, she headed to the kitchen, absentmindedly checking shelves.
    No coffee.
    In need of caffeine, she pulled herself together in order to search harder. She checked the cabinets again, the shelves, in desperation, the freezer.
    No coffee.
    She cursed silently. Two minutes later found her nuking water for tea. Look at you, her nagging inner-self cried. You’re a mess. You haven’t written a decent story in ages…
    “Shut up.”
    Your characters are weak. The Ugly Princess? Come on!
    “Shut up.”
    You’re a failure. Failure! Faailure…
    “SHUT UP!” she roared, unaware that she was speaking aloud.
    “Honey?” called her boyfriend, from somewhere in the darkness of their bedroom. She could just see him now: Lying on his side, propped on his elbows as he rubbed a hand across his face in frustration. He was dead tired, she knew. God, he was cute. She should be there, now, in bed, sleeping like a normal person would at this hour. She should...
    "HONEY?" Her lack of response must have galvanized him into further action, forcing his tired brain to speak. “Are you alright?”
    “I’m fine!” she yelled back, as the microwave beeped loudly, signifying that her tea should be nice and steamy. She could hear him cursing quietly.
    “Honey?” he called again.
    “Yeah?”
    “Shut up!”
    In defeat, she shuffled back to her computer station.
    You used the word ‘appellative.’ What the hell kind of small child knows what that means?
    As always, the voice in her head (her mother’s, of course) had to get the last word.