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    dots Submission Name: A Damsel not so much in Distress . part 1dots

    Author: wilted_flower
    ASL Info:    22 f uk
    Elite Ratio:    2.94 - 42/56/28
    Words: 912
    Class/Type: Story/Legend
    Total Views: 598
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 4921

       Princess in the Castle, a tale by a damsel not so much in distress

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    dotsA Damsel not so much in Distress . part 1dots

    So you've all heard the story of the princess trapped in the castle by the big, bad dragon? Well I'm going to let you all in on a secret, not all of the damsels are in that much distress. Imagine this; you are a woman all on your own, you live in a very large castle in the middle of no where that's filled with very expensive things; and no one bothered to teach you how to use a sword before they were unthoughtful enough to pass away. How would you protect yourself? That's right, scale the castle down into an average house and you'd get a guard dog; but a dog isn't going to protect you from a horde of invading knights. However, a giant scaly reptile that can breath fire might just do the trick.

    So, a dragon is the ultimate in home security but I can see that none of you have quite forgotten the knight in shining armour that is supposed to come along and rescue me; surely with a valiant man at my side willing to protect me and evidently capable of fighting I would be safe. Have any of you actually ever met a knight? I didn't think so. The last one that turned up on my doorstep looked about six foot four and three feet wide, by the time Rover had stripped him of the metal work he was five foot three and slightly resembled a scrawny chicken; it's amazing how much padding they can fit between themselves and the steel.

    Some of you ladies will have been dancing and know how annoying it is to have that one irritating man that after groping your behind for the fifth time still won't comprehend the meaning of the word "no"; so you walk up to the security and smile as you watch him thrown out of the door by the hem of his underpants. Sadly, I get one of these fools turn up at the drawbridge on a daily basis, they never quite get close enough to touch my derriere but just like the touchy feely dance-room creeps they don't ever seem competent enough to follow the advice of "clear off!". I mean, I have seven "beware of the dragon" signs, four "Please just leave me alone, yours sincerely, The Princess" and even one "Ok, you've ignored every other sign, if you get any closer I will let the dragon eat you"; I'm sure they're literate enough to read... I think.

    About a year ago I did briefly date one of these silly little men who came riding up, Rover had very nearly killed him after knocking him into the moat so I decided to take pity on him and let him come in to dry himself off. He walked in, took off his steel boot and promptly tipped the watery contents all over my best get lost mat; this should have been a sign to shove him back outside, but I hadn't had a good chess partner in years (dragons are highly intelligent but struggle to hold the pieces in their claws) so I turned a blind eye to it. After defeating him for the fifteenth time, and all of them being fool's check, I decided that perhaps snakes and ladders was a more apt board game so dusted off the set I'd been given for my sixth birthday. This carried on for three days before I got utterly bored of his ignorance and fascination with my tiara, so I allowed Rover to practice his penalty shot by using the ignoramus as a football.

    I rather foolishly thought that this would be the end of Sir L. Oser, I could not have been further from the mark. A day later he sent a barber shop quartet to serenade me from just outside of Rover\'s fire breathing range, for three hours I listened to them sing the first verse of Greensleeves over and over and over again. The next day I was irritated to see that they had kindly left their ale mugs behind for me to tidy up, so I decided that I would take Rover with me for a bit of a fly; when I got back I discovered that my moat was filled to the brim with red roses. I hate red roses. On Wednesday the smell of the flowers had gotten so much for me that I instructed Rover to kindly fly them over to the nearby town and deposit a bunch at the door of every house with a young female occupant, at least someone would get some pleasure out of the cliché gift.

    After sending a further barber shop quartet, a string band, three dozen cuddly toys and a book on being the perfect wife and queen; Leofald finally decided to materialise again himself. This somewhat relieved me at first as I felt that I could tackle the problem head on and make him understand that it was over; it was at the point that he started quoting very badly written poetry of his own device that I asked Rover's visiting cousin Fifi (family is most important to Rover and they're always welcome in my castle) to take him back with her to her village. Last time we heard from Fifi she informed us that he was a married to a milkmaid and had settled into a life of farming under her watchful gaze.

    Submitted on 2011-01-17 12:16:41     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      You are taking the right direction. Novels and short stories are the kinds of writing that publishers are interested in. I found out the hard way that poetry is very hard to get published, as it is a low seller.
    | Posted on 2011-01-17 00:00:00 | by Ron Cole | [ Reply to This ]

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