Little Miss Me and the kidnappers (extract)

Children's books, art, cover art, Little Miss Me and the kidnappers

I love writing children’s stories. Maybe it’s because I have a young daughter who loves reading. Maybe it’s simply a case of me getting in touch with the child within. Whatever it is, I love it! Currently I’m working on a series called Little Miss Me. It stars a very politically incorrect little princess who provides some perfect examples of how not to act. But don’t worry, she does learn some lessons in the end. Below is an extract of the first in the series, Little Miss Me and the kidnappers. It’s aimed at ages 10 and up and I’m hoping for it to be on Amazon in the next fortnight.

Little Miss Me and the kidnappers

Do you know what happens when you hang upside down from a tree? Let me rephrase that. Do you know what happens when your ankles are tied together with thick, itchy rope which is then looped around a branch and hoisted up into the sky? I do, and I can tell you it’s no picnic.

There I was, minding my own business when out of nowhere, without any provocation whatsoever, two brutes pounced on me. So you see I was the pouncee and they were the pouncers. I just want to make sure you get it. Me—innocent, them—guilty.

As if hanging me in a tree wasn’t enough, they then had the gall to insult me!

“Look at Miss Perfect. She hangs so perfectly from that tree,” one whined.

“In a few hours she won’t be looking so good. Maybe next time she’ll think twice before being a right royal pain,” the other one laughed.

To say I was irked, deeply irked, would be an understatement.

So, there I was hanging from a tree, feeling sorry for little ol’ me. My shirt was dirty, my pants were torn and, thrown disrespectfully on the ground, were my favourite boots!  Worst of all, my horse was nowhere to be seen.

At that point I had no intention of freeing myself. I was unhappily hanging around waiting for someone, anyone, to get me down. Seconds turned into minutes and by the time five minutes had passed, I was well over it. How dare they? I am the princess!

I wriggled and writhed, trying in vain to reach the rope around my ankles, but all I managed to do was smash myself against the tree trunk.

I couldn’t help but wonder what brute number two meant about me being a right royal pain? Of course, I did know their names. One was called Alexander and the other one was Charles. I knew them quit well—they were stable boys at the castle.

I giggled to myself, Alexander and Charles, such regal names for two unimportant servants. Many peasants did that; named their children after royalty. Did the poor creatures not know that a name does not give one status? Status is in the blood. You are born into it. Sometimes I felt sorry for them; no matter how hard they worked, they would always be just peasants. They would never come close to being as important as me.

My mind wandered back to the events of the past two days. Monday was fairly uneventful. After I gave that useless girl Miriam an earful for not making my bed properly, I had to have a talk with the Chef. He’d been with us for two weeks—you’d think that was long enough to learn that I liked my egg yolks perfectly round. He stormed out of the kitchen, vowing to never return. Some people are impossible to teach.

Tuesday was pretty exciting. I went horse riding on my favourite colt Pillion the third. He was in a bad mood and accidentally threw me. It wasn’t his fault, it was those annoying stable boys’. They fastened his saddle too tight. I complained to my father who at first didn’t believe me. It took me several hours to convince him. He then promptly doubled their chores for the next two weeks. The ungrateful boys didn’t even thank me. How are they to get better at their job if they’re not prepared to work hard and take instructions? Sometimes it saddened me to put so much effort into bettering the peasants when they were clearly too dumb to make good use of the opportunities.

So, all in all I was completely in the dark as to why Charles and Alexander would want to hang me in a tree.

My head throbbed as more and more blood rushed to my brain. If someone didn’t come around shortly, I would have to start yelling for help. I cringed at the thought. It would be utterly crude and undignified. As it was, the predicament I found myself in was highly dangerous. I was well loved by my people. Once a little peasant girl told me she wished she had long blonde hair like mine. I patted her head and told her a peasant did not need beautiful blonde locks, she would do perfectly fine with her straggly mousy brown mop. She was so thankful she cried. I have many stories like that.

I shuddered when I thought about the people’s anger when they found out what the boys did to me. I expected riots in the streets, and a serious call for the gallows. Being the decent person that I am, I would calm the situation and settle for having them flogged.

Voices from the side pulled my interest. Charles and Alexander came strolling toward me, chatting as if they didn’t realise how close to a good flogging they were. The amusement on their faces when they reached me was infuriating.

“Get me down from here you brutes!”

“How’s your day been Princess?” Charles asked.

“I bet ya she had a day like no other,” Alexander smiled.

“I demand you cut me down!”

“She demands, Charlie. We better do it buddy.”

“What the princess demands the princess gets, ain’t that right Alex?”

I stared at them expectantly but neither one made any attempt to free me. Instead they sat down and talked. Blabbing on about the bread shortage and how overcrowded the cemetery had become since the measles outbreak—mundane matters that affected no one important.

🙂

Well that’s the extract. Let me know what you think.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Little Miss Me and the kidnappers (extract)

Leave a reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s