What If? Fairytale Madness Blogfest

Today I am participating in the What If? Fairytale Madness Blogfest. Participants are to post a 300-word flash fiction piece of an altered fairytale. You must change either part of the plot, a love story, a tragedy, or add some comic relief. The bloghop is going on all week, go here to enter.

I decided to do a plot twist, and because I am utterly uncreative, I'm recycling an old idea I had that is a twist on Sleeping Beauty. Forgive me if you've seen me post another version of this during A to Z in April. It was hard dwindling it down to 300 words, but I hope you enjoy:

The first thing I feel are lips so forceful, they cover all of my mouth and I think my breath is being stolen from me. But then I feel air flow in, not out. And I realize the lips are trying to give me life, not take it.

I sit up and gasp. I’m in a hard plastic bed with a hinged cover that reminds me of a coffin.

A man shakes his head. I know, just by the shape of his lips, he is the one with the life-giving kiss. “You’re alive,” he whispers.

“Where am I?” My voice is dry, cracked.

“Moab,” he says, rifling through a bag on his shoulder. “Utah.”

The words mean nothing to me. My head is fuzzy and I struggle to remember how I got here.

“I’m Phil,” he says, handing over a clear bottle filled with water.

I drink greedily, letting too much of it spill onto my clothes.

“I was hiking through the canyon.” Phil steps toward me, then back again, unsure. “I found this room hidden in the rock.”

I press my hands to my temples, trying to remember something. My family. Danger. A curse.

“I saw you through the plastic,” he continues. “Breathing and peaceful and…” Phil rubs the back of his neck. “When I opened the cover you stopped breathing and I didn’t know what to do, so I—”

I touch my mouth and remember his lips on mine.

“I’m so glad you’re alive.” Phil gestures to more plastic beds in the room. “Do you know who these people are?”

I turn and see a brother, sister, mother, father. It is my family.

I read a digital clock strapped to my ankle. 100:00:00:05:36. I’ve been asleep in this cryogenic chamber for a hundred years.

“What’s your name?” Phil asks, finally daring to step close to me.

“Aurora,” I say. “But my friends—and those who save my life—call me Rory.”

Phil smiles. "Nice to meet you, Rory."