Insomnia Attack

A Modern Fairy Tale

Sleeping Beauty by Edward Burne-Jones

You already know the beginning of the story. But do you really know everything that happened to the princess after she pricked her finger on the spindle?

Hour 1

As they set her down in her bed in the golden chamber, the princess stirred a little. “What just happened?” she wondered. She didn’t remember getting ready for bed—wasn’t she just talking to that old lady with the spinning wheel? Oh, well, she’s feels so sleepy that it must just be her bedtime, and she’ll figure out what happened in the morning. As she settled back into her soft feather bed—with no idea of what’s to come—she believed she would get a regular full night’s sleep, the sleep of the young.

Year 33

The Princess woke up suddenly, soaked with sweat, her heart in her throat (was she having a nightmare?) and called out for her lady. She tried to calm herself, breathing slowly and deeply—maybe she needs something to eat—fresh raspberries and cream with a little sip of Champagne would hit the spot. But there was no response, so she called again and again, and when there was still no answer, she recklessly decided to walk down by herself to the kitchen (she believed that it is somewhere on the first floor or maybe in the basement) and wrapped herself in her full-length Fendi mink, the one that set off her skin and hair to such effect.

But outside her door a servant was sprawled on the floor, snoring—was he drunk? “Wake up!” she ordered, but he did not stir. And as she continued through the corridors of the dark castle, she found all the courtiers and servants, her ladies, even her old nursemaid, asleep, as still as statues. “Wake up, wake up,” she shouted, demanded, and begged, but everyone remained deaf to her pleas, deep in the arms of sleep.

Finally, she found the Queen herself half laced into her corset and the King asleep in his favorite chair with the Wall Street Journal lying on his belly, so, sobbing, she ran back to her room and pulled the covers up to her chin. But it was no use trying to go back to sleep now. Her mind was racing—how could they have done this to her—they must have known that this was going to happen—but did they do anything to prepare her? No, they just left her to wait it out, helpless and alone. But they had just been trying to protect her? After all, she was their only child, cherished and spoiled, the apple of their eyes. But did it never occur to them that if she had known beforehand about the spindle, she might not have fallen into a swoon at the sight of her own blood

She tried to comfort herself with grateful, tender memories of the golden years when she was all hope and expectation—the love of her parents and the adoration of 12 godmothers, blessings beyond the bounds of decency almost, everything she could ever want. But a few years of that became tedious and boring.

So she finally decided that the thing to do was to find a way to pass the time, at least until she felt sleepy again. She read 32,032 beauty magazines, 10,677 romances, 5,338 best sellers, and one novel by Charles Dickens, and watched 16,016 late-night movies on her big screen TV.

Eventually she got so hungry that she put her fur coat back on and made a daring trip, all on her own, all the way down to the kitchen. There she found the cooks and kitchen maids were all asleep and she, of course, had no idea how to cook a simple meal or even how to make a cup of cocoa. But there is food there in the pantry! Rummaging around she found stale biscuits and cheese, dried fruit and nuts, and, ooh, a big block of chocolate.

Then, on one of her forays to the kitchen, the princess discovered the wine cellar. It took her what seemed like a year to figure out how to open a wine bottle, but the satisfaction she felt in her accomplishment was immense and the first sip she took—straight from the bottle—was marvelous. From then on, she always had a crystal glass of wine with her snacks, which felt ever so much more civilized than the horrid tap water she’d been using just to quench her thirst. Finally, there came a day, when she finished up the last bottle of wine, in desperation she decided to try a dusty old bottle of French brandy. At first, she was surprised by its strong, astringent taste, but when she noticed how relaxed the liquor made her feel, she poured it into a glass and, with great happiness, she began to slowly sip it.

Year 77

After drinking half a bottle of brandy, the Princess suddenly dozed off, and plunged into that old nightmare, an infant in a lace christening gown, an old witch hissing and cackling, the nameless foreboding and terror, and then woke up with a quick jerk, shivering.

Why don’t I just get out of here, she thought, “pack up a few jewels, leave the fucking castle, and start a new life somewhere?” But downstairs with her matching Vuitton luggage she found the castle door was bolted. And when she opened the shutters to climb out a window, there was a thick, thorny, and impenetrable vine surrounding the entire castle. She took her father's sword from above the mantle and tried to hack through the vine, but the faster she slashed, the faster the vine grew back, twisting and thickening before her eyes. So broken and with all strength completely spent, she returned to her room once more, her hands bruised and bloody, wondering if her godmothers had really done her justice. All their generous gifts, beauty, grace, good nature, have left her powerless. Then she remembers the stories of a dangerous old crone who laid a curse on her—if they had thought to invite her, what kind of gift would she have chosen for a princess?

As she trudged back upstairs, she thought, maybe I can figure out how to light a fire in my chamber's fireplace.

Year 95

One day, the princess heard a familiar sound she realizes she hadn’t heard in decades: birdsong! Yes, there were birds perched in the vines outside her window, singing as if it was early on a summer’s morn. Sensing her ordeal was almost over, the princess felt relieved. But as she considered all the years she had spent alone, she gazed at the fire burning in her fireplace, steady and bright. She was proud that she had survived on her own and conceded that sometimes there was a dark comfort in solitude. She sat down at her dressing table to brush her long silky hair and dab her temples, neck, and wrists with Diorissimo. Then she returned to her bed to lay calmly back against her pillow and wait—only to fall into a deep, heavy, dreamless sleep.

Year 100

The Princess struggled awake, groggy, head aching, eyes unfocused (was someone calling her?), and dimly made out the face of a man—a young man with hair as black as a raven’s wing and eyes blue as the sky—the handsomest young man she had ever seen. And he was leaning over her with a concerned and tender expression. He said, “Princess! I’ve come to rescue you.” Her heart dropped like a stone.