Opossum Prince

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Once upon a time…

Nope, sorry, I can’t do that. I can’t start my story that way. Listen, I’ve never been interested in fairy tales. I don’t care for guys with weird fetishes about feet or long hair. I definitely don’t want to hear about dead girls getting kissed or worse. Have you read the original Rapunzel? I wish I hadn’t. No, that’s not how my story goes. Sure, there’s magic and a prince; two, in fact. I wouldn’t call them charming, though, and I certainly didn’t need either of them rescuing me. It was the other way around, in fact.

Dang it, I’m going too fast, right? Sorry. Let me go back. I don’t live in a palace in a faraway kingdom. I’m a North Carolina farm girl, born and raised. I don’t even know what I’d do in a castle. My sister, Jane, says real castles were all drafty, anyway. Who’d want to live there?

Look, this story isn’t much of a fairy tale, so how can I begin it with “once upon a time” or “long ago, in a faraway land” or any of the other openings people are used to seeing?

Nah, that won’t work. Forget opening lines or dramatic beginnings, I’ll just get straight to the story. Sorry if you read all this for nothing, but this story actually begins the year the opossums started dying…

Jessica Wright

Edited: 06.05.2019

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