Snow White and the Non-Poisonous Pear

Snow White stood at her window for what seemed like forever. Her night, black hair stroked her rosy, pink cheeks as she looked out at the front garden, tapping her fingers rapidly against the wooden windowsill. The world, like always, looked perfect, as if taken out of a fairy tale. The woods were rife with life today, and each came to greet Snow White that morning. The squirrels scattered across the highest branches of the trees, the family of deer grazed quietly on the rain-dewed lawn, and the birds sang their morning songs. The day was perfect, and Snow White knew what was to happen to her. She was waiting for her wicked stepmother to arrive.

Each fairy-tale has its heroes and its villains. Their princes and princesses, dragons and werewolves, and near-death experiences are saved by the soft touch of love that makes us root for our protagonists. Rapunzel was rescued by her lover just last week, and her new haircut looks terrific, so Snow White knew that it was soon her turn to be swept away by her prince in shining armour. She had done everything in the book; met the seven dwarfs, cooked three meals a day for them, cleaned around the house when they were out, and single handily avoided being killed by the hunter. So far, she was on track for the story’s tragedy to unfold, the poisoned apple. It was the final piece of the puzzle for her life to change forever.

She was tired of the cooking, cleaning, and constantly preparing seven dirty, smelly miners for work so early in the morning. She was working twenty-four-seven, and the little-to-no sleep she’d try to get was broken by the loud snores of dwarves. Life was not easy, and Snow White missed the palace lifestyle. Things were simpler then, and it was much easier to be the kindest in the land when your back doesn’t constantly hurt from standing over pots and pans all day. A couple of days ago, she found her first grey hair come through her luscious hair, and her rosy, red lips began to show dry cracks. Snow White knew that it couldn’t be long now.

Snow White stood at her window for some time. The day was slowly becoming the evening, which would soon become night, and the longer she waited, the more she began to worry today was not the day. The thought of going through another routine week was too much to handle, so Snow White would not lose faith until the very last second. Suddenly, just as fast as her doubt arrived, so did a dark silhouette approach the hut in the distance. The closer it came, the more detailed its figure became. The figure had a hunched back with a dark hood hiding their face; a slim, crooked figure with skin the colour of bone; and a splinted, wooden cane that the figure used to push forward with every step it took. Snow White released a smile so wide that all her, now off-white, pearly teeth were visible. This had to be the wicked stepmother approaching with the poisonous apple.

Snow White straightened her back as the black figure, now only a short distance in front of her, began waving. She was holding a woven basket with a white tissue covering a bunch of fruit underneath. The hood slowly revealed the face of an older woman, a face that looked familiar yet different at the same time. The older woman began to speak

“Hello, my dear, oh how gorgeous you look!” exclaimed the older woman, “You must be eating well. Please, accept this gift from an old woman, a gift for your youth and beauty”.

It was hard not to blush at the comments the older woman said. It’s been so long since someone complimented her. Life in the woods can be pretty isolated, and dwarfs aren’t the most romantic creatures.

“You’re too kind”, replied Snow White, “What is it you want to give me?”

At this point, Snow White knew exactly what to say. She could have stretched out the conversation and bank in a couple more compliments, but that would mean staying in this wooden hut that much longer – she wanted the apple.

“I was walking through the fields of our kingdom, and I came across the most magnificent of trees and their fruits; the best fruit in all the kingdom”, began the old woman, as she placed her hand on top of the white tissue. “I picked some especially for you.”

Her hand grasped the tissue as Snow White locked eyes with the woven basket, ready to see the culprit that would take her back to the palace. With a quick twist of the wrist, the tissue revealed a basket full to the brim with ripe fruit. Indeed, the best fruit in all the kingdom, but to Snow White’s surprise, the basket was not packed with apples – they were pears!

“What are those?!” exclaimed Snow White, now white in shock.

“Lovely, juicy pears. The best I could find. Once I saw them, I knew I had to pick some and give them all that I meet. I’m sure you will love them.” Said the older woman, With the loveliest smile one could ever see.

Snow White, now perplexed, grasped her hair and began to think where she went wrong.

“Aren’t you meant to give me an apple, or is this some kind of absurdist take on the story?" She began questioning the older woman. “Will it still do… you know… the thing? Is it still… poisoned?”

“Poisoned?” gasped the older woman, “why on earth would I ever want to do that?”

Snow White did not know how to reply. This all was too much for her to handle, and, now faced with what seemed like an innocent older woman handing out pears, she was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. The older woman looked at her in absolute terror. This came as no surprise as Snow White did just accuse her of poisoning her gift. Before being given a chance to explain herself, the older woman covered her basket of goods and quickly fled deep into the woods. Snow White was now left, alone, standing in front of her window once more.

The sun was now nearly set, and she could see the bopping heads of seven small figures walking towards the house. The dwarves were nearly home, and she had not started to cook dinner. With a huge gasp, Snow White pulled back her black hair behind her ears, cracked her back, and rolled up her sleeves before heading back into the house.

There’s always next week.

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