Little Flower: A Rapunzel Retelling

“Mama, will you tell me my story again?” Asks the little girl in my lap.

“We don't have time, darling. I'm almost done braiding your hair, and then it's time for bed,” I reply, tucking another strand of long hair into her increasingly thick braid. 

“Please?” She begs. I can tell she won't relent any time soon.

“Alright, fine. But you have to sit still and listen.”

…

Once upon a time, there lived an evil king and his selfish queen. They had everything they could possibly want: power, riches, and a baby on the way.  Even so, the queen was not satisfied. She was the sort of person for whom nothing would ever be good enough. She had a bed, but she wanted it to be bigger and softer. She had a husband, but she wanted him to be braver and more handsome. She had a kingdom, but she wanted to rule everything she set her eye on. She had a feast for every meal, but still, she wanted more: the fattest turkey, the richest creams, and only the freshest of greens. 

The king was willing to do absolutely anything to appease his queen. For her bed, he commanded the servants to give up their own beds, so that they could be gutted and the feathers could be used to fill her mattress. For her dream of ruling far and wide, he started a war with neighboring kingdoms, demanding they give up their land to him. For the feasts, he set out in search of the very best food. After all, how else was he to prove that he himself could be good enough for his wife?

Meanwhile, far away from the lavish castle, in an ordinary home in the village, my mother had fallen ill. I did my best to care for her, but her ailment was something beyond my healing. In those last few weeks, the only thing that brought her any joy was her garden. 

She had a beautiful garden. It was filled with flowers, fruits, and vegetables of every imaginable variety. When she had been stronger, she had taken some of her produce to the town market every week. It quickly gained a reputation as being the freshest, the greenest, and the ripest of any produce the people had ever seen. 

Of course, that was before she was sick. 

Even though she couldn’t tend to her garden or bring her wares to the market anymore, she still loved her garden. I would take her outside every day, and she would point to every flower, every leaf, and tell me what it was. 

“Those,” she would say, “Are tomatoes, and those next to them are marigolds, and over there are daisies, and petunias, and pumpkins, and over there, in that little corner by my birdbath, is my rapunzel. My favorite. Do you see those little purple flowers it has? Aren’t they lovely? There is nothing else as wonderful as my rapunzel.”

One sunny day, she finally grew too weak to walk around outside. She was confined to her bed, but I never left her side. I was determined to keep her alive. She was the only family I had left. 

She passed away only a week later. I was all alone. 

Not for long, though. 

Do you remember what I told you the king was up to? Searching for the very best food? Of course, it was only a matter of time before he made it to my house. After all, my mother’s garden was the greatest in all the land. 

Not even three full days after the death of my beloved mother, he came knocking on my door. 

I will admit, I was surprised when I opened the door to find seven royal guards, least of all the king himself.  What could someone as important as him want with an ordinary person like me? In fact, I asked him that very same question. 

“Greens,” he replied. “My sources in the village tell me you have the best greens of them all. By the order of Her Majesty the Queen, you will surrender them to me. Show me to your greens.”

I must have stood there agape for a few seconds too long, because he followed by saying, “Greens. Now. Where is your garden?”

“It’s that way, through the house and out the back door,” I managed to get out. “But… Begging your pardon, Majesty, why does the Queen need my greens? I mean, surely she has her own. And, well, my mother, it was her garden, and she–”

“–You heard the woman, through the house and out the back door. Go, men. Gather everything in sight,” the king called, giving no heed to the rest of my sentence. Immediately, the guards pushed past me to fulfill the king’s order. He entered my home, and began to stride forcefully to the only other door – the one that led to my mother’s beautiful garden. 

“Wait, please, you can’t just barge in here and steal from me,” I yelped as I ran after the guards. The door swung open, and they stomped outside into the lush environment my mother had nurtured. One of their boots crushed a marigold. 

“Sure I can, miss,” replied the king coldly. He stepped outside to join his men. There was a tomato plant near the door; he plucked one off the vine and bit into it. Juice, red as blood, dripped down his chin.

“I’m the king. I can do whatever I’d like.” 

By then, the guards had gotten to work uprooting plants, stuffing things in bags, and trampling most everything else in their path. 

“But you don’t understand, this was my mother’s garden, her pride and joy, and she… she just passed away. This garden is all I have left of her, besides the house. It’s a part of who she was. Please, you can’t destroy it,” I begged. 

As soon as the words left my lips, I realized it was too late. The men worked fast, I’ll give them that. All around me, plants had been pulled out of the ground and packed away, roots and all. Pieces of my mother were being ripped from me one by one.The only things left were the pumpkins and the –

“Rapunzel,” I said. I was fighting hard to keep my tears at bay. I pointed to the plant in the corner. “At the very least, leave me that rapunzel. It was my mother’s favorite. My poor, dead mother’s favorite plant… Please, just let me keep that.” 

“Rapunzel, eh?” Said the king. “That sounds like something my wife would like. It's a beautiful plant, miss. Thanks for pointing it out, I might have missed it!” He winked at me. 

“No!” I whispered as a guard pulled it up. 

The last piece of my mother was gone.  

They left as quickly as they had come. 

That night, the ground itself seemed to spin as huge wracking sobs shook my whole body. I cried harder that night than I had cried when I first cradled my mother’s lifeless body in my arms. To me, my mother may as well have died all over again. I was alone, even more so than before. I wished I could bring my mother back. I wished that more than anything. 

Time felt like molasses. It was thick and slow, surrounding me and never moving fast enough. I was stuck in my grief, and I began to drown in time. Days, weeks, perhaps centuries passed this way. I was desperate for an escape.

Eventually, I was physically unable to cry any longer. Funnily enough, it was at the very moment my river of tears ran dry that a stroke of brilliance, the answer I had been searching for, hit me: I couldn’t bring back my mother, but maybe I could bring back her garden. Her rapunzel. 

I didn’t hesitate. I put on my darkest clothing, steeled my nerves, and set off to break into the castle and get the rapunzel back. 

Because in this family, we would do anything for our mothers, wouldn’t we, darling?

The road was long and winding, yet every stride seemed to fill me with more purpose. Getting that plant back was all I cared about. It was the most important thing I had ever attempted to do in my whole life.

The stars above me were bright and cold. I searched for the moon, but it was nowhere to be seen. The wind was harsh, and dust blew up from the road to sting my eyes. The forest to my left seemed dark and sinister; the castle looming ahead of me was even more sinister. The bushes alongside the road were bristling with thorns. I had to be careful not to let my cloak blow into them, or else it would be impossible to free. 

Everything was silent, except for the wind. 

I was almost to the castle when I heard it. A piercing cry rose up ahead of me, carried on the wings of the howling wind. Something was wailing, shrieking, howling up to the cruel darkness of the moonless night. 

A baby. 

It was coming from one of the bushes surrounding the castle’s wall, not even ten feet in front of me. I rushed over, of course, and found you there. 

You were such a helpless little thing, crying for a Mommy you’d never see again.

I know, I know, it seems unlikely that I would just happen to be out that night and I would just happen to find you in the bushes, right at the foot of the castle. It seems very unlikely. Impossible, even. That’s how it happened, though. There’s no use asking questions about how or why. 

You were abandoned. Nobody wanted you. They left you out there to die. 

I saved you. 

Not only did I save you, but I sacrificed everything for you.

I gave up on getting my beloved mother’s plant back, getting a piece of my mother back – the only thing I cared about – because I chose to take care of you instead. You were thrown away, child. You’re lucky I found you, because I am the only one who could ever love you. I could have left you out there to die, just like your family, but I didn’t. Never forget that. You owe me everything.  

I carried you home in my arms. You screamed the whole way. You were an ungrateful little thing back then. 

I decided to name you Rapunzel. 

…

“Then, of course, we moved out here, to this tower. It’s deep in the forest, and you can’t leave, but it’s for your own safety – 

So that nobody will steal my Rapunzel ever again.”

I swiftly tie off the end of her braid. 

“Now, time for bed, my little flower,” I say. She jumps out of my lap and runs to her bed. 

“Goodnight, Mama,” she whispers as she pulls the covers up to her chin. “You’re my favorite person.”

“And you’re mine, Rapunzel.” I blow out the candle so she can’t see the look on my face.

“You’re mine.”