The Storyteller

By @L-R-Battista
The Storyteller

This is a short story in which there are Disney characters but in the real world. This might turn into a series but right now, this is a short story. Walter Grimm's life isn't perfect. He gets barbies dolls thrown at his head and is so tall he can touch the top of every ceiling. However, life goes from ok to worse when his mom passes away and he is forced into Bibbity-Bobbity- Boo Foster Home owned by a strange woman called Fairy Godmother. Read on to find out more.

Chapter 1

Who is the Fairest of them All?

Slave in the magic mirror, 

come from the farthest space, 

through wind and darkness, I summon thee. 

Speak! Let me see thy face.”

“What wouldst thou know, my Queen?”

“Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

The queen demanded, her red lips sneering as her eyes crinkled beneath her leathery purple eyeshadow. 

“Who is the fairest of them all?” the queen repeated.

The floating face swimming within the mirror full of mushroom cloud smoke, eyes empty, scowled but never says the answer. A stripe of gray and white rippled across the TV screen and the scene rewinded. And the queen said with the same eerie glow in her lime green eyes, 

“Who is the fairest of them all?” 

A little girl, dressed as Snow White’s mini me, down to the red ribbon and yellow and white bowtie shoes, began to wail. 

     “Why isn’t wur-king ! I waunt to wautch Snow White!” she yelled, clutching a Cinderella Barbie doll, whose perfectly crescent smile and painted unblinking eyes reminded me of a serial killer before he (or she) delivers the final blow with a knife that looks more like a glinting Saber Tooth than your ordinary, ridged silver kitchen knife. 

She threw the doll at the TV. 


Other princess Barbie’s are hurled through the air next. My mother turned at the sight as she warmed a bottle for a baby who oddly resembled Humpty Dumpty, with rolls of creamy white fat, swaying every-time he moved in the sheep patterned bouncy. 

     “Can you help me fix the movie for Regina? I have to feed Tom,” my mom asked, twisting her graying strawberry hair into a clip. 

     “Tom could probably go on a diet,” I commented but walked over to Regina, dodging the Aladdin and Elisa dolls she threw my way. 

     “Stop throwing the Barbies! They’re going to get concussions. You don’t want that,” I yelled, trying to appeal to her belief that they were in fact real people. 

     “I Wauuuuuut Snow White!” Regina screeched, her tears dragging black smears of the mascara that my mom applied earlier to make her look like a “princess”. 

     “You will get your **** Snow White, just stop throwing the Barbies!”

     “Language, Walter Donald!” my mom snapped, pressing the filmy white milk into Tom’s greedy pink lips. 

I saluted my mom and dodged another Barbie. I think it was the “Tangled” one, with the long gold hair. I can’t remember her name though I look like one of these characters myself. I am the legendary “green giant” of my high school. The “giant” coming from my size. In my freshmen year of high school, one day I was five-foot-eight and the next I was seven feet tall. I developed the “legendary” talent of being able push up the speckled hallway ceiling tiles on my way to Mr. Arthur’s history class. “Green” comes from my “green” hair caused by chemicals in the pool that give my white blond hair this nice teal hue, hence “Green Giant”. 

  “Sorry mom,” cough, “not!”

 She was too busy scolding baby Tom for getting formula on his navy and white sailor onesie. What do you expect from Jabba the Hut’s child? I reached the TV before Regina could fire another round of Barbie’s with her wicked aim. Pressing the large pimple sized button labeled “power” the TV along with the queen’s soliloquy with her mirror, blinked and shut off, leaving the screen blank. 

     “No! Snow White!” the toddler hollered, her nose bubbling with slimy snot. She threw another toy, this time a mental truck, (I guess she decided I was not worth the Barbie), at my turned back. It stung but I said nothing. 

Instead I went through the usual protocol of fixing the TV, I nicknamed Steve. I switched the VCR on and off and turned back on the TV.

I received a lovely chorus of static. I changed the channels with clicker. An episode of Teen Wolf was playing, a cliché make- out scene involving pent up teenage hormones and the lumpy bed that just happened to be there. Too bad Regina is six instead of sixteen I mused, then the problem would be solved. Unfortunately, you can’t always get what you want. I flipped back quickly to the original channel. It definitely wasn’t the TV, I decided and ejected the tape. I discovered the see-through film was twisted and looped outside the hard charcoal cover. I sighed, what a shame. This was the first gift my mom got when she found out she was having a baby and thought I was a girl. 

     “Mom, the tape’s broken.” I called, waving the tape in the air, the film billowing out like a cape. Regina threw Princess Belle, half-dressed in her yellow dress at my arm and crossed her arms over her chest. I guessed, she didn’t like my news. 

    “You can’t be serious!” my mom exclaimed, slamming the bottle on the counter. 

    “I am always serious.” 

    “Shut up! This is a problem.” she snapped. 

Regina chucked a wooden block that luckily I caught with one hand. 

    “No really?” I mocked, holding the block out to her. 

She glared and I just shrugged. My mom’s glare was as scary as a teddy bear. 

Mom sighed, walked over, dodging flying miniature logs from the log cabin set, and scooped Regina up in her arms. 

    “Guess I’ll have to go get a new copy at Walmart,” she sighed.

    “Unless you would like to get pelted by wooden blocks and logs?” I smirked. 

    “I’ll pass. Regina, do you want to go get some ice cream and get a new Snow White at Walmart?” she cooed in a high-pitched voice. 

Regina’s tears and cries halted instantly and she -wait for it- smiled a toothy grin. I swear she must be a bipolar alien from Jupiter or Uranus or something. I mean, how can a “normal” human being simply switch one’s emotions like one switches on a light? 

    “I’ll be back in half-hour, can you finish feeding Tom and make sure you wake Woody and Jessie at three?” mom asked, but I knew she wasn’t asking, not really. It was just her polite way of saying, Do it or no swim practice!

     “Sure, whatever.” I replied. 

    “Please?” she begged, her brown eyes wide and big like a puppy’s. Now I know how my dad fell in love with her. 


She beamed, her teeth freshly Crest White-Stripped, blinded me. “Thanks sweetie, I promise I will be back soon.” 

I nodded and she grabbed her tan potato sack of a purse and waltzed out the door. 

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