Title: Catcher in the Cinder

Rating: PG

Summary: Assignment I did for English class in which I wrote "Cinderella" in the voice of Holden Caulfield.

Disclaimer: I do not own "Cinderella" or Catcher in the Rye. If you are really bothered by a parody on CitR, Cinderella, or JD Salinger's writing style, then please do not read.

Catcher in the Cinder

If you really want to hear about it, I'll tell you that this story ain't phony. I've been known to lie, but this is true. It really is. I ain't gonna bore you with details of my real family, but later in my life I ended up living with my lousy stepmother and stepsisters. They call me Cinderella. Cinderella. A crummy name to match my crummy life. They may as well have called me Dirtella. Or Ashella. Actually, Ashella would be a good name. Cinderella sounds like a phony girly-girl name. Ashella sounds like a tough girl. A crazy girl. Then nobody would mess with me. I would snap and never clean their crud up after them again.

Anyway, my stepsisters were ugly as hell, but they kept bragging about how they were going to some goddam ball. Balls. They were one of those fancy places where hotshots go. I didn't like them much because they were mostly full of snobs and perverts. Not that I've been to many. My lousy stepmother wouldn't let me go to them.

So I was cleaning the goddam floor when my steps left the house. I felt depressed. I looked down at my rags and it made me feel more depressed. Suddenly, a fairy flew in. A fairy for chrissake! I mean it. Anyway, this fairy said she was my godmother. That killed me. I wanted to tell her that she was a lousy sunnovabitch godmother, and that if she really gave a damn about me, she would have helped me with her goddam magic sooner. But that thought made me so damn depressed. And when I'm depressed, I just with whatever someone's doing.

Anyway, she gave me this hotshot ball gown and glass slippers. Glass slippers. That killed me. I mean, the gown looked alright, but the slippers seemed so impractical. I didn't care. I looked alright, I guess. I just went to the goddam ball since I was dressed for it. I road there on this carriage that my old godmother made from a pumpkin. It's true.

So the ball was full of phonies and perverts just like I expected. I went to the bar to order a drink. The bar man suspiciously asked how old I was. I showed him a strand of gray hair I had, but he didn't believe me. I didn't care. They probably had lousy drinks anyway. Then this guy came up to me. His name was Prince Charming. I'm serious. Prince Charming. He was a real sexy bastard and all the girls were wild about him. He seemed kinda phony to me, but I danced with him anyway. He was a pretty good dancer. The other hotshots in the room were OK, but he was the best. I told him he was good but he only said, "Huh?" What a moron.

Anyway at midnight I had to leave. My old fairy godmother said my goddam carriage and gown would disappear if I didn't run away at that time. I ran like hell. I ran like a goddam madman outside the castle. Thing is, I left my goddam glass slipper there. To make a long story short, Prince Charming came looking for me because he thought I was beautiful or something. Boy he was sexy bastard. He probably only fell in love with my phony outfit, but I married him anyway.

So now I'm away from my lousy steps and married to a goddam prince. He's alright. He's got a lot of dough and all. It's kinda depressing being in royalty. You actually can't go very many places. It's true. But at least I'm away from my stepsisters and I can get all the booze I want. I really can.