I clench my teeth and hold back the sob urging to escape my throat. A cackling laugh is loud behind me. My fists are formed into white balls, scrubbing the floor with a damp sponge sprinkled with tiny bubbles. My throat is tight and my breath heavy. Sisters argue over who the prince will like more, who he will chose. A single tear drops on the wet floor, and the cackle grows louder.

"The little girl is crying!" stepmother cries. She took away my father, she took away my freedom, she took away my life.

The sisters join in on the hysterical laugh, stopping their dirty shoe on the floor I have scrubbed for hours. The whole house is spotless, thanks to me, but they always find a mistake. Something wrong, to tell me I'm wrong. I am a thing to them, a maid, a toy to play with.

"Go clean up that mess, Cinder," stepmother spits.

Father and mother named me Ella, but stepmother calls me Cinder. It's not my name, it's not my mess to clean, but it is my life. She has no respect, and her daughters have even less.

I scrub the dirty shoe markers until the floor shines brighter than ever before. My arms are sore and my back needs a stretch. I get up to grab a drink of water when I notice my warn dress has another hole.

It use to be a beautiful dress, one of the only things left from my mother. She was a pretty and fair woman, loved by most. Especially my father. I would never have come to the conclusion that this lovely dress worn my a lovely woman would become a maids dress. Old, ragged, torn, the dress was. The pretty white apron never helped, and got just as dirty as the dress did.

The first hole made me fuming at my new stepmother, but father held me back. My jaw went stiff and I hoped the tears wouldn't fall. Ever since then the anger has been building up inside of me like an egyptian pyramid, and I'm almost at the top. But I never tip over the edge, I handle my posture with with grace and class, like any other maid would.

"The ball is tomorrow and you girls still don't have your shoes! All this fighting has come to nothing if neither of you can go!"

"Sorry."

"Yeah, sorry."

"I've got my shoes from the last ball we went to, and I think they will match my dress," the first sister snorts.

"I'm going to the boutique today to find some," the second sister brags.

"All right girls. As long as the prince chooses one of you. Then we will become rich. Your stepfather doesn't make a dime, but at least he own this house. And we have a free little maid."

"Yeah it's really great."

"Yeah I like having a maid who does what I want."

A switch flips inside of me but I don't show it. My father truly loves my stepmother, and she is just here for his house. I long for the urge to tell father, but he is on a trip by hourse for at least another week.

"Cinder?"

"Yes stepmother?"

"Don't say a word. And get back to scrubbing. I see a hair of dust by the chair. Clean it up."

I scrub and scrub, and do some more scrubbing until I don't think stepmother could find anything wrong with it. But when I head to my room, I still ask if I need to scrub more.

"Stepmother? May I be done-"

"Cinder?"

"Yes stepmother?"

"Shut up. And go scrub some more."

"But-"

"Cinder?"

"Yes stepmother?"

"Shut up!"

Her abrupt yelling forced me to silence, and my rag moved in fast motions across the floor. I, once again, had finished. This time I didn't tell stepmother and simply went to my room. It was in the attic, for all the other room were in use. Every once in a while, little birds come to the attic window. I sing with their twiddly chirps, and all my anger flushes down.

The next day is a repeat of today. Arguing, the ball, scrubbing, scrubbing, and some more scrubbing. Most days are like this, filled with boredom and anger and sadness and rage.

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I promise I will make a part two, I just had this idea and now that I'm up to this point, I have writers block.