Kindles for Kids & Anedra and the Fish Prince Fairy Tale

KINDLES FOR KIDS is asking for fairy tales to load onto kindles so hospitalized children will have something to read. I've wanted to contribute, but... well... who isn't busy? (Click here for more info on this worthy cause.)
I don't know if I'll make the deadline, but I thought I'd start a fairy tale here and see where it goes.
Ahem.
ANEDRA AND THE FISH PRINCE
Not so very long ago, a middle aged fisherman and his wife and daughter lived by a stream that tumbled into the sea. The fisherman was mild-mannered and steady in his work, his wife was diligent in keeping house and caring for her family, and the teenage daughter was remarkably beautiful and quite lazy. With her head of dark curls and blouse of scarlet, she'd usually leave her room in a mess and skip down the stairs to coax her mother for money so she could go to town and socialize and buy sweets.
Her mother, looking upon her only child's bright blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and endearing smile, would say, "Anedra, I cannot refuse you, but I do wish you would help me around the house."
"Later," Anedra said, her hand outstretched, her smile sparkling. "Thank you, Mama." She kissed her mother on the cheek and bounced out the door, giving her father an enthusiastic wave on her way to town.
Then one day, with her father out fishing as usual, Anedra came bouncing down the stairs. When she saw her mother's face, she stopped. The way the light came in through the small window showed lines on her mother's skin that Anedra hadn't noticed before. Shadows sat beneath her mother's eyes, and her mouth was drawn down until she looked 100 years old.
"Mama, are you all right?" Anedra asked, moving to her side.
Her mother looked up and tried to smile. "I don't feel well today, dear. That's all."
Anedra felt a wave of concern crash over her heart. For the first time, she thought about how her mother might feel. "What can I do to help you?" Anedra asked.
Her mother stared at her with concern in her eyes. She placed a hand on Anedra's forehead. "My daughter, are you well?"
Anedra laughed at her mother's expression. "I am doing better than you. Come over here and put your feet up. Let me make you something soothing to drink. Shall I wash the dishes for you? I think I can figure it out."
Although she walked like she was in a dream, Anedra's mother followed her daughter's instruction to sit on a chair and put her feet up. Then she watched her daughter bustle about the kitchen, wiping up spills, cleaning dishes, sweeping the floor. What had come over her daughter?
To Be Continued Next Week...

Chicken Troubles

It's enough to drive you to drink, or... well, whatever your vice may be.
THE SAD CHICKEN STORY:
Once upon a time we got some chickens. (Last year, twelve of them.) When they were teenagers in chicken years, we sent them outside to get a job. They lived in a lovely apartment with food, water, and roosting spots on a wooden castle. (Really.)
Then, two of them gave in to temptation and got TOO CLOSE TO THE FENCE, allowing some short, dark, and handsome predator to pull them through the fence. Trouble was, they didn't fit. They went out in pieces.
The next morning, the tragedy was discovered, along with one surviving chicken dubbed "Wingless," because, well, she got too close to the line of temptation and lost a wing, but her life was saved.
Wingless and her surviving sisters began earning their keep by producing lovely brown eggs. They enjoyed leaving their apartment to scratch in the yard and sunbathe their russet feathers and yellow beaks beneath the sun's warm rays.
Then tragedy struck again when a Strange Dog entered the yard through an open gate and carried a chicken home to meet its family. We never saw that chicken again.
Nine sisters remained. The gate was reinforced and closed every day. But who would have thought that the chain link fence would give way to a burrowing dog with his cold eyes fixed on Wingless? It turns out that she only got two lives, because she's a chicken, not a cat.
Eight chickens left. Fewer eggs in the fridge. And the neighbor up the street has never lost a single chicken, to dogs or raccoons or speeding cars or space aliens or anything.
Time to readdress the situation. Spiky chicken collars, anyone?
This sad but true tale provides a good model for story writing. A goal (chickens) fraught with various troubles (separate predator attacks) and finishing with a solution. (Ninja chickens. They look cute in their little black belts.)
Now go write a story. It's good for you.
(See "What Brothers Do" at shirleybahlmann.blogspot by clicking here!)