As the first episode of the Philippines Graphic Literary Workshop (PGLW) slowly came to its conclusion on February 28, we knew that we had one more thing that we can offer our bright young fellows: a starting platform for their creative endeavors. Here, we present one of their final outputs from the workshop. We also asked them to provide an artwork that they think best represents their stories. Read on.
Maybe Cinderella deliberately left her shoe.
I couldn’t help but look at my reflection on the water. The thick foundation cracked around my mouth, settling into the fine lines that smiling too long creates. Glitter clung stubbornly to my cheekbones. My lips were swollen, not enough to accuse, just enough to notice, if you were looking closely.
Flashes of color painted my face as if I were a canvas crafted by a fairy godmother with heavy hands. The wig on my head sat slightly crooked, the pins biting into my scalp. I could still smell them on me. Different colognes layered over each other. They clung to my skin the way salt does after the sea dries.
The water looked back like a patient mirror.
“You’re the fairest of them all.”
Fairest. Grandest. Too polished. Too practiced. My collarbone shimmered. My shoulders were narrow but tense beneath the satin straps. The padding at my hips held its shape even as my posture began to collapse. My voice, when I exhaled, almost slipped lower before I caught it.
Too perfect for just one prince to dance with.
I stood. The damp sand kissed my ankles and crept beneath the hem of my dress. The fabric hugged my curves, stretched in places where hands had lingered too long. There were faint crescent marks on my waist, like someone had tested ripeness. My thighs trembled, not from the cold. My shoulders ached as if I had been displayed on a shelf all night, lifted down only when needed, passed between white gloves and hungry mouths.
Slender. Perfect. Just right for a prince—no, a dozen princes.
The wind brushed against me, and I shivered. Beneath the perfume and powder was the metallic taste of something I did not swallow. My feet throbbed. One heel had rubbed my skin raw, a blister blooming like a secret forced open.
Maybe Cinderella deliberately left her shoe.
Maybe she knew what it meant when too many hands wanted to see if it fit.
Beside my reflection, I noticed it.
An animal paw pressed into the sand. Four toes and a pad. Deep at the front, as if it had leaned its weight there. Watching. Waiting. The edges were still sharp, not yet softened by wind. It had not wandered. It had circled.
A stray dog stood a few steps away, ribs faint beneath patchy fur. Its eyes reflected no fairy tale, only recognition. It did not come closer. It did not bark. It only stared, head slightly tilted, as if it understood what had been taken and what could not be returned.
We both knew what leaves marks and what gets left behind.
I ran.
My only shoe slipped from my foot, landing softly behind me. Yellow against the dark sand. Open-mouthed. Waiting for a prince to lift it carefully, to search for the girl it belonged to.
I didn’t pick it up.
The sand was cool against my bare sole, honest in a way silk never is. It did not try me on. It did not measure me. It did not force my foot inside until it bled just to prove I could belong.
Because like me, it might be perfect and beautiful, but useless once everyone has tried it on.
Something without its half, without its dignity, is something that should be left behind.
I ran. The shoreline blurred, wind tangling the crooked strands of my wig. The waves rushed forward to meet me. The dog barked once. Not loud. Just enough to follow.
The water licked at my feet. Cool and insistent, swallowing the glitter from my skin. It climbed higher, washing away fingerprints I could still feel pressed into my hips, my wrists, the soft underside of my jaw. The scent of them thinned. The mirror began to break.
Maybe Cinderella deliberately left her shoe so they would look for her on land.
I did not slow down.
The sea shattered around my knees, my waist, my chest. The fabric grew heavy, dragging. The wig loosened. The tide pulled like hands, but gentler and kinder.
Behind me, the yellow shoe lay untouched beside the paw print, slowly filling with water.
I opened my mouth, and let the ocean decide what to keep.
Clark Jayson, writing under the pen name LostCalypso, is a teen fiction writer on Wattpad who finds beauty in the messiness of young hearts. He gravitates toward stories soaked in raw teenage romance like first glances, late-night thoughts, and feelings too big for words. His works explore how love can be childish, awkward, and painfully sincere, yet irresistibly cute. Through simple moments and emotional honesty, he captures the thrill of liking someone a little too much. LostCalypso writes for readers who miss being young, confused, and brave enough to love anyway.
