Hawking them is a gentle, long in the tooth peasant woman, whom J. “Snow” White can not see with any precision the features of, for the sun is beating down on her forehead mercilessly. Seeing her apparent rival for beauty and royal affection, the old harridan blurts out
- Aye there, charming young lady, it is only right for you to be taken with my wholesome, fresh harvest. Best in all the lands, I tell you. Would you care to have a taste of a fruit or vegetable my dear?
- Thanks, but no thanks, kind old lady. Would that I could but I have made some harrowing experinces lately and find it difficult to have faith in any stranger. Irregardless of age, race, sexual orientation, height, etc. Please not to take it personal. Trust that I do appreciate your kindness.
- It is all the same to me.
Replies the rustically disguised stepqueen H. Trefoil undeterred, working her malevolent heart’s ploy to perfection
- I shall soon have sold all of my foodstuffs. Brisk business these days. There, I will give you an apple gratis.
- No, sorry. I dare not take anything.
- Are you afraid of poison? Look child I will cut the apple in two pieces; you eat the red cheek, and I will eat the white.
The apple is so cunningly made that only the red cheek is poisoned. Joelle longs for the fine apple, a bite of it to complement this perfect day and when she sees that the hoary campesina eats part of it she can resist no longer. But hardly has she taken a bite than she falls down seemingly dead. Observing this with great glee the incorrigible hag cackles
- White as llallo, red as menses, black as grime! This time your friends cannot wake you up again.
And then some significant while later, finding her seemingly dead upon the staircase robbed off of her wallet due to the omnipresence of poor wraiths needful of ca$$$h for freebase and the like, Abiola Sneezy-Wheezy and stoic Dae-Jung Dopey [who are secretly carrying on with each other] immediately rush Joelle to the closest hospital, then call in their co-op’s other five comrades. From the emergency room J. “Snow” White is promoted to the ICU [which she always imagined as standing for Incorrigible Coke-head Unit] where she is put in an artifically induced coma, halfway between death and life, sunshine and snow.
Charlie, particularly heart-broken about the renewed fall of the convalescent beauty he had perceived as having taken under his wing, casts aside any ego-centric agenda items to wake by J.S.W’s bed both day and night. Wakes until the urgency to make a living asserts itself once again so urgently that he must leave her if he does not want to be terminally out of customers, peddlers, suppliers and a number of blocks that are respected as “his territory”. But Charlie Krezey does not part for narcotic biz before haranguing a young doctor, one lugubrious Soliswe Mda, into checking in on Joelle regularly to send him status updates. The youthful M.D. refuses for the longest and tells him to go find himself a medical assistant to cooperate in such folly until C.K, having taken note of S.M’s suspiciously runny nose, in so many words offers the stethoscoped, medical young gun discount snow, which he gladly accepts: a half-moon of incandescent white arising amid all that dark-brown and black of beard.
Doc Mda recognizes J.S.W. at once from the glossy magazines, a face that has always very much appealed to him but now shocks the M.D with the pallor of its death-like mask. Nevertheless, over the course of a day and a night Cardiologist Soliswe Mda madly falls in love with the sleeping beauty and wishes there was something, anything he could do to wake her from her slumber. Then Doctor S. Mda would court her, ideally get Joelle to reciprocate his feelings and if things go incredibly well, even make an impression upon her father whose reputation, given his own habit, heartman Mda is frightfully/reverentially familiar with.
Every free minute he rushes to her bedside and sends Charlie the requested messages, staying up 24, then 48, finally 72 hours, courtesy of serious autobahns of blow. On the third straight night of waking by her bedside, the young M.D. Mda is a trembling, frazzled, wide-eyed wreck waking over Joelle by moonlight and studying even her very pores for minuscule signs of betterment: nothing. Which in Doctor Soliswe Mda’s state of mad love plus insomniac dysphoria distresses him to no end. He grabs that deathly pale branch which is the Princess’ arm and squeezes, then shakes.
Tears run down Mda’s face like torrents of grief washing him down towards her wintry face, where at last their lips, hers still that same ruby red of her dope-cutress mother’s wired incantation, his sprung and cold, meet. And thus and so the impulsive, dope-flushed medico grabs Joelle “Snow” White by her skeletal shoulders and shakes the living shit out of the handsome lady in utter desperation. With this shock the poisonous piece of apple comes out of her throat. And before long Joelle opens her eyes, tugs on the IV, sits up straight and is once more alive.