FairyTale Blogs: Little Red Riding Hood (ugh)’s Blog: The Real Story
God, I hate being the heroine in a stupid fairy tale that people make fun of anyway. Being so sweet and innocent and helpless-ick. My name is Reda-God, I hate my name too-but most of you probably know me as Red-my nickname. In fact, my nickname is what started all of this crap. And the fact that I’m only 5’ 4”. And that I’m a very sarcastic person.
So I’ve decided to fix all of that. This is the REAL story…
“Reda…” I groaned as I walked into the kitchen. My supposed mother, Elsa, appeared from her room. Trying not to clench my hands, I raised my brows, waiting for yet another order.
“What, Elsa.” I said through clenched teeth, remembering my complete loathing for my name.
“For the last time, call me Mom.” Elsa paused looking worried, “Your grandmother is sick, Reda.”
“And…” I waited for and answer, crossing my arms impatiently, my shoulder length black hair moving in front of my gray eyes. Elsa scowled at me.
“I want you to take this food to her.” She handed me a very large picnic basket. I groaned.
“But, Elsa…”
“It’s Mom-and yes you are going to take this food to your grandmother.”
“Why the he-” Elsa gave me a look, and I glared as I refrained from swearing, “-heck should I take a bunch of food to a sick lady who’s gonna die any day now anyway?” Even though I said this, my grandmother is pretty cool. I’m just tired of Elsa ordering me around.
“Because you are going to take this food out of the kindness of your heart so your grandmother does not waste away.” I had to put my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh. How am I this woman’s child?
“And that’ll be on the headlines tomorrow: Little Red Saves Grandmother from Starving out of the Kindness of her Heart!” Mother Dear sighed and rubbed her temples. It was all I could do to hide my grin.
“You know I hate that nickname…” Only a mother would criticize me on my name after a comment like that. Maybe I’m sarcastic just too often to affect her anymore.
“You know I hate my name.” I shot back, giving her one of my not-so-famous glares (A sweet innocent heroine can’t glare at anybody. No, she‘s too perfect. Ugh.).
“You’re going!” She gave me the you’ll-never-see-the-light-of-day-again-if-you-don’t-listen-to-me look. So I grudgingly took the basket and stormed out the door (and I can storm pretty loud with combat boots).
About two seconds later, I was back inside the house. Elsa’s hands were on her hips, “Reda…”
“It’s raining.” I reopened the door just to prove my point, setting the basket on the table to do so.
“Since when has that stopped you?” Elsa’s eyebrows went up. I glared at her again and grabbed my black cloak and headed for the stable. Wait…you thought I was going to walk? Now that is funny.
By this time, the rain was really coming down and I pulled the hood up over my head and opened the stable door. We actually only have three horses. Two carriage horses: Dandy and Lion (Elsa’s idea) and their son-my horse: Stormfire. He has got to be the most beautiful horse in the world.
He’s a dark gray with a black mane and tail. His eyes are a dark brown-so dark that they almost look black.
“Hey there, Storm.” I blew into his face so he could smell me and rubbed the white mark shaped like a flame. Without bothering to put a bridle on him, I opened the stall door and clucked for him to follow me to the tack room. He followed obediently.
Minutes later, the tack was put on and I was leading him by the reigns to the exit. I opened the door and led him out, blowing a kiss to Dandy (I call her Rose) and Lion (I call him Thorn), and then I was gone, cantering down the muddy road.
The rain only lasted for about two minutes. Unfortunately. I love the rain, and it was calming me down somewhat and so now that it was over, I was back to being pissed.
I love my grandmother, she’s actually my friend, but Elsa needs to learn that I’m not Cinderella (Another retarded fairy tale. A fairy god-mother? Really people.)
Yet it so happened that I wasn’t alone in my despair, as I found out as I heard the sound of an ax against wood. I clucked Stormfire on and found the source of the noise. A boy with black hair twisting over his eyes was swinging an ax a tree (That’s the original purpose of the ax, for those who have watched WAY too many horror movies).
“Hey, loser.” I called, he swung the ax one last time and let it stay in the tree.
“Likewise.” He said dryly. I stared into his blue eyes and he stared back into mine. This went on for a few seconds until I cracked a grin. He shook his head and walked closer to Stormfire and I. “What’s up, Red.”
I groaned, “The sky! How many times do I have to tell you that, Ayden!” It was his turn to groan. My grin returned for a moment.
“Why the heck are you swinging an ax a tree? It isn‘t very nice.”
“You know that job I told you about…?” Ayden sighed and shook his head. “I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to this.”
“I can.” I said with a smirk, staring down at him.
“Dismount and we’ll see who’s lower on the food chain,” He growled, glaring at me.
“No! I like being able to look down instead of up. It’s kind of refreshing.”
“Get off the horse!” He pointed at the ground.
“And I repeat; no!”
Silently, Ayden walked over to the ax and yanked it out. He had this crazy look in his eyes as he walked towards me. I pretended to be afraid and held up my hands in defeat.
“Okay, okay already. I’ll get off the horse.” I dismounted and he grinned when my head was just up to his chin. “One word and you’re dead.” I growled.
Ayden laughed and resumed cutting down the tree as we talked about music and other random stuff when I remembered my task. I groaned and we said our goodbyes. He waved as I rode off, pushing Stormfire into a gallop and we whipped through the trees. Then some retarded guys stood directly in the middle of the friggin road, you know, in front of a galloping horse.
“Stormfire!” I screamed as I reigned him in, way too hard to not hurt his soft mouth, “I’m sorry, boy.” I patted his neck sympathetically and then turned to someone who just wrote him death note, “Are you crazy, you loser!” I screamed at him.
He looked at me and shrugged. That made me even angrier. I dismounted and walked up to him. He was freaking huge. And I was getting in his face.
“You shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the friggin road, you jerk.” I screamed in his face, though I knew he could probably snap my neck with his pinky finger.
“I can stand where I want to, little girl.” His breath was made of alcohol and I scrunched up my nose.
“Uh…no…move you stupid man.” I’m not very good at insulting people I don’t know, people I know, fine, but insulting complete strangers isn’t my thing.
“What’d you say?” He asked me, very drunkenly.
“Are you freaking deaf, I told you, a very stupid man, to move out of my way before I run you over with my freaking horse.” I was in a bad mood, if you can’t tell. And, while I’m at it, very very…VERY stupid. Here I was, going to my grandmother’s house because of the kindness in my heart (and because my mother is pure evil) and decided to confront a man that could squash me with his eyelash.
“Don’t you know who I am, young missy?” He asked, slurring his words like, a lot.
“Duh, no one WANTS to know who YOU are…” I said, poking him in the chest.
“Wolf.” He grinned evilly and I felt so incredibly stupid and somewhat dead. Wolf was all over the new; he was an old people serial killer. Excuse me, senior citizen killer. I once asked my grandma why they were called ‘senior citizens.’ She told me it was because they could haze people when they got to a certain age. Did I tell you my grandma was completely awesome? And now this idiot, Wolf, might be on his way to be killing her. I mean, she’s the only senior citizen way out here so why else would he be out here?
“You’re mother named you after a canine?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. That may have been a bad thing, insulting his mother, but as I have said before, I’m kind of sarcastic and that was the second thing that popped into my head̶̵̵--right after the whole serial killer thing.
“What did you say?” Wolf asked, really mad.
“I’m just in disbelief that your mother named you after a canine. I mean…wow.” Without trying to draw attention to myself, I meandered back to Stormfire and mounted. “That’s some…er…creative mother you have.”
“Why you…” He looked ready to squash me just about then. I whipped Stormfire around as he lunged, and Stormfire bolted, being a very smart animal. The one time I looked back, I saw Wolf getting up—he’d fallen straight into the mud.
“Thank goodness I know another way to Grandma’s” I told Stormfire. Then we passed Ayden, he yelled at us and startled Stormfire, who shied and I managed to fall off. It hurt a lot, just incase you didn’t know.
“Red, you okay?” He asked, real worried.
“Can’t talk, gotta save Grandma from a serial killer.” I rasped, still catching my breath from my fall. Now I was all muddy.
“What?” This was last word I heard Ayden say before Stormfire and I were off again.
I promise that the ride there wasn’t all that fun. A lot of mud got in my face, I was freaking out because I didn’t know if I could beat the stupid serial killer, and it turns out that horses can’t run as fast if they’re running in the mud. And Elsa was going to kill me—I left the food with Ayden when I fell off. Oops.
It took me forever to get to Grandma’s, and when I did get there, there was an ATV sitting in front of her cottage. “Crap.” I muttered, dismounting from Stormfire. “Crap, crap, crap, CRAP.”
In about two and a half seconds, I was suffocating in the mud. Why must I dwell in klutztown?
I picked myself up, spitting out stuff that I dearly hoped was mud, and climbed up out of the slimy ground. That failed so incredibly—if fell down again. The thrid time is so not the charm because I couldn’t get up that time either. It was the fourth time that I tried getting up that I actually succeeded. By then I was covered in the stupid mud and felt at least ten times heavier than I remembered being.
Even with the knowledge I was going to die by A) A serial killer disposing of me, B) My grandmother killing me because I tracked mud into her house, or C) Elsa killing me for not delivering the food; I opened the door and stepped inside.
“G?” I called, wiping mud off of the corner of my mouth and succeeding only in smearing mud off of my hand, “G, are you there?” Silence. The only light was faint and it was coming from under her bedroom door. My grandmother (the previously mentioned, G) isn’t the type to stay in bed when she’s sick so I knew something was wrong. I knocked on her door and heard a raspy, “Come in,” that only barely sounded like G.
Before walking into the room (I’m sarcastic, not stupid) I called through the door, “What the heck happened to your voice, G?”
“I’m sick, dear child, come on in.” Definatly not G, she never EVER said ‘dear child’ but I decided to play along and walked in. The first thing I noticed was the huge mass that had taken over my grandma’s bed. It’s not that she was a twig or anything, just that she’d never bent the bed but I didn’t say anything sarcastic (for once).
“Geez, G. Where did that huge honker come from?” I asked the figure, because, along with a bedcap that G never has acutally worn, I saw a huge nose sticking above the covers.
“I can smell you better, so I had plastic surgery.” Yeah freaking right. I moved closer, looking for anything to hit somebody with. There was a broom by the foot of the bed.
“Really? Then what about those huge speck your wearing? You’ve never needed them before.” In fact, G absolutley abhors glasses for some odd reason.
“I need them to see you better, they got damaged during the surgery.” I reached for the broom and headed slowly for the bed.
“And what’s with—” I never got a chance to answer when Wolf sprang up, lunging for me. There was barely anytime fore me to dodge so I did what I did best: I fell. And that actually saved my life. I tried to roll gracefuly out of the way but ran into the bed instead. Lucky me.
“Get over here, girly.”
“But, Grandmother, you love me so much.” Throwing the broom like a javelin, I tried to scurry away on my knees, out of danger and almost had made it when a huge hand clamped around my ankle. “Get of me you—” I started to yell, but he dragged me closer to him and my head dragged on the ground so my chin was shut by the whole dragging thing.
“So what was that you said about my mother?” He asked, breath still reaking of alcohol.
In response, I kicked him in the crotch, pushed myself away with my feet and then kicked him right on that huge nose of his. He moaned and I climbed up and ran out of the room to the kitchen. I grabbed some knives and got myself ready for a very angry, very drunk, serial killer.
Wolf came out, his face beat red, “Why you…” he started, then ran at me. I, not really knowing what the heck to do with the knives in my hand and threw one at him. It missed. By a lot. So I held the other, sticking it out so it would ram into his stomach. That didn’t turn out too well.
He swept it aside and threw me across the room and I fell onto one of the hard countertops. Pain shot through my back and I decided that going one on one with a serial killer wasn’t really such a good idea. And I was out of sharp, poiny objects.
Then something really shiny planted itself into Wolf’s arm. My vision had started to blur so I didn’t see it all to well. The serial killer screamed in agony and anger.
“Red, you okay?” I barely heard the yell and certainly couldn’t tell who it was.
“Oh, just peachy.” I muttered, trying not to collapse. Wolf was a bit busy with my savior so I could concentrate on standing—but I gave up and sat, leaning against the counter.
By then, my vision had cleared a bit and I saw that the floor was covered in blood and Wolf was on the ground. Whoever decided to save me was on the phone, his back turned to me. After a few words, he hung up and turned around. It was Ayden.
“Way to go Red, nearly get yourself killed.” He said, stepping over the unconsious serial killer.
“That’s what I do.” I moaned. He held a hand out and I took it. In a few seconds, I was up and dizzy because of the sudden rush. “Why are you here, by the way?” I asked him.
“Figured you’d need your butt saved.” Ayden said, grinning.
“Yeah, yeah. Now lets find G.” I said just as a siren sounded and lights flashed in through the window.
Okay, so that’s the story. Sure there might be more but nobody actually cares. The police showed up, arrested the serial killer, asked us questions and found my (very pissed off) grandmother. After all of that, there was a trial where one of the brothers from the famous tabloid, The Brothers Grim messed up my story. If I was old enough, I would sue them for all they were worth for making me seem like a heroine. I mean, ugh. So anyway, this is the real story of Red in the Riding hood.
