This was a free write for my creative writing class. I decided to twist an old fairy tale again like I had with "Beauty & the Beast." It needs a thorough tearing apart and critique so please be as harsh as you like! So long as it helps me improve it ^_^
Happy Anniversary
It had been three years since Little Red had grown from her name and simply adopted the name Red. She never left the shelter from which she watched the town beneath her. She never left the safety of the forest and its myths that frightened the villagers from entering her sanctuary. Her sanctuary of spirits and souls, of faeries and of treacherous imps, of shadows and of wolves.
The young woman pulled her ragged cloak tighter about her slender form. Her skin pale and her blue eyes sharp with distrust and deep set anger. Her blonde locks curved about her heart shaped face, rebelling from the blue strip of fabric that sought to bind her wavy hair from her eyes. Her lips curved into a reminiscent smirk as she gazed upon the dirt path that spread from her doorway to the foliage and gnarled trees beyond her sight and upon the horizon.
Three years…
Her mouth could still remember the nauseating taste of her grandmother’s flesh in her mouth, the disturbing metallic assault her blood gave her taste buds as the human liquid dripped from the wine glass and down her throat. The sparrow’s words still rung about her consciousness, its twitters and nervous chirps warning her of whom she was truly eating to satiate her hunger. The cat’s sly words of caution had fallen upon deaf ears, her parched throat gladly taking in the red water, regardless of which it had once belonged to. Her grandmother was her flesh and blood, in more ways than one.
She remembered her terror as her grandmother was revealed to be a starved wolf. His shaggy grey fur full of ticks, dirt, and grime. His feral yellow eyes echoing the depths of his hunger and the sharp fangs that protruded from his muzzle. He had stalked towards her slowly, deeply inhaling the scent of her fear and disgust, her loathing and hatred. It made his mouth drip with saliva, anticipating the sweet meal that shuddered and shivered before him, clutching her wicker basket with white knuckles.
And then the axe man had arrived, out of the shadows and in a heroic stance slammed the hatchet upon the wolf multiple times. The lacerations caused oozing blood and causing the animal to snarl and whimper in pain, his desire to flee and his instinct to feed clashing in his starvation worn mind. He chose to flee and had ducked between the large man’s legs and out of the house, howling his loss of bounty into the sky.
Red had fled then. She had run through the thorns and ignored the pricks of branches snarling her hair and snagging upon her cloak, tarnishing its once perfect state. Once she entered the village, her home she had run up to the constable. Tears fell past her cherub cheeks and her eyes glittered with the tears of salvation and of grief. Her tiny ribcage contained a tormented and flittering heart, her young mind unable to keep up with the differing emotions at such a drastic pace.
“G-grandmother! She’s been eaten by a wolf. The axe man saved me-“ She was hushed as a few women circled around her, clucking their forced sympathies at her state of distress. The constable had then assembled his strongest men, the youngest strapping farmers and aides and dashed into the haunted woods.
Instead of returning with the wolf, they had returned with the axe man, proclaiming him to be the one to have murdered her beloved grandmother and not the wolf. After all, a wolf could never have the capacity to eat an entire woman. Nor could he speak or mimic the woman in an effort to gain her kin’s flesh as well.
They dismissed Red’s truth for grief ridden lies and the brave axe man was hung the next morning at dawn. The villagers jeered and threw their garbage at the man, screaming slurs about his being, his sexuality, and even his mother whom of course no one had ever met. Yet, the man took it stoically his brown eyes mirroring the hate he held for the ignorance that surrounded him. Until his gaze fell upon the shivering form of the child he’d save. Brown met blue and he smiled even as she cried. Her tiny hands reaching out to him despite their distance, as if trying to save him in return. He merely continued to smile warmly, as if forgiving her and her alone before the chair beneath his feet was kicked out from beneath him and the worn rope proceeded to take his life from him.
The crowd cheered and Red continued to cry in the shadows of her uncle’s home, her grief ever growing even as they crowds dispersed and time began to pass. She couldn’t remember how long she’d stood there, sniveling and wiping her sore eyes and inhaling to keep herself breathing and to stop trembling. The young child stopped her sadness as she saw the constable whistling happily, swirling about his baton as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred. He watched the men take care of the axe man’s body with bored, merely nodding at them. He even went so far as to spit in the corpses’ face as they dragged him to the outskirts of town. Where criminals were to buried without ceremony and without a place marker.
Red followed, flitting from object to object to hide her presence. She crouched behind a group of bushes, watching the group of men create a grave and dump his body in. They quickly buried him and then announced they were to go to church that evening and pray for a good batch of crops this year. They chuckled and left. Red had stayed, her legs numb from crouching as she watched the men go. The true criminals, the men who truly deserved to be buried without honor or recognition of who they were in life.
She stood and scrambled over to the axe man’s grave. Her hand clutched her trademark cape around her and she frowned, pity overcoming her weary body. He had saved her, had avenged her grandmother and had even hurt the wolf. Yet, they had not believed her story despite the mythos that surrounded the grounds that her relative had lived in, in complete solitude since her husband’s demise. Red clenched her fists at her sides. The villagers were to blame for this innocent death. And if this was such a case, how many more of these unmarked graves were also a mistake?
Hatred spurred in her breast and she turned on her heel, stalking out of the poorly gated area and into her uncle’s home. He was simply smoking a pipe before the fire, an unread book on his lap. She filled her wicker basket with bread, cheese, a bottle of water, a needle and thread, a dagger that had seen better days and another dress. Covering the entire ensemble with a brown cotton sheet she walked into the forest. She neither said farewell to her uncle, nor he to her as was custom in their cold relationship to one another. Red didn’t look back and merely entered the darkening foliage of the forest.
She knew where she must go and what she must do.
-
Her body had since matured into one of a desirable young maiden. She knew she was of age to marry but she had no qualms to do so. She had another mission. Her eyes watched the sun slowly makes it descent into the night and the moon rise to the occasion of lighting the darkness, however meekly.
The house creaked with the memory of its owner’s death, the floors and walls still tainted with her blood no matter how Red had scrubbed them. She had left then instead, a reminder of why she lived here. Why she’d grown so used to the darkness now.
Her eyes fell upon a form that emerged from the shadows. Her smile broadened but its emotion betrayed no happiness, only a sense of confidence.
“Wolf.”
“Lady Red.”
The same wolf that had devoured her elderly relative, the wolf who had tried to eat her as well was now under her command. It was a simple exchange but likely a sadistic one to a person on the outside.
“How is your pack faring?”
“The same.”
A mandatory question with a mandatory answer. This exchange of pleasantries was stoic and rehearsed many times before. She stepped forward and nodded to the beast to lead her.
“Are the spirits cooperating tonight?”
“They always will.”
Of course, she never doubted the spirits allegiance to her. For giving the forest a twisted sort of light from which to grow from and feel at peace. She slid off her cape and entered the healing waters, the glowing orbs of the spirits caressing her skin through the thing white shift she wore.
“Attack the village.”
“How many?”
“As many as you like.”
He sat on his haunches at the edge of the pool, watching her sit in its waters with colds eyes. Regarding her with masked hatred and grudging respect.
“This will cost you.”
“How much?”
“I haven’t had a thigh in quite some time.”
“So be it.”
He lunged, his maw clenching about the smooth flesh of her left thigh. His sharp teeth dug into the skin and tugged, shattering the bones and tearing the muscles. Red cried out and tears seeped through her eyes despite how tightly she closed them. Her body shuddered as he tore and snapped at the meat. The water about her changing to a deep red color, soon she was only left with one leg. The other being feasted upon by a ravenous wolf, his yellow eyes glowing with the thrill of the hunt and the taste of her body, his maw stained crimson.
The spirits gathered the sprite sighed in resignation and her leg slowly re grew itself, causing her immense pain. Worse than what she’d experienced only moments before. Her leg was regained and she stood, slightly wobbly and lightheaded.
“Is this worth it?” The wolf asked, lapping the last drops of blood from his paws.
“Always.”
She leaned against the tree that marked the beginning of her territory. She allowed herself to laugh quietly as she watched the village houses erupt into flames, the people panicking and screaming. The scent of fear, soot, and massacre filling the air. Vengeance was quenched again this year.
“Happy Anniversary axe man.”
FIN
If she wanted to leave them, she wouldn't have tried to wash them at all. And if they had simply not been able to wash out, it would be an ashamed feeling to still have to see what she could not rid the house of.
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