Little Red Riding Hood loved the forest. Spring or winter, autumn or summer, she would take her picnic basket and spend many hours there pretending that she was a woodland creature . Her grandmother who lived on the other side of the forest would often tell her stories of her own childhood, when the forest was thicker and a person would have to be very brave indeed to go into it at all.
'If you go into the very heart of the forest', she told her granddaughter, 'You will find the cottage of the lady of the forest'. 'She is very old and her hair is silver like the stars and her eyes are as green as leaves. 'We never dared to go anywhere near her cottage, for we were very afraid of her.' said the grandmother to Little Red Riding Hood, who listened with terrified fascination. 'Did she turn people into toads?' asked LRRH?
'Maybe she did' replied her Grandmother,'Who knows?'.
'Was she a wicked witch?' asked LRRH
'Witches are not wicked, my dear' said her Grandmother. ' Not always, anyway, only if they have to be' she said and smiled.
One day LRRH was in the forest pretending to be a witch. She had a pile of berries in a little pot of water and was very seriously repeating a spell over and over again.
Red, blue, green and gold,
Cherries, berries, leaves and mold,
Cook, bubble, steam and stew,
Make me a delicious magical brew.
'May I have some of your magical brew?' said a voice. LRRH looked up and saw a tall handsome huntsman. 'Why?' she asked. 'So that I can become the best hunter in the entire world' he said and smiled. 'The forest is dangerous you know. A little girl like you could get eaten up by a wolf'. 'If I get magical powers, I can protect you, I can kill the wolf and any other animal that tries to harm you'.
'My grandmother told me that the animals in the forest are not harmful', said LRRH indignantly. 'She has a wolf that comes every evening to be fed'.
'Your grandmother tells fascinating stories , it seem to me' he said and smiled. 'Now, may I have some of your brew?' he said and moved closer to her.
LRRH shrugged and gestured towards the berries.
'What lovely green eyes you have, little girl' said the huntsman and he picked a handful of berries and inched nearer to her.
LRRH shrugged and said nothing.
'What a lovely tiny nose you have, little girl' said the huntsman and he bit into the berries in one big mouthful and moved closer to her.
'And what lovely little ears you have' he said and he tucked a dark curl behind her ear.
'What soft hands you have' he said as he took them into his rough scarred hands.
LRRH tried to pull away but he held her firmly. Smiling. Chewing the berries, lips staining red with their juice.
'What lovely......
Before he could finish, a look of terror came into his face. He seemed to be looking at something beyond them and his face twisted into a plea of forgiveness, of anguish, of immense pain. He his mouth frothed and his hand loosened the grip he had on her.
As she ran towards her grandmother's house, she could hear him screaming in pain, in fury, like a dying beast. She ran till she could hear him no more.
She pushed open her grandmothers door and found her knitting, her silver hair had just been brushed and she looked up and her green eyes were twinkling.
'Did you have a nice day in the woods, my dear?' she asked. 'I have made you some cherry pies and a mug of chocolate.Wash your hands and dig in'
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
and this is with JP's input
Once upon a time, in the dark woods, there lived an old lady.
She lived in a ramshackle log cabin deep in the woods, far beyond the last clearing and far from any water-hole. She grew toadstools and nightshade in her small garden patch. Perhaps these were her only diet. Every woodland creature gave her cabin a wide berth. When she went for a rare stroll through the woods, deer ran trembling from her path, birds flew away crying wildly, hares rabbited off down their burrows, foxes fled in fear and even the bears and wolves stayed well away from her. In the late afternoons, when she sat in what passed for the porch of her cabin, weaving cobwebs, sometimes a horned toad would come and sit beside her in silence.
Every morning and evening she would comb her long slivery hair till it shone like a glittering galaxy of stars. After that she would sit on her rocking chair and look out of the window. Many hours would pass this way. Sometimes a tear would roll slowly down her cheek and sometimes she would smile. No one knows what thoughts filled her days. No one visited her, for no one dared to go so deep into the dark woods.
Until, one day, a knight came knocking on her door. The regular sort of knight, in mail and armour, with sword and shield and helmet, riding a great warhorse, bravely caparisoned.
The old lady was frightened. It had been too long since she had seen another human being. She didn't trust them and shining armour didn't impress her. If she thought hard, she felt she could almost remember a time when there had been many knights around her, and ladies-in-waiting, and…but the memories were dim, and she had no use for them anymore. She did remember that fair words and finery were things that had turned bitter for, that she had resolved to turn her back on them.
So she did not open the door. The knight rode up to her door and reined his mount to a halt. He waited silently until it was dark and then left. The old lady went back to her rocking chair and her dreams.
He came again the next day, and the next and the next after that. Knights are persistent, if nothing else. Finally the day came when annoyance overcame fear and she opened the door.
'Go away', she said. 'You can want nothing from me, for I have nothing
to give you, go away'.
The knight bowed. 'I want nothing from you my lady', he said. 'I have come to return something that once was yours'. He placed a carefully wrapped package before her and stood aside. She picked it up and opened it, untying knots and pulling away sheets of cloth and paper. Inside, was something longer than her forearm and a little wider than her face, gleaming softly, like the memories that began to stir unbidden within the old lady's mind.
It was a mirror. A beautiful mirror with a richly worked silver frame and a flawless glass. She saw in the reflection of a terrible, powerful lady of great beauty. A smile from yesterday, beautiful,
proud and just a little terrible came back to her face.
'Yes, this was mine,' she said to the knight. 'And it still is. You may thank that slip of a girl you call your queen for returning what is rightfully mine. And tell her never to bother me again.' The knight bowed, mounted his horse and rode away.
The old lady went inside and hung the mirror on the wall. So you've come back to me, she thought to herself. You are fairer than ever, my lady, came the reply.
Somewhere in the forest, a horned toad darted out its tongue to catch an errant fly.
She lived in a ramshackle log cabin deep in the woods, far beyond the last clearing and far from any water-hole. She grew toadstools and nightshade in her small garden patch. Perhaps these were her only diet. Every woodland creature gave her cabin a wide berth. When she went for a rare stroll through the woods, deer ran trembling from her path, birds flew away crying wildly, hares rabbited off down their burrows, foxes fled in fear and even the bears and wolves stayed well away from her. In the late afternoons, when she sat in what passed for the porch of her cabin, weaving cobwebs, sometimes a horned toad would come and sit beside her in silence.
Every morning and evening she would comb her long slivery hair till it shone like a glittering galaxy of stars. After that she would sit on her rocking chair and look out of the window. Many hours would pass this way. Sometimes a tear would roll slowly down her cheek and sometimes she would smile. No one knows what thoughts filled her days. No one visited her, for no one dared to go so deep into the dark woods.
Until, one day, a knight came knocking on her door. The regular sort of knight, in mail and armour, with sword and shield and helmet, riding a great warhorse, bravely caparisoned.
The old lady was frightened. It had been too long since she had seen another human being. She didn't trust them and shining armour didn't impress her. If she thought hard, she felt she could almost remember a time when there had been many knights around her, and ladies-in-waiting, and…but the memories were dim, and she had no use for them anymore. She did remember that fair words and finery were things that had turned bitter for, that she had resolved to turn her back on them.
So she did not open the door. The knight rode up to her door and reined his mount to a halt. He waited silently until it was dark and then left. The old lady went back to her rocking chair and her dreams.
He came again the next day, and the next and the next after that. Knights are persistent, if nothing else. Finally the day came when annoyance overcame fear and she opened the door.
'Go away', she said. 'You can want nothing from me, for I have nothing
to give you, go away'.
The knight bowed. 'I want nothing from you my lady', he said. 'I have come to return something that once was yours'. He placed a carefully wrapped package before her and stood aside. She picked it up and opened it, untying knots and pulling away sheets of cloth and paper. Inside, was something longer than her forearm and a little wider than her face, gleaming softly, like the memories that began to stir unbidden within the old lady's mind.
It was a mirror. A beautiful mirror with a richly worked silver frame and a flawless glass. She saw in the reflection of a terrible, powerful lady of great beauty. A smile from yesterday, beautiful,
proud and just a little terrible came back to her face.
'Yes, this was mine,' she said to the knight. 'And it still is. You may thank that slip of a girl you call your queen for returning what is rightfully mine. And tell her never to bother me again.' The knight bowed, mounted his horse and rode away.
The old lady went inside and hung the mirror on the wall. So you've come back to me, she thought to herself. You are fairer than ever, my lady, came the reply.
Somewhere in the forest, a horned toad darted out its tongue to catch an errant fly.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Once upon a time in the dark woods there lived an old lady. Every morning and evening she would comb her long slivery hair till it shone like a glittering galaxy of stars. After that she would sit on her rocking chair and look out of the window. Many hours would pass this way. Sometimes a tear would move slowly down her cheek and sometimes she would smile. Who knows what thoughts filled her days.
No one visited her, for no one dared to go so deep into the dark woods.
One day a knight came knocking on her door. She was frightened. It had been too long since she had seen another human being. She did not open the door. The knight waited a while and then left. The old lady went back to her rocking chair and her dreams.
He came again the next day, and the next and then he came again. Finally she opened the door. ‘Go away’, she said. ‘You want nothing from me, I have nothing to give you, go away’.
The knight bowed. ‘I want nothing from you my lady’, he said. ‘I have come to return something that once belonged to you’. He placed the carefully wrapped package before her and stood aside. She picked it up and opened it. It was a mirror. A beautiful mirror with an ornate silver frame and flawless glass. She saw in its reflection a lady of great beauty. Smiles from yesterday came to fill her face. She went inside and hung the mirror on the wall.
No one visited her, for no one dared to go so deep into the dark woods.
One day a knight came knocking on her door. She was frightened. It had been too long since she had seen another human being. She did not open the door. The knight waited a while and then left. The old lady went back to her rocking chair and her dreams.
He came again the next day, and the next and then he came again. Finally she opened the door. ‘Go away’, she said. ‘You want nothing from me, I have nothing to give you, go away’.
The knight bowed. ‘I want nothing from you my lady’, he said. ‘I have come to return something that once belonged to you’. He placed the carefully wrapped package before her and stood aside. She picked it up and opened it. It was a mirror. A beautiful mirror with an ornate silver frame and flawless glass. She saw in its reflection a lady of great beauty. Smiles from yesterday came to fill her face. She went inside and hung the mirror on the wall.
Friday, February 06, 2009
for a 55 word story challenge.
Little Red Riding Hood goes deep into the dark woods where the trees are thick and the sun never shines. She leaves a trail of cake crumbs and laughs. They will be eaten. Then she will truly be lost. She throws off the hood, lies down in the silence and waits. The wolf will come.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
I walk in the graveyard in the evenings, hoping to spot a ghost. I must admit that it is difficult to picture ghosts sitting on those gravestones, cracked and broken though some of them are. Why they would show themselves, anyway, I reason. Would they not rather be back in their homes trying to make themselves visible to their families?
Many of the graves are very well maintained. Shiny granite surrounded by flower beds. Most are cracked though,faded and forgotten, surrounded by dry mud that was once a bower.
My mind, gleefully morbid, estimates the various stages of decay the bodies must be in. The boy who was buried last month must have begun to lose his youthful suppleness by now. Perhaps the old lady buried in the far end of the graveyard, five years ago, is a heap of bones. And what of the graves that are a hundred years old?Are their occupants truly dust to dust returned?
Why do people visit the graves of their dead after the burial? Why heap candles, flowers and so much more,decorating them as if for some festival?.Perhaps the physical proximity is comforting. Perhaps it is to show the dead that they are still loved and remembered. Or perhaps it is so that the living heal themselves.Then one day the grave is forgotten and it begins to die.
I look at the seemingly endless graveyard and i think to myself,the only thing haunting it is the silence.I no longer remember if I am dead or alive. There is a well aged and forgotten grave that has on it my name. I feel absolutely alive though. I am the ghost hunter. Sometimes when I wave at visitors they, hesitatingly wave back, sometimes they don’t. Most of the time no one notices me, not even the caretaker. I wait, perched on the grave that is supposed to be mine. The ghosts will come.
Many of the graves are very well maintained. Shiny granite surrounded by flower beds. Most are cracked though,faded and forgotten, surrounded by dry mud that was once a bower.
My mind, gleefully morbid, estimates the various stages of decay the bodies must be in. The boy who was buried last month must have begun to lose his youthful suppleness by now. Perhaps the old lady buried in the far end of the graveyard, five years ago, is a heap of bones. And what of the graves that are a hundred years old?Are their occupants truly dust to dust returned?
Why do people visit the graves of their dead after the burial? Why heap candles, flowers and so much more,decorating them as if for some festival?.Perhaps the physical proximity is comforting. Perhaps it is to show the dead that they are still loved and remembered. Or perhaps it is so that the living heal themselves.Then one day the grave is forgotten and it begins to die.
I look at the seemingly endless graveyard and i think to myself,the only thing haunting it is the silence.I no longer remember if I am dead or alive. There is a well aged and forgotten grave that has on it my name. I feel absolutely alive though. I am the ghost hunter. Sometimes when I wave at visitors they, hesitatingly wave back, sometimes they don’t. Most of the time no one notices me, not even the caretaker. I wait, perched on the grave that is supposed to be mine. The ghosts will come.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
I am walking on a beach. I walk slowly, my toes play with the sand. I let my feet sink in this soft, relenting, glistening mica. It is a lovely warm feeling. Like snuggling into a blanket with hot chocolate, buttery toast and a favourite book. The sea is rhythmic, sleep inducing. It is a very hot day. Blue sky, brown beach, blue-green water, a school child’s drawing.
In the distance I see a rock formation where the sea forms a small shallow pool. It is brilliant blue, still, calm. Two children are playing in the pool. They see me and ask me to come over. One of them throws water on me. It is cold as ice. I shiver. They ask me to play with them and I, shy, sit among the rocks and dip my feet into the pool.
They are wearing school uniforms. White with a grey and white striped belt. They point out to a building not very far away from the pool. ‘That is our school, the SEA SCHOOL’, says the girl. I see that the school has two buildings that are connected by a glass fronted passage on one of the top floors. There is, I think, a tower that is a part of the building on the right. I cannot be sure.
The bell rings. Not a school bell, more a maniacal tolling. ‘What is that?’ I ask. ‘Oh, that is the drill bell”, says the boy. ‘Practice drill for us in case of tidal waves’, says the girl. ‘We have to run into the building on the right and run all the way to the highest floor, can you see that floor that has a lot of glass windows?’ she asks. ‘Yes,’ I said, I could. ‘We have to reach there, hurry’ she said.
They took my hands, one on each side and ran. All around me the sky and the sea was changing. Clouds; black, gray, angry, hungry, filled the sky. I shivered. The sea ran after us, full of fury. Big arms of water broke away chunks of beach. The pool was gone.
‘Run, run’, they said. I ran with them towards the building. All the while the sea ran behind us. I felt a spray of water. Then the rain came down, the sun died, the world went black. Up, up up the stairs we ran. The waves rammed against the glass. The rain and the wind tried to shatter it. Then the wave came. First there was a sky, an angry black sky, there was rain, and then there was no difference between the two. Then the wave that ate the sky drank the rain and swallowed the building.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a room full of school children in white uniform. Some were crying, some sleeping, some playing some and singing songs. It was a gray dull room so full of sorrow I wanted to cry.
I saw my two friends from the beach sitting quietly. They looked very peaceful. ‘Aren’t you sacred?’ I asked. ‘Oh no’, said the girl. ‘This wave came one day, long ago, when we were playing, and took us all away, we had no time to reach the building, we are happy we saved you, we are already dead, nothing can happen to us’.
This was a dream I had many years ago, in 2004 perhaps.
In the distance I see a rock formation where the sea forms a small shallow pool. It is brilliant blue, still, calm. Two children are playing in the pool. They see me and ask me to come over. One of them throws water on me. It is cold as ice. I shiver. They ask me to play with them and I, shy, sit among the rocks and dip my feet into the pool.
They are wearing school uniforms. White with a grey and white striped belt. They point out to a building not very far away from the pool. ‘That is our school, the SEA SCHOOL’, says the girl. I see that the school has two buildings that are connected by a glass fronted passage on one of the top floors. There is, I think, a tower that is a part of the building on the right. I cannot be sure.
The bell rings. Not a school bell, more a maniacal tolling. ‘What is that?’ I ask. ‘Oh, that is the drill bell”, says the boy. ‘Practice drill for us in case of tidal waves’, says the girl. ‘We have to run into the building on the right and run all the way to the highest floor, can you see that floor that has a lot of glass windows?’ she asks. ‘Yes,’ I said, I could. ‘We have to reach there, hurry’ she said.
They took my hands, one on each side and ran. All around me the sky and the sea was changing. Clouds; black, gray, angry, hungry, filled the sky. I shivered. The sea ran after us, full of fury. Big arms of water broke away chunks of beach. The pool was gone.
‘Run, run’, they said. I ran with them towards the building. All the while the sea ran behind us. I felt a spray of water. Then the rain came down, the sun died, the world went black. Up, up up the stairs we ran. The waves rammed against the glass. The rain and the wind tried to shatter it. Then the wave came. First there was a sky, an angry black sky, there was rain, and then there was no difference between the two. Then the wave that ate the sky drank the rain and swallowed the building.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a room full of school children in white uniform. Some were crying, some sleeping, some playing some and singing songs. It was a gray dull room so full of sorrow I wanted to cry.
I saw my two friends from the beach sitting quietly. They looked very peaceful. ‘Aren’t you sacred?’ I asked. ‘Oh no’, said the girl. ‘This wave came one day, long ago, when we were playing, and took us all away, we had no time to reach the building, we are happy we saved you, we are already dead, nothing can happen to us’.
This was a dream I had many years ago, in 2004 perhaps.
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