Once Upon a Time (No. 1)
My childhood really wasn’t something to brag about. I mean I was short for my age and my mother insisted I have my black hair cut with a pasta bowl. And it wasn’t even black—it’s dark brown. Anyway, my mom comes back one day when I was ten and tells me to go to bring some food to grandmother the next day because she was sick. I wasn’t sure why she didn’t bring food when she went there, but I didn’t have to do it right then, so I was fine. I came home from school and then was packaged off in my hideous red riding cloak and given a basket and shoved out the door. Oh, yeah. So I headed off down the road and tried to think of humility and remembering all the awful soup I had to eat when I was sick when I got a little distracted by a flower field. I knew it was Farmer Carls’ field, but I didn’t think he would miss a few flowers on the edge by the forest. And then comes this guy, one of those fellows who can change into an animal at will. He was such a pervert I don’t know if I can write what he said. The gist of what I said was no and I left off for the rest of the forest. Thank whoever’s up there he didn’t follow me.
Since then I’ve hated wolves. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
So I reach grandmother’s house and the first thing I notice is the gate lock is undone and the door is ajar. If she was so sick, I thought, why the heck is the door open. So I went around the house and didn’t see the small squishy grandmother of mine. I was stupid though and thought whatever thief was there, I could take him on and went in.
As soon as the stupid pervert said hello I knew I was in trouble. Especially since the guy hadn’t even done a good job of hiding my grandmother. I never really liked her much because we didn’t understand each other, but I wasn’t exactly glad that this guy did a service for me. I lost my head. And when I lose my head, I’m so silent I’m like a wall. I suppose I should mention my grandfather was a lumberjack and so he had various saws around the house. But within reach at the time was the loaded (always loaded) rifle next to the door behind the cabinet. So I’m inching over to the cabinet and trying to pretend that nothing happened.
“My you sound sick,” I said. What a bunch of baloney! But he played along and tried to get me to give him some food. The way my mom makes chicken noodle soup, I should have let him have it. But I reached the rifle and not knowing how to shoot a duck if it was nailed to the floor, shot at the bed. I missed three times before I finally hit the guy in the head. Every person and their cousin was running down the road wondering what in the bujesus someone was doing firing a gun. Oh I wish I could describe all of their faces when they saw this short little girl holding a riffle in one hand and a basket in another, smiling from ear to ear in a ridiculous red cloak. I must’ve looked way younger than I was. If I was there I would have thought that this little girl was crazy and who in their right mind let her have a gun. Psycho killer baby on the loose! I’m still laughing about it. So long story short, my grandmother lived with us for the rest of her life and the sheriff ended up teaching me to shoot when I was fifteen. My mom was not very proud. Whatever. I’ve gone off to America and shoot the best in the west. Pretty nifty. No I ain’t Annie Oakly, though I’ve met the gal. For anyone who cares, I’m known as Red and that’s all you need to know.
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