# 5/30/09 - Rewrite a Fairy Tale



## Tiamat (May 31, 2009)

Welcome again, ladies and gents, to yet another round of the LM.  The theme this time is as follows:

_*Rewrite a Fairy Tale*

In no more than 750 words, you are to pick a fairy tale--any fairy tale your little hearts desire--and retell it in the way you see fit.  Doing a modern take on it, making your own version of a fractured fairy tale--the sky's the limit.  For clarity, because most of us can't honestly say we know every fairy tale ever told, following the title of your story, please put the title of the original fairy tale in parentheses._

_Thanks to SparkyLT for the prompt._

Submissions may only be posted in this thread or in the thread provided in the Writers' Workshop (you must provide a link to your submission in this thread if you opt to use the Writers' Workshop). Everyone is welcome to participate. Note: Judges are welcome to participate, but their entries cannot receive a score.

Submissions will be accepted until midnight my time (EDT) on June 13th.
The judging will be from June 14 - June 20th.
The results will be posted on or before June 21st.

Best of luck, everyone!

The judges for this round are:
Leyline
SparkyLT
Moderan
Myself

(Note:  The thread in the Writer's Workshop is now opened.)


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## Kayleigh7 (Jun 1, 2009)

This sounds like fun! I'm in!


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## Leyline (Jun 2, 2009)

[an]Just to get the ball rolling! ***JUDGE ENTRY: NOT FOR COMPETITION!***  Contains profanity and adult themes.[/an]

*Lil' Red, Ridin' High
*
*as told by
George Potter*

(749 words)​
So, one time, in this trailer park in  Florida, there was this crazy little bitch named Marcia Redding, who everybody called Red. 'Cause she was a shorty they sometimes called her Lil' Red, but she was apt to knife a motherfucker, so that didn't happen often.

Now, Red liked her herbage, but she said fuck no to meth and shit like that. She wouldn't fuck around on her boyfriend, either. This made her a pretty good girl for fourteen in her neighborhood. Her mom and gramma were proud of her.

Her boyfriend was Woodie, who had a good job with the forestry service making 8 bucks an hour. He was known as a badass and kept her creepy step-dad off _her_ ass, if you know what I mean. He was an ex-cop that everybody called Wolfie.

One day Red's mom asked her to run a bottle of Thunderbird and a twenty sack over to gramma's house, because G. was feelin' down and couldn't make it to the Triple T or the dopeman's house. Red said 'No prob', because she loved her old ass gramma and also knew she'd burn one with her. Woodie was at work and she was jonesin' a little. Her mom was shitfaced, ready to pass out. Probably been drinkin' Long Island iced teas all day and popping Xannies.

Wolfie offered to take her but she was like 'Fuck that, dude,' 'cause she knew she'd be fightin his hand off her crotch the whole way. 'I gots feet and I can walk, nigga.' So she grabbed the stuff and headed out, tossing on her favorite hoodie --a St. Louis Cards red sweat -- not cause it was cold but because it looked kickass.

Gramma lived up the road. She was amblin' along, bustin' some out some Lil' Wayne in her goofy white girl flow, sayin' hi to her niggaz and peeps as she passed. Just chillin', y'know? And she'd be damned if Wolfie didn't pull up beside her in his piece of shit Camaro.

"The hell you doin' here?"

"Your momma done passed out, Red. Hop in and lemme show you how a _man_ can give it to ya." He eyed every inch of her body. Damn, he just wanted to eat that shit _up_.

"Fuck off!" Red yelled. A couple of her homies heard her and came rollin' up to walk beside her.

"Yo yo, Redhead. Whatta prob?" Big Frito said, 300 pounds of wigger threatening her step-dad, who sped off quickly.

"None now, Frito," Red assured him, watching asshole leave. She gave him half a hug. "Thanks for havin' my back, bro."

"Always, muh baby," Biggie said with a wink, sauntering away.

Ol' Wolfie was pissed. Instead of running home in defeat, he headed to gramma's house, snuck in, and knocked the already sick ol' lady out with a blackjack. He tied her up and stuffed her under the bed. He then amused himself for a while by dressing up in her clothes. Wolfie was a weird fuckin' dude. 

He was prancin' around in a nightgown, bra and panties when Red showed up. "Aw shit!" he yelled, and dived under the covers.

Red burst in like always. "Yo, Grams!" she yelled. "I got yo grams!" It was their lil' joke. She strutted into the bedroom and eyed the shape under the covers.

"Damn, Gramma. You cold?"

"Freezin' my old ass off, baby!" Wolfie said in his fakest voice.

"Your voice is fuuuuuked up!" Red laughed.

"Best way to comunicate with a dumbass like you," Wolfie said.

"And that attitude is bullshit, yo."

"Just leave my shit and get the fuck out, bitch!" 

Now Red _wasn't_ no dumbass. She got suspicious. She reached out and yanked the blankets off the bed. Wolfie, knowing the jig was up, leapt out and tackled her. Might as well get a piece, he figured.

"Motherfucker!" Red scremed as they thrashed around. Wolfie 'bout had her pinned when the Louisville slugger came out of nowhere and busted his fool head wide open.

Gramma stood overtop him, pissed as fuck. Red shoved him off and they looked at him as he had a seizure. He shuddered and died.

"Good lick, grams," Red said.

"Damn straight," Gramma muttered. "Fuckin' weirdo. Can't tie a knot worth a shit, either."

Red shrugged. "Eh. Pigs."

When Woodie showed up, Red sent him to get Big Frito and set them to dumping the body.

Red rolled a fat ass blunt, and they all toked happily ever after.


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## AA (Jun 3, 2009)

*The Boy Who Cried Wolf, Modernized. 749 Words*

Meryl's trembling fingers tried the numbers again. Four. One. Two-One. Her nubby old index finger hit both numbers at once. “Jesus Christ! God damnit!” She swore as the cell phone her sister had bought for her slipped out of her hand and onto the soiled carpet that her dog used instead of going outside. The damn dog was supposed to be house trained. Meryl's niece thought it would keep the old woman from being so lonely but Meryl hated the needy untrained creature. She slowly leaned down to pick up the phone, careful not to hurt her back. The phone was supposed to be for emergency use, to be used only if she hurt herself or was being attacked, but this was a different kind of emergency. She slyly drew the curtains back and peered across the street. The van was still there and her third eye told her that something criminal was going on. She dialed the numbers again. Four. One. One. Success. It rang diligently until a woman with a familiar voice picked up.

     “City and state please?” The woman asked in her usual uncaring tone.

     “Dagota, Pennsylvania,” Meryl wheezed into the phone. 

     “How may I assist you?” 

     “Connect me to the Dagota Police Department please,” Meryl said. 

     “Have a nice day.” The woman clicked off and the phone rang again until another familiar voice picked up.

     “Dagota Police Department,” Officer Michaels said. 

     “Officer, I have an emergency.” Meryl sounded more desperate than she expected to. 

     “Hello Ms. Higgins,” the voice took an exhausted tone and Meryl suspected she heard a faint sigh on the other line. “What's your emergency ma'am?”

     “Hello Officer Michaels.” The old woman closed her wrinkled eyes and let her mind see the horrific image of the inside of the van. She saw a little white girl with pretty red hair, no older than ten. The girl was stripped naked, tied up and gagged. Some of those black boys, the kind who let their pants sag, dressed and walked like they wanted to cause trouble, were going to rape the poor girl in the van if the police didn't stop them first. “There is a rape about to happen across the street.”

     “Your third eye tell you that Ms. Higgins?” Officer Michaels asked. 

     “My gift is never off-” Meryl began.

     “I'm sorry Ms. Higgins, this is the third time you've called us this week. We haven't found anything from any of your other tips, but we'll keep your tip in mind. And if we have time later, we'll go and talk to your neighbors and check that van out again for you.” 

     “Thank you and please hurry!” Meryl urged. She hung the phone up and stared into it for a long time. She felt like Officer Michaels was the kind of man she could trust – the kind of man she could have imagined marrying if things had been different for her. Meryl slowly eased her way to the big comfortable chair that set in front of the TV, sat down and fell asleep. 

     When Meryl woke, her back and chest were screaming with pain. It wasn't anything she couldn't sleep off, and the sun would set in a few hours so she saw no harm in going to sleep early. She stood up and took a step towards her bedroom before she collapsed. Her breath was short and desperate as she clawed for the phone. For a moment, she considered dialing 911, but she wanted Officer Michaels to be the one to help her, so instead she dialed 411 and got redirected to the police station. 

     “Officer Michaels!” Meryl nearly shouted in pain while she struggled to support her upper body on her elbows. She dryly gasped to regain the breath that she had used to loudly announce his name. 

     “Ms. Higgins, I told you we would check the van out when we could. Now, I'm very busy. I'll stop by later to let you know what we find. Until then, just sit tight and don't worry. I'm sure everything is fine.” Officer Michaels hung up the phone.

     Meryl tried to look at the phone to redial but before she could, she unexpectedly vomited all over the phone and the carpet. Out of breath, in pain and nauseated, Meryl's head collapsed into a strange solution of dog shit and her own vomit. As she wheezed in her last few breaths, her third eye assured her that Officer Michaels was on his way.


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## cyberspecter (Jun 3, 2009)

My entry is posted in the Workshop 

here: http://www.writingforums.com/writers-workshop/106511-lm-challenge-5-30-09-rewrite-fairy-tale.html#post1285305


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## Amber Leaf (Jun 3, 2009)

Little Red - 668 Words

Little Red’s Mother was a drunk and her Grandma was crazy. She never went to school and instead preferred to wonder aimlessly around the city. One day her Mother wanted some whisky so asked Little Red to go up to Parkside Estate to borrow some money from her Grandma. Little Red didn’t want to walk through the rough estate to see her crazy Grandma but knew the furious state her Mother would get in if she didn’t have her drink.

“Don’t you be talking to any smack heads either?” Her Mother said to her.

“Ok.” Little Red replied, knowing that wasn’t really an option sometimes.

“You don’t want to end up a junkie.”

Little Red closed the door and set off down the grassy path into the maisonettes. It was sunny and the flowers were out in bloom. Little Red crouched down to a bed of daffodils and smelt the pollen. 

A young man approached and bent down to take up the scent with her. 

“Nice aren’t they?” He asked.

“Yes.” She answered, distracted by bugs crawling around in the soil.

“Have you seen the poppies?” He pointed to another bunch of flowers.

“Yes, but they’re not as nice as the daffodils.”

A small, white pit-bull terrier appeared from behind the young man and made Little Red jump.

“Oh, that dog looks scary!” She said, startled.

“It’s Tony.” The man said, pulling the dog back on its lead. What are you doing here anyway? Are you allowed out at this time of day? You’re only young aren’t you?”

Little Red was upset that she was being talked to like a child.

“I’m going to see my Grandma so I can borrow money for my Mum to get some whisky.” 

“Oh and where does your Grandma live?” He enquired.

“Flat. Sixty-eight. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just wanted to make sure you don’t have to go that far.”

Little Red realised that the man she was talking with looked like her Mother’s ex-boyfriend, Darren. He was defiantly a smack head.

“Why don’t you fuck off?” She spat and the young man ran off around the back of the estate.

Little Red walked up the long meandering path to her Grandma’s house. At the same time, the young man and Tony were just arriving. Noticing movement inside the flat, the man decided to knock on the door.

“Come in, love.” Her Grandma shouted. “ I thought you’d been attacked by a gang” 

The man and Tony stormed in. Tony bit Little Red’s Grandma on the arm and pulled her to the floor. The man locked her in the toilet and then started opening drawers to find money. Just as he opened the third drawer he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in love.” He shouted with a fake woman’s voice.

He hid behind the sofa as Little Red entered. Little Red wondered if her Grandma was ill and asked;

“Are you back on the tablets, Nan? You sound down again.”

“Yes, I’ve been tired.” The man faked and added a yawn for realism.

Little Red didn’t trust the voice at all so asked;

“What tablets are you on?”

“Antihistamines.” He answered.

Little Red knew her Grandma had no allergies and if she was on anything then it would be anti-psychotics. She ran out of the house and screamed for help. She ran down the stairs to the next level of flats and knocked on a random door. An old man answered and offered to call the police. They took their time in getting there so by the time they arrived, the young man and Tony had disappeared and her Grandma had passed out due to lack of blood.

After she had given statements, the police gave Little Red a lift back home. Her Mother was passed out on the sofa so Little Red woke her and excitedly told her what had happened. Little Red’s Mother patted her on the head and asked;

“Did you get the money for the whisky?”


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## Tom (Jun 5, 2009)

*Beauty and the Beast (Modernised)*​ 
  I met _her _at the coffee shop. It was like the immaculate conception, but through the double doors at Starbucks. Her hair was long, lush and brown, and _god damnit _it made her perfect face shine like a star. I gazed in a daze for a few seconds as she approached the counter, her breasts swinging from side to side inside her blouse. I wanted to make love to her. _Oh God_ I wanted to make love to her. I’d probably go home and masturbate over her heavenly image. No. Not probably. _Definitely. _This one was heading for the ‘wank bank’.

  She ordered herself a large coffee and waited patiently as the spotty-faced worker struggled to find the right cup. As I let my eyes venture down towards her arse, I caught something in the corner of my eye. I turned and jumped slightly at the image staring back at me. My reflection. A chubby young man with a t-shirt too small and too tight that it attracted attention to my man boobs. The only upside was that it made everybody forget about my bed hair.

  Sighing, I took a sip of the cold coffee on my table, before returning to perv on my new ‘best friend’. To my surprise, she’d already paid and was about to pass me by. Reacting quickly, I turned away, forcing myself to look at the reflection again, while watching her move from the corner of my eye.

  Then _it _happened. I heard it first. Her foot on the wet floor squelched and suddenly I turned as her chest and a boiling cup of coffee fell towards me. It ended with her in my lap and me screaming in pain, as the coffee sank into my crotch and roasted my balls.

  She jumped up quickly and turned to face me. Almost immediately, she started apologising while I sat there, using a tissue to pat down my crotch and trying my best to seem unbothered about the situation. I assured her it was okay, and that she should go buy herself another coffee and forget about it. She awkwardly nodded and walked over to the counter, ordering another coffee…and an extra one for me. She came back over and sat opposite the table, sliding the coffee across and gifting me a smile. I smiled back. I couldn’t see my reflection, but I sensed how ugly and horrible it was.

  “Let’s start over,” she suggested, holding out her hand, “I’m Sarah.”

  “I’m Harlan,” I replied, taking her hand and shaking it. 

  That wouldn’t be the last time I touched her.

  For once, Sarah gave me a chance. She seemed to look past what I was, and look at who I was. We talked for a whole hour in the coffee shop. We joked mostly, mainly about what happened, but it didn’t seem to matter. She asked for my number and the next weekend we met up again. This time though, we talked about everything else. 

  A month passed and we’d kissed. A year and we’d made love. I _was _the luckiest guy in the world. There was no doubt about it. Sarah completed me, and changed me. Over the last six months, I’d lost weight. Not because I wanted too, or because anyone had told me too. It was just being around Sarah. I didn’t want to eat. I didn’t want to drink. I just wanted her. And what was even better is that _she wanted me! _ I had to slap myself when I woke up beside her, just to check that it wasn’t a dream, that _all of this _hadn’t been a dream.

  Another year passed. I’d lost all my puppy fat. I even had muscle. My hair was awesome too. Man. I loved my hair. Oh, and I loved Sarah. She was still amazing, still beautiful. Even if she had put on a little weight. We were planning on getting married. It was a dream of hers.

  The next year passed…slowly. Sarah has packed on the pounds and our sex life had pretty much become non-existent. The idea of marriage had faded and the atmosphere I’d once felt had disappeared. Things didn’t look so amazing anymore.

  Before the following month was out, we’d separated. 

  Sarah’s currently on a diet and doing all she can to rid the extra weight. It’s going better for me thankfully. I’m dating a tall Austrian model, and _my God _is she into some kinky shit.


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## Crazed Scribe (Jun 6, 2009)

[an] This is a medley of  *"The King of England and his Three Sons"* and *"Nix Nought Nothing"*. A few other characters, that you might remember, have also slipped in... :lone: [/an]

*The King of Nought​*
One upon a time a King left his pregnant wife to fight with his soldiers and save their kingdom. Three months after the King had ridden off to war, his son was born. The Queen pronounced him Nix Nought Nothing because she refused to name him until his father’s return.

***​
Sixteen years later a victorious King raced home to meet his son for the first time. He never made it. He was taken hostage by Fo-fum, a giant whose thirst for cider had terrorised entire orchards. 

Prince Nix took it upon himself to free his father. While traversing the deep wilderness of his kingdom, he stumbled upon many of nature’s hiding travesties. He saw pigs with houses; eating bacon sandwiches and the most reckless of thieves; daring to steal from the wildest of bears. 

Upon the seventh day of his travels he met a witch who looked more like a shrivelled rat. In her apparent omniscience she told Nix that she knew where to find the apples his heart desired. The witch –Nora- told him, to find what he sought, he must spend a night in her cottage. His bed would fester with maggots but he must not stir or he would become one.

Prince Nix did not even flinch as his bed writhed with maggots that sucked his flesh. The wart-faced witch gave him a horse that would carry him to the castle. There he had an hour to pluck the apples from the tree while the guards slept. She gave the most emphasis to her final instruction: “Take no heed of beautiful women; they will be your doom!” 


***​
Nix walked on tender hooks to avoid the slumbering giants, dragons and trolls that littered the castle but he safely found the tree in a small, semi-circular garden at the centre of the castle. But bound to the tree, by an unbreakable bond, was the beautiful woman that he had been warned of.

The sight of her tinged his cheeks with red. He managed to step forward as he stammered: “I’ve come for an apple, please, milady.” 

“It’ll cost you”, she said twisting her chain playfully. “A kiss for the three apples you desire.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers and in that moment he knew that her luscious lips had stolen his heart. He barely managed to tear away from her embrace.

She silently plucked three apples from the tree and handed them to him. He murmured regretfully, “I would free you fair princess--”

She cut him off with a sad shake of her head, “The thought is enough.” He quickly concealed the apples and fled the castle. If he had lavished the glance he knew he would have never left her domain.

***​
“Kill me,” she commanded, Nix was stunned. He shook his head and began to refuse but Nora drew her axe. “Use it on me, please. I yearn to be rid of this curse and only you can do it!” 

He wearily took the axe and rendered her head from her body. Before the head touch the ground, her body transfigured itself. She now had the body of a beautiful young woman. “Nora?” he ventured. 

“Yes, it is me! I am free.” She fell in to him, wrapped her arms around him and attempted to kiss him. Nix pushed her away. His heart had already been taken. Nora fell into the grass sobbing.

As he wandered through the forest, Nix barely noticed the wolf wheezing for breath or a group of bearded dwarves stalking a young woman – he was infatuated with the woman by the apple tree.

A terrible force gripped him as Fo-fum’s fortress came within sight. Nora would not be scorned lightly. Nix’s apple-Princess saw his demise and ran to him. He awoke when she took his hand; their love protected him from the curse.

“How did you escape?”

“My father, Fo-fum, set me free and brought me back home. The castle would not let either of us take an apple from the courtyard.” 

***​
Fo-fum devoured his apples and was permanently released from his obsession. He happily released the King and Nix happily married his Princess, Cinderella. They all lived happily ever after… for a year. But that had been enough, Nix and Cinderella had their first child –a girl- and Nora had hatched her revenge. Disguised, she took a job in the palace and waited with her spindle. Waited until the time was right…


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## Detention Veteran (Jun 8, 2009)

*'Shrooms and Schnapps (A Retelling of 'Rumplestiltskin', Word Count: 644)*

I swear to God, I’m NEVER dealing with royalty again.

The name’s Rumplestiltskin. I’m still questioning my parents’ logic in naming me that, I think both of them were high when I was brought into this world. Hell, they were probably high when I was conceived. Those forest dwarves loooove da ‘shrooms, let me tell ya -

A-hem. Sorry ‘bout that. 

So quite recently, I was helping out this girl. Her father sold her to the king and told the king that she could turn straw into gold. Now, a guy like me’s gotta make a living, so in exchange for helping her with her little problem, she gave me her necklace and her ring, which both turned out to be costume jewelry, I’ll have you know. So, on the third night of her little escapade, she promised me her first-born child, and here’s what my first thought was. “Ka-CHING!”

See, here in this Middle-Earth style hell, human babies are worth a helluva lot of money on the black market. So I immediately got off my sorry ass and helped her out with the third night’s gold production. The king married her the same week, and did I get invited to the wedding? No. But I was willing to forgive her for both that and the costume jewelry fiasco. I made a goddamn fool of myself at the Three Pigs Pawn Shop, I’ll tell you what, so me forgiving that peasant was a pretty big deal.

So she had her kid. Beautiful baby girl, just beautiful. I went to the peasant and said, “Give me the baby or I’ll bust a cap in yo ass!” And of course, she starts moaning and wailing, saying she’ll give me the wealth of the kingdom if I let her keep that baby. I was thinking, “Oh HELL no. This kingdom’s so deep in debt it makes yo papa look like a millionaire, it ain’t got no wealth! On a side note, yo papa sold you into being the king’s hooker the way Britney Spears’s father sold her into mountain girl ponytails and snakes on her shoulders! Kissin’ Madonna! Shavin’ her HEAD! YO GONNA BE DRINKING WHILE BREAST-FEEDIN’, I GOTS TO GET THAT BABY AWAY FROM YOU!”

But, me being a bit of a sensitive fellow, I told her that if she could guess my name in three days, I’d let her keep the kid. I was almost certain she wouldn’t guess it. I mean, how the hell would you guess Rumplestiltskin? So there I was, living it up at my cottage ‘cause I knew I would get that baby, and I think I downed a couple bottles of peppermint Schnapps, ‘cause I vaguely remember dancing around a bonfire drunkenly yelling,

“_To-day do I bake, to-morrow I brew,_ 
_The day after that the queen's child comes in;_ 
_And oh! I am glad that nobody knew_ 
_That the name I am called is Rumpelstiltskin!"_

Annnnd as fate would have it, the peasant’s messenger was hiding in the bushes. 

I think you all know the rest. I made a goddamn fool of myself on that third day, got sucked into the ground, for God’s sake! And you know where I ended up?

NARNIA, motherfucker! That’s right! NARNIA! Mr. Tumnus points at me and laughs ‘cause I’m working as a janitor at the palace!

So, all because I wanted a couple extra bucks (well, more like thousands, but that's beside the point), I’m stuck cleaning Prince Caspian’s chamber pot. I should’ve had one of those witches that lived in the forest teleport me to Hollywood before I ever got in this mess. I could be living like a king, selling babies to Angelina Jolie or some shit.

Ah, well. I heard something about a new market for selling dancing slippers to princesses, so I’ll be checking it out soon enough.

Peace.


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## alanmt (Jun 8, 2009)

*A Queen’s Burden (Snow White)* 739 words

The beautiful Queen of a fairytale kingdom, I alone bear the burden of hard decisions. My loving husband, may he rest in peace, and his parents, and their parents, and so on counting backwards through generations, built an isolated paradise free of danger. Their princes slew every dragon. They banished all those of angry mien, of untrammeled passion, of jealous heart. They ruled wisely, and devised ways to make people happy. They created a kingdom of childlike innocence.

My king and I, in this garden of innocence, created a monster. And we called her Snow White. I hear her singing now, sweetly, in the courtyard below as she sweeps, the task I have put to her this day. Even a Princess needs exercise, and to learn the value of effort.

She trills in impossibly high notes of consummate loveliness, and the birds flit down to join her song. Alarmed, I move swiftly to the window, but at the last minute I hesitate. Maybe she has learned the compassion I have tried to teach. Please let her have learned it!

She puts out her index fingers, still singing, and a sparrow lands on each, chirping brightly. I open my mouth to call out, but it is too late. Her hands twist in a quick movement, trapping the little birds in her fists for a brief moment before she crushes them. The other birds fly squawking in alarm from the courtyard. Snow White laughs happily as blood and feathers ooze from between her fingers. Then she tosses the little corpses high in the air. 

“Fly, lovely birdies!” she cries.

The sad lumps fall back to earth. Snow White’s pretty face grows red with rage.

“I said fly!” she demands. When the birds remain still, she lifts her broom and brings it crashing down on their lifeless bodies, again and again.

“Fly! Fly! Fly! Fly! Fly!”

“Bad birds!”

A final shout of rage and she collapses in frustrated tears.

“Why won’t you fly?” 

She cries for a while. As I turn away, she is sweeping up the birds with her broom, and singing a pretty song again.

I have waited too long.

I turn to my solace, my Mirror. It is a poor life of isolation when a magic mirror is the only thing one can trust, the only being who knows anything of the wider world. I wipe the glass clean of dust with a soft cloth.

“Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the cruelest one of all?”

The face appears, sad and omniscient.

“Snow White, Snow White is the most cruel of all.”

I knew it would be so. 

“But – “ I stammer against the truth, “It should be me! It has always been me!”

The sad face speaks softly.

“Snow White is a child no longer, and the innocence of youth does not protect her. Your knowing practicality pales beside her arbitrary cruelty. You hurt others because of compassion, while she does so for lack of it.”

I have waited way too long. 

I summon my Forester to the throne room, alone, and wrap my voice in imperious menace.

“You must take Snow White deep into the forest. Once there, you must kill her. This I, your Queen, command! You shall return to me and report, and then you shall never speak of it again.”

He is frightened, but resolute. I pack a basket for my daughter and tell her that she is to go on a picnic. She claps her hands with glee. She is so happy to get out of the castle. And she loves the wild animals, she tells me, the little birds and deers and bunnies. I kiss her goodbye, but I cannot watch her go.

When the Forester returns and tells me haltingly about my daughter’s murder, I know he is lying. I never believed he would do it. These people – my people – they don’t know how to do real harm. Damn their foolish innocence!

I will go to my Tower and I will brew a sorcerous storm to drive my sociopathic teenager away from the kingdom, far from my subjects, deep into the woods where no one lives. There at least, she will not be able to hurt anyone.

If that doesn’t work, I don’t know what I’ll do. Put her to sleep maybe? For a hundred years or so. Yes. I had better order some fresh apples in, just in case.


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## seigfried007 (Jun 13, 2009)

http://www.writingforums.com/writer...e-5-30-09-rewrite-fairy-tale.html#post1288412

Pieces of Ass (Pinocchio)


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## joifulartist84 (Jun 13, 2009)

*The Pinelands (Hansel and Gretel)*

Sal had always been warned not to go into the Pinelands. Weird people out there, those Pineys, friends told him. Inevitably, his dad’s search for cheaper renovating materials led Sal into the heart of South Jersey. Pops explained the long drive by saying the materials fell off the back of a guy’s truck. Sal always did those kinds of errands anyway, if Pops asked; the old man was great at smoothing things over with the cops if Sal’s “job” got messy.

Sal didn’t _try_ to end up in the forest. He owed it to his dad’s shitty directions and Jersey’s inability to put up street signs. His damn cell got no signal out here. He could swear sometimes that Pops didn’t _want_ him to come back from the errands; Sal drove around Secaucus for two hours once in the age before GPS.

Gina, his longtime girlfriend, stared out the truck window at the overwhelming amount of green, absently twirling her bleached-blond hair. She had insisted she come – the air-conditioning in the row house was broken again and the truck’s air would be a brief respite against the August heat that lay like soup over their neighborhood.

“Would you fuckin’ ask for directions, already?” she whined. “I’m not spending the night out here, it’s creepy!”

“Where you want me to ask, at the 7-11?” Sal asked. “There’s nobody fuckin’ out here.”

As they rounded a curve, a building drew up on the left. Gina cocked an eyebrow, daring him not to stop. “House” would be a loose interpretation of the thing, however. The siding was mismatched and growing mold; it leaned to one side and was not much bigger than Sal’s tool shed.

Sal thought about passing it by just to spite her. But the sooner they got out of this forest, the better, so Sal pulled up onto some gravel that might be called a driveway. He got out of the truck and surveyed weeds slowly choking the life out of a 1992 Ford minivan.

“Anyone there?” he called, going around to the back of the property. He peered through one of the windows but it was so grimy he couldn’t see anything.

There was the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being cocked behind him. He put his hands up and slowly turned to face it. “You’re right, I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have been looking in the window,” he said.

“Come back to steal more of my crop, have you?” It was an older woman with a plaid flannel shirt and wispy hair. One of her eyes stared off in the wrong direction.

“Whoa lady, I don’t want no trouble.” Sal skimmed through scenarios. Nobody at home would mess with him; they knew Sal had many capable co-workers. _She_ was unpredictable. He needed to distract her.

“You damn kids think that ‘cause it’s illegal you can just take it,” she snapped, motioning for him to move into the house, “and I won’t do anything.”

“Take it easy,” Sal said, backing into the narrow doorway. The room was dingy, dark, and crowded with several mismatched tables and an ancient stove. “Hey, you got a real nice setup in here,” he said as sweetly as he could.

Her eyes narrowed. Sal was pretty sure she was on something other than pot. “Do the best I can,” she said. The shotgun lowered by a millimeter.

Encouraged, Sal went on, “I’ll bet you grow the best pot around.”

“Sure do, right out back.” Another millimeter.

A shadow passed across the window behind the strange woman, but she didn’t notice. He needed to keep her talking. “And what about back there?” He jerked his thumb toward a closed door.

“That’s my oven.” She gave a high-pitched giggle. “Where I bake, get it?” She frowned and gripped the shotgun harder. “You’re asking a lot of questions. You a cop or some-”

Bang.

Sal was ready for the gunshot, the woman wasn’t. Gina stepped further into the doorway; the Glock from Sal’s glovebox shook violently in her hands. He took it from her gently and tucked it into the back of his waistband.

“Nobody threatens _my_ baby,” she said. She shivered. “What do we do now?”

“Looks like we won’t have time to pick up Pops’ stuff tonight,” he told her, surveying the plants drying across the tables. They could pay to fix the air with plenty left over.

Blood pooled across the floor. “Crazy fuckin’ Pineys.” Sal stepped over the body to go find a shovel.


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## Like a Fox (Jun 13, 2009)

*Mermaids Can’t Dance *



(The Little Mermaid, 749 words)



*K.M. Main*



_Author’s Note: Profanity, Adult themes._​


The Sous la Mer is the hottest strip joint on King Street. Only the most powerful perverts can attend, so I usually get knocked back. The big competition in town is The Unfortunate Souls Club down on Queen Street, run by this big bitch Ursula, she lets me in. 

But Tommy Triton, who runs the Mer had himself a septuplet of real hunnies, that went by Disney’s Little Mermaid’s aliases, you know, all those ‘A’ names. The youngest, and biggest bread-winner being, of course, young Ariel.

Ariel was the hottest slice of ass out and she could dance to save a life. At three a.m. the girls always soften the blow that “Last Call” delivers, with a ten minute routine to a cliché medley, specifically designed to make tight pants into moist pants. But Ariel hated the shit: Douchebags ogling her snatch every night. 



This one night after close, Aquata asked her if she wanted to go to a real club. A club where no mans was gonna try and stick his finger inside her and she could dance for fun.

They went to The Land, a rave club on Freedom Road. 

“Maybe T’s right, maybe there is something wrong with me. But look at this place, isn’t it neat? I can dance to a real freakin’ beat, I can pretend not to be that girl, that girl who gives up everything.”

Ariel let the beat take her. She never did drugs back then, unlike the others. At The Land she got up on the podium next to the DJ. His electro bass pulsed through her better than any amphetamine, and she became the music. 

Then she saw the Prince. He was a real prick. Girls fawned all over him and he paid ‘em no fuckin’ heed. But boy could he dance. His feet never seemed to touch the ground. He glided around, arms sailing through the air, cutting the light.

She caught his eye, and she was in love. He didn’t even smile; he just went back on dancing. Unlike every other dude there with their mouths hanging open staring at her, he didn’t give a twat. She knew he was the one. 

As the sun came up, the girls staggered out of the club.

 “Girls.”

 “Ursula, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I own this place you silly girl. What are you doing here little one?”

“Nothin. I just felt like dancing.”

“Seems you’ve impressed our Prince, he asked about you.”

“He did?!”

“Sure.”

Ursula told Ariel that Prince was looking for a dance partner to enter into So You Think You Can Dance.  

“But if you’re serious, you’re going to have to speed up.”

“I move pretty fast.”

“Not what I mean precious. You’ll figure it out.”

And with that she gave her a little bag with smiley faces on it, filled with white powder, and told her to get her ass home.

……………..

I ask her what happened next, as she takes off her clothes. I’ve been frequenting the No Happy Ending brothel on Cynic Parade for some time now. Ariel’s my favourite.

”Well I started sniffing the stuff didn’t I? And I killed that dance floor at Land night after night. Prince seemed pretty keen on me ya know? But Triton got mad because I was always spaced out at work. The asshole kicked me out.” She vacantly runs her thumbs up and down her ribs.

“You’re a skinny thing, you know that? And your tits are all saggy.”

“Oh I know. I mean I know now, I didn’t really notice at first. But I started losing weight and no one wanted my lap dances anymore. Even at Land people stopped looking at me.”

 “So how’d you end up here little pretty?”

”Well Prince and I had a killer routine going and the So You Think You Can Dance auditions came to town. I was near broke, but I wanted to hold out, we were pretty sure we could make it big and the TV people would pay for us to eat and shit.”

“I guess I don’t have to ask whether you made it.”

“Well, Prince did. They loved him.  They loved me too but they did a piss test. I got fucked on man. I reckon he’s fucking one of the judges. I haven’t heard from him since”

 “I have a question, if I pay you more will you dance for me?”

 “Mermaids can’t dance dude. Just take your pants off.”



*The End​*


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## eggo (Jun 13, 2009)

My contribution,

Hansen and Regretals


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## Tiamat (Jun 14, 2009)

Alright everyone, that's all the time we have!  Judges, she's all yours!


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