I was gifted a Masterclass lesson on writing for my birthday. It’s being taught by Neil Gaiman, who I absolutely love as a writer. No, I don’t get to sit in a class with him. I don’t think I could handle that. It would be like taking bass lessons from Geddy Lee.
One of the asssignments was to write a new version of an old fairy tale. This is my attempt at it. Feel free to tell me what you think.
Once upon a time, or seven days ago, there lived a man named Jerry Flynn. As these stories usually go, he was walking in the woods. It was something Jerry had no business doing, but he was doing it anyway. Earlier that day, Jerry’s mother had instructed him to take some chemicals to his grandfather. Now, Jerry hated his grandfather. Jerry had been born with bright red hair, and his grandfather always called him “Red.” Jerry always hated being reminded of his hair color, mainly because it was the only thing his father had left him, other than a rather average cock and a propensity to burn if he stood in the sun too long.
But Red’s grandfather lived in a trailer out in the woods, cooking meth, so off Jerry the Red went to his grandfather’s place. He hoped the old fart wasn’t smoking weed, since it made his allergies go off. But Grandpa had to make a living, so he cooked meth.
As he walked through the woods, he noticed a woman following him through the woods. She had long black hair, bushy eyebrows, on top of a very muscular body. Jerry stopped walking, and the man strode up to him.
As he drew closer, Jerry swore the woman had the longest hair he’d ever seen. And set below that hair was the biggest set of blue eyes he’d ever seen. It made Jerry feel funny down in his tummy. The woman smiled at Jerry, and Jerry turned as red as his hair.
“What are you doing out here?” Jerry asked.
“My name is Wolf.” The woman pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Jerry’s head. “Your grandpa is stealing business from me. I need that to stop.”
Jerry no longer felt funny in his tummy, he felt nauseous. He racked his brain, panic setting in. “You can’t do that. These chemicals will blow us sky high.”
Wolf holstered her weapon. “I’d hate to shoot you anyway. Cute guys who help their folks are not usual in this business.” She threw a rubber band wrapped envelope at Jerry’s feet. “Give that to your grandfather. Tell him that’s his to keep if he stops.”
Jerry bent down to get the envelope. He opened it, seeing it was filled with rolls of rubber band wrapped bills. It was more money than they’d seen in the last year. As he counted, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck, and his world went black.
Wolf pulled the body off to one side, leaving the envelope. Half the money was counterfeit anyway. She searched Jerry, finding the gate code to the cook house. She memorized it, then put it back where she’d founded. She ran over to a nearby tree, where she’d stashed her dirt bike under a camo net. She kicked the lever once and rode off to the cook house.
The sun was setting as she rolled her bike up to the gate of Grandpa’s house. Wolf crept up to the house, careful not to trip any wires or shake anything. Meth had a habit of being unstable, and its dealers even more so. She pushed open the door to the trailer. An old man was pacing back in forth, clad only in dirty boxers an taking hits off some sort of inhaler.
“Where is that boy? Where is he?” Grandpa was behind on a shipment to the Pagans, and he prided himself on delivering on time. And the Pagans were very violent in their complaints about customer service.
He turned towards Wolf, frowning. “Who the fuck are you, cunt?” It was the last word that sealed his fate. Wolf took one step forward, her movements practiced and fluid. She pulled out her buck knife in one hand and held the old man’s wattle in the other. She sliced once, blood spraying her and the old man. To her surprise, the old man kicked her right between the legs. It wasn’t as painful for women, but the pain, combined with a now blood slick linoleum floor, caused her to fall to the side. Grandpa ran past her and out the door. Wolf scrambled to her feet, annoyed this was not going according to plan.
She jumped out of the trailer, scanning the are for the old man. It didn’t take long. He’d made it four steps before bleeding out. Wolf smelled his death, a mix of blood and shit. Now she needed to clean up the place before anyone got here. Thankfully, she’d bought a hazmat suit, so she could not get anything on her outfit. She’d clean up, torch the place, and everyone would assume Jerry had gotten stupid and greedy. Especially when she told all of Grandpa’s dealers that Jerry had approached her about joining forces.
Wolf had just about sprayed down the blood from Grandpa when she heard steps coming from the forest. She cursed that the boy had gotten free before she could get clear. Bolting inside the trailer, she looked around frantically for a weapon to kill Jerry with. She spied a hazmat suit, and an idea sprang to mind.
Jerry walked into his grandfather’s yard, hurting and confused. Grandpa was dressed in Jerry’s hazmat suit. Jerry used it for dumping waste chemicals into the barrels buried in the neighbor’s back forty.
“Hey Grandpa, what’s going on?” Jerry asked.
Wolf said “My old ass dumped some chemicals out here.: He said.
“But why the hazmat suit? What did you dump?”
“I had some old benzene that was no longer useful.” Wolf replied,
“Is that why you have my boots on?” Jerry asked.
Wolf cursed under her breath. “Yes, mine were dirty.”
“And why do you have the hose when we have the kitty litter?” Jerry asked, inching toward the trailer.
“The better to make it clean, Jerry.” Wolf replied.
“And how much did you spill, Grandpa? You’re spraying a lot of water.”
“I figured I’d water the grass while I was at it” Wolf replied. She was sweating gallons inside this suit. She needed to get her knife out of her pocket, so she could kill this kid and jet.
She reached her left hand inside of the suit, inching it slowly toward the knife. She could feel it under her rubber covered fingers. Just a little more…
Her world exploded. Something had hit her head, knocking the hood askew. She staggered around blindly for a few seconds, then her knees went out from under her as a metal bar hit her knees from behind
Jerry reached down and pulled the hood off “Grandpa”. Wolf laid there dazed and confused. Jerry had hit her with the softball bat he kept out in the yard. Grandpa never mowed his grass or gave a shit about lawn care.
“How did you know? Wolf asked in a slurred voice.
“You called me Jerry. Grandpa never called me that. You kill him?”
“She tried.” The voice was raspy and weak, but there stood Grandpa.
Wolf’s eyes widened in confusion: I killed you.”
Grandpa laughed. “Shit. You think you’re the first motherfucker to try and slit my throat? All I had to do was lean away from the blade. You missed, so to make it look real, I shit my pants on the way down. “He looked at Jerry “Guess who’s got laundry tonight.”
Jerry threw down the bat. “Fuck that shit. I’m going to go work as a truck stop cashier. Its safer than this. “Jerry stalked off, wondering what he was going to tell his folks.
Grandpa staggered after him, kicking Wolf in the head as he did. “Wait, Red, I can do better.”
He never got the chance. Flood lights lit up the trailer and field bright as daylight. A dozen four wheelers drove into the compound, right through and over the fence. Someone with a bullhorn shouted over the cacophony:
“DEA! NOBODY MOVE!”
Later that night, Jerry sat in a speeding car, on his way to a Federal safehouse. He’d agreed to testify against his grandfather and Wolf. In return, he’d be put in Witness Protection where no one would ever, ever call him Red.