Road to Anywhere

The Wolf's Perspective

Round 4.2 prompt from Multigenre Mashup Flash Fiction Smackdown, October 2023: Rewrite a Fairytale as a letter.

Word count = 744

Messrs. Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm (aka, The Brothers Grimm):

Recently, I came across your collection of children's tales, Kinder- und Hausmärchen. And what, to my alarm, did my eyes peruse within the first volume? But Rotkäppchen, the wholly inaccurate story of Little Red Riding Hood. Such slander am I loath to abide.

And how would I know of such falsehood, you might ask? How would the truth be known to a humble wolf of good repute, such as I am? Because I was the wolf of the tale. The very one.

That precocious brat Red, so prone to deceit and exaggeration, could not be trusted with truth. And her grandmother, such a debaucherous tart in her time, was hardly better. The huntsman — well, truth was as lost to that drunkard as was temperance.

Allow me the burden of testimony and to set straight the account.

True, did Little Red Riding Hood deliver treats to her ailing grandmother at the request of her mother? Although I dare say, not all the treats survived the journey. And also true was it that the old woman lived alone deep within the dark woods, for who would bear such a disagreeable crone?

But from here, tale and truth diverge greatly.

I happened across the girl as she skipped merrily along, but hardly did I conspire against her. Rather, my intentions were completely altruistic. Duly concerned was I for Red's safety, for many were the dangers of the dark woods. I advised Red to turn back, and if not, offered my protection. Yet she refused my kindness.

Despite her rejection, I continued ahead on the path to make sure the way was safe. The little girl, always one easily distracted, had stopped to uproot a flower patch, thus destroying the natural forest beauty.

Red was far behind once I reached the derelict cottage. I gently knocked on the front door, lest I alarm the girl's grandmother. My only wish was to inform the old woman of her granddaughter's upcoming arrival so that their visit together may be pleasant. Yet, to my horror, the woman attacked me on the front porch with a meat cleaver. But since she was so inebriated with sour wine, I easily disarmed her.

Despite the brazen attack, still did I have concern for the old woman, and I wished not that the poor girl would see her grandmother in such an intoxicated condition, so I gently guided the stumbling woman inside and placed her in the pantry to sober up. In no way did I 'gobble her up' as the poorly worded text insinuated. Firstly, I have impeccable table manners and do not 'gobble'; and secondly, a noble predator such as myself would never consume such a scrawny, sinew filled creature. The mere thought turns my stomach.

Just then, I heard Little Red Riding Hood singing a nonsensical tune as she approached the cabin. Hoping to preserve what little innocence she had left, I devised a clever scheme to impersonate her grandmother, at least until the old woman regained her senses. So I donned the woman's cap and slipped under the covers (mind you, the girl was rather dull).

But alas, the girl discerned my identity after a series of observational questions. Then she became quite hysterical, despite my attempts to calm her. To add to the melee, the grandmother staggered in, wildly swinging the cleaver. Wisely, I restrained Red and her grandmother, lest someone became injured.

In no way did I consume the little girl, as the story imputed.

Just when I had assured the girl and woman of my good intentions, the huntsman broke down the front door with a rusty ax and stomped inside. Nearly as drunk as the grandmother, he spouted a string of obscenities (quite improper, given the presence of a little girl) and demanded that the old woman provide him wine.

Here, the story asserts the huntsman cut open my gut, setting Red and her grandmother free and in good health. Such absurdity! Need I even go into the physiological impossibility of such an occurrence?

Given the potential for harm among all those within the cottage, I humbly withdrew. The story ends with my demise, but I assure you, I am quite well.

However, because of your falsehoods, my good character has been greatly impugned, even to where others often refer to me as 'the big bad wolf'. You shall hear from my solicitor.

Good day, sirs!

The Wolf