This was another challenge from Terrible Minds, back in 2012
The challenge was to write a short story that prominently features death. Any genre.
I had picked this a few days ago as the next one of mine to rewrite and post, but it seems somewhat fitting now. Firstly, it was the anniversary this week of my mother’s death in 2010. She lived a long and happy life, and I’ve many fond memories, but still some sadness. Secondly, I’ve had a reminder of my mortality, as I’ve been laid low for the past 10 days with various ailments. Nothing serious, most of them preventable with lifestyle tweaks, but still a reminder. Luckily, I’m an optimistic person.
But, back to this story. I was doing a series in which I reused the same group of characters across various stories, each with different themes and genres. Try it, it’s fun. These ones are with my Fairy Tale Folk. They are characters from Grimms’ fairy tales, brought back to life now via renewed interest in them. They have a few magical powers, but are finding it hard to adjust to life now. Luckily, the Grimm family wants them back in business, taking part in stories again. The characters give back now, adding their touch of magic to a tale, making it more real to the listener, giving it more punch somehow. Yes, I did base a novel on this series, but it’s still in draft form.
BTW - In Canada, or the US, call or text 988 to reach the Suicide Crisis Helpline
Today’s story is 902 words
Death Is On The Table
“Just let me die,” said Red. “Never again.”
“You say that every time,” said the witch. “Here, drink this; it will make the pain stop.”
Red sipped on the drink—vile tasting, hot, and just a bit slimy. She sighed with relief as the headache faded.
“I’m glad you have your potions, Agnes,” she said. “But if the magic in the stories heals wounds, even brings us back to life, why can’t it prevent a frackin’ hangover?” She burped. "Pardon. God, what a party.”
It had started with just a trip into town with some of the others, including Snow, for shopping and dinner. Dinner turned out to be Mexican, which of course meant Margaritas, then the karaoke bar, then shooters, then nothing.
“Did you hear about the Grimms wanting us back for more stories?” said the witch. “No more of this retirement crap.”
“We heard at the bar,” said Red. “Wolf texted Snow. But I can’t face that life again—it was too frustrating, too limiting.” She sighed. “I’ve about had it,” she said. “I’m tired of living the same life. Yes, retirement has been boring, but back to work will be the same old same old. We do a story, we run, we fight, we laugh, we cry, we die. This fairy tale life is too tame, too safe. There’s no risk, no passion, no sex.”
They all played several roles, but her specialty was being herself, naive, vulnerable, helpless, and saved at the end by some strong, silent type. With maybe a brotherly hug before the curtain came down. Almost 300 years old and still a virgin.
Agnes reached over and pushed her sleeve up. “And what’s this?” she asked. “Can’t be from a story, we heal faster than that. Are you cutting again?”
Red pulled her sleeve down. “I like the pain,” she said. “It’s something different, something I control. And it distracts me. But I need a way to stop all this for good.”
“We’re all really worried about you,” said the witch. “Your wild party moods, drinking into a coma, then depression and crying, now you’re cutting again. Are you still seeing that therapist? Does he have you on any meds?”
“They don’t help,” said Red. “They just dull everything for a while, then reality is back. I don’t want it back, I just want it to end forever. Please, can’t you mix something up for me to do that?”
“I’m not sure if my potions are strong enough to overcome the magic, but anyway, you’re a friend, I won’t do that.”
“If you’re a friend, you have to do it,” said Red. “I can’t stand suffering through living for another day. Just help me to end it all and find some peace - please. Or I’ll talk to one of the other witches.”
The witch looked at her sadly. “Hang in there, sweetie. Supposedly, these new stories will be different ones, more challenging for us. But in the meantime, why don’t I make you another potion?”
“Another one of your happy pills?” said Red. “No thanks, that was even a worse feeling, bouncing and bubbling around like an idiot.”
Agnes smled. “No, what I was thinking of was a way to work on your loneliness, your frustrations. We need to find a special someone for you, someone to appreciate you for who you are. And we’ll give them a potion.”
“So now I need to drug people to like me?”
“No, no,” said the witch. “Nothing too strong, just a little nudge to get them to notice you, to realize that, when you’re not pushing yourself into a drunken coma or a manic panic, you’re a good person.”
“OK, but no dwarfs,” said Red. “Snow can keep them all.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind sharing,” said the witch. “But I hear they’re actually kind of boring, always going on about work. And someone like our Woodcutter is too nice—he puts women up on a pedestal. A nice one, mind you. No, I think what you need right now is a bad boy. And there’s one I’ve seen you watching, our Wolf.”
“Romulus?” said Red. “I wish. But he hardly knows I exist.”
She’d often admired Wolf as he loped through his character’s parts, leaping about, stirring up everyone’s blood, leering at them with that toothy grin and those bushy eyebrows, his hot breath panting on their neck as they grasped at his thick bushy fur, feeling his hard muscles under them as he tensed for the attack . . . ”
“Red? You okay? You look all flushed,” said the witch.
“Sorry,” said Red. “OK, let’s try it.”
“We’ll just use a bit,” said the witch. “He’s been a little too wild lately, chasing everything in a skirt—not that some of us haven’t minded—but it’s affecting his work. He needs to settle down a bit and focus.”
“Focus? Don’t worry, I’ll focus him,” said Red. “Where’s the potion?”
“Here, this is one of my favourites. Be careful, though. Use just five drops in his drink for five nights and the magic will start.”
“Thanks,” said Red. “I’ll go find him now.”
She gave her friend a big hug, then hurried off. She could hardly wait to find her prey. But five nights? No way. Agnes was always too cautious with these things, never taking risks. He was getting it all at once.