TL;DR - Your protagonist has absolutely no doubt about a situation. 1000 words max. Deadline of one week. Link to yours in the comments, or not ;-)
This was another prompt, from 2012. The challenge is to write about doubt, but in particular, the lack of it. Write a story where your protagonist is mistaken about something that they just “know” to be true.
Too much doubt can be a hindrance, but equally dangerous is the complete lack of it. Of course, I had to bring out my fairy tale characters again. Check out my earlier tales for more details on them.
In last week’s story, we saw Red Riding Hood looking for a magic potion to attract the wolf’s attention. The saga continues. My story went a little over, at 1300 words.
Doubt
“Back off, or so help me, I’ll take my axe to you!”
“Take it easy, buddy,” said the wolf. “I just came over to see Red.”
“You do more than just see her,” said the woodcutter. “You’re all over her—it’s disgusting. She’s just not that kind of girl.”
“Actually, she sort of is,” said Romulus, “and I like the new Red.”
“Friends don’t do those sorts of things to friends,” said the woodcutter. “Back off, now.” He lunged toward the wolf.
“OK, I’m going,” said the wolf. “But tell her I called.”
Bruce set the axe carefully by the door, straightened his jacket, brushed back an errant lock of hair, and stomped back into the house, slamming the door behind him. He was baffled. They all used to be just such good friends, nothing complicated between them. Then Red started getting all moody. And then the wolf was suddenly chasing after her, dragging the poor girl out on another date. Red did seem to be going along with it, but the woodsman just knew it was not something she actually liked, because that just wasn’t her. She was sometimes too nice, true, so she was probably just worried about hurting Wolf’s feelings. The woodsman liked Red. She was a sweet, kind peron. Smart, funny, thoughtful, pretty as she peered out from hat red hood and cape, with those big eyes . . . He stopped that train of thought; she was just a friend, of course.
“Bruce, who was it?” called Red from upstairs.
“Just that damn wolf, chasing after you again,” he said. “I gave him a good talking to. He has to stop stalking you, pestering you. He has to learn to keep his hands to himself. There are lots of women in the village to attract him, there’s no need for him to bother you.”
“Well, I did like his attentions at first,” said Red. “It was flattering. But I admit he has been pretty persistent lately. You didn’t hurt him, did you?”
“No,” said Bruce, “I just sent him back to his own place.”
The wolf lived behind the main house, in a little granny flat. It kept his many amorous affairs at a discreet distance. In addition, after a few rainy days, he did tend to smell.
“Well, thanks for worrying about me,” said Red. She reached out and touched his arm. “Look, I appreciate your concern. But it’s not as simple as it looks; it’s kind of complicated between Rommy and me.”
“Looks simple enough to me,” said Bruce. “He’s broken the trust, he’s acting like, like a wolf. He doesn’t deserve to be our friend anymore. I’ll still do the stories with him, but I won’t be pulling any punches. And in between gigs, I don’t want to see his face.”
Red looked at him sadly, then gave him a hug. “Thank you, old friend, I know you mean well. I’ll go write him yet another note and try to explain.”
Bruce wandered into the kitchen to find the witch bent over a big steaming cauldron, waving her hands and muttering under her breath.
“What are you brewing?” he asked.
“Chili. I think,” said Agnes. “I’m trying some new herbs I found. I may give a bit to the cat first, just in case. Was that the wolf again?”
“Yes, he’s being a complete jerk, pestering Red, dragging her out until all hours of the night. I’ve seen her creeping up the stairs, hair all mussed, dress buttoned up crooked. And I know he’s being rough with her. I’m sure none of this is Red’s idea; she’s just too nice to say no, and he just sees her as another conquest. I swear I will take an axe to him next time he comes after her.”
The witch sighed. “Oh, Bruce, everything is always so black and white with you. When you’re right, you’re right. Always the strong, silent type, the noble hero in our stories. But there’s more to this than meets the eye. Have a seat.”
She told Bruce about Red’s restlessness, about her depression over years of being cast as a celibate and chaste character, about her wish to try something wild and different. Like wolf. Hence, the potion, meant to nudge Romulus a bit toward her.
“But it did a lot more than nudge him,” she said, “I don’t understand it, he’s all over her like a love-sick porn star.”
“Please,” said Bruce. “I don’t want to even think about them together. But I miss her. She’s always out somewhere with him, never time anymore for us to just hang out together.”
“And she misses you too,” said the witch. “She needs a good friend to talk to, and I think now, as she adjusts to this new life we all have, she needs a little more than just a friend.”
“But that’s not what we are,” said Bruce. “How could it be otherwise?”
“I know,” she said. “In the stories, she’s the helpless maiden, you’re the strong hero that rescues her. And that’s all. But we’ve a life between stories too. Try to be a little more than a friend to her if you can. You do like girls, don’t you?”
“I like everybody,” said Bruce. “Except that sleazy Romulus.”
“I was just wondering about any preference,” she said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but you do seem to pay a lot of attention to your looks, and you’ve all those posters in your room of lumberjacks and bodybuilders and sword-swinging heroes.”
“I just want to follow my role as well as possible,” he said.
“Hmmm. How about when you disappear into the woodshed for half an hour—yes, I’ve noticed. It’s OK, we all do that sort of thing. Yes, even me, don’t look so shocked. But while you’re out there doing your thing, do you think of men or women?”
“Women of course,” he said. “Oh - I get it. Oh, and not of you!”
The witch patted him on the arm. “That’s OK, dear, I was just wondering. But you’re so cute when you blush. Now, why don’t you go out and chop down a few trees? That always calms you down. Dinner won’t be for a while. I’ll find out what went wrong, and how to fix it. I’ll talk with Red. And wolf. Trust me. ”
Agnes called Red downstairs. “Have a seat, sweetie. We need to talk. Tell me, what’s happening between you and Romulus?”
“I don’t know,” said Red. “It’s all going wrong. He seemed like such a sexy choice, just what I wanted. But now he won’t leave me alone. Whenever we’re together, he seems to have only one thing on his mind. It is a bit much.”
The witch paused. “Yes, he is a sexy beast, but not something just anyone can handle. But I don’t understand, this all went too fast. I’d adjusted the dosage to slowly build into a nice little nudge—five drops a night, five in a row.” She paused. “Unless . . . ” She looked at Red sharply. “What did you do?”
“I may have been just a tad impatient,” said Red.
“How impatient?”
“Well, less than five nights. OK, one night. All of it. I’m sorry!”
“Foolish girl,” said the witch. “I should leave you two to suffer, but your dear friend the woodcutter is very worried.”
“Ah yes, my friend,” said Red.
“He is a good friend, you know, and I’ve planted the thought with him that it’s OK to be a little more than a friend when he’s not doing one of the stories. So if he asks you out for a coffee, be gracious. And good luck.”
“Oh,” said Red. “OK, I’ll think about that. But what about this wolf thing?”
Agnes patted her hand. “I’ll brew up an antidote for him in some tea and take it out back. You go have a lie down, I’ll call you for supper when I get back. I may be a while out there.”