Monday, August 28, 2006

Scarlet (part III)

Click here to read part two, dear reader, or here, to read part one.

...Scarlet came back within a quarter of an hour, already stoned by eating some of the hash cakes and totally drunk from swigging from the bottle of tequila. So off her face was she, that she paid no attention to the fact that not only the key was missing from under the mat, but the front door was wide open.

"Granny! It's me! I've brought you some goodies!"

She then made her way into the dining room, which was now my Mother's bedroom since she was often too drunk to climb the stairs, and found Mr Wolf in the bed, posing as my daughter's Granny.

"Look," said Scarlet, laughing, "I've got fags, booze and dodgy cakes!"

"Yummy," said Mr Wolf. "Come closer so that I might see y
ou. My eyesight is not what is used to be."

"There's nothing wrong with your eyes. You're drunk!"

"Come, get into bed with your old Granny and warm me up. Get the fags out and we'll have a drink. There are two glasses on my bedside cabinet."

Scarlet stripped down to her underwear, got into bed, poured some drinks and lit up a couple of fags.

"My, what big eyes you've got, Grandmother," said Scarlet.

"All the better to see you with," replied Mr Wolf.

"My, what big ears you've got."

"All the better to hear you with."

"My, what big hands you've got."

"All the better to feel you with," replied Mr Wolf, stroking my daughters thighs.

This is when she began to worry and said, "Granny, I'm not lezzing off with you."

Mr Wolf then put his nose to my daughters and licked his lips.

"My, what a big mouth you've got," said Scarlet.

"All the better to eat you with!"

At this point, recounting what had happened, my daughter began to cry and told me he'd eaten her. I told her to be quiet, rest and try to sleep.

The policeman could see the look of worry on my face. My mind had immediately
turned to cannibalism.

"Don't worry," said PC Woodman. "It's street talk. The kids, these days say eat me as a euphemism for cunnilingus. Unfortunately, your daughter was sexually assaulted, beaten and raped."

PC Woodman went on to tell me that he'd been passing the cottage on his bicycle when he'd heard screams. He came into my Mother's home to find Mr Wolf raping my daughter. Startled, Mr Wolf took the axe, which my Mother keeps beside her bed in case of intruders and attacked the police officer with it. A fight ensued and in the mêlée, the axe ended up in Mr Wolf's shoulder, disabling him.

My daughter stood and rushed out into the garden.

"Come back!" called PC Woodman.

"I intend to," said my daughter, rummaging through the stones in my Mother's rock garden. She picked up a long stone, similar in size to a housewife's rolling pin and said, "This'll do nicely. See how he likes it."

PC Woodman helped my daughter to hold Mr Wolf down while she inserted the long, slender rock into his bowels, apparently tearing his rectum and going right into his stomach. He was dead within moments.

Scarlet then began calling out for her beloved Granny. She and the policeman heard moans coming from under the floorboards.

"The cellar!" they called out in unison.

My Mother and daughter were taken to hospital and I was called. It was touch and go for a few days, but both pulled through.

Until Scarlet missed her period.

Yes, she was pregnant. That's when it all went a bit tits up. I told her that I would support her in whatever she did and did not sway from this when she told me that she wanted an abortion.

It went horribly wrong - and that's how she ended up in hospital for a second time in as many months. She hemorrhaged, lost loads of blood and was very unwell. A doctor told me she might die.

My Mother and I had made up. I thank my lucky stars that she was there to comfort me.

But Scarlet didn't die. She got well, told Sharon and Tracey to get lost, started going to church and is now engaged to PC Woodman.

My daughter has grown up an awful lot over the past few months. She now tours schools telling children to listen to their Mothers, not to talk to strange men, even when they flirt with you and to steer well clear from the vices of tobacco, drink and drugs. People are not always as they seem.

You'll also be glad to know, dear reader, that they all lived happily ever after.


trying2hide said...

An interesting tidbit!
Do they still sell Benson and Hedges!?
I think I used to smoke those in the 80's

Minge said...

I used to smoke Benson & Hedges, too! They're about five quid a packet these days. That's about US$10.00.

trying2hide said...

Holy smokes!
That is a ton of moola!

RIC said...

Are you kidding me???!!! £5 FIVE??? Has everyone gone crazy?!
What a world...
My intention right now was to warn you that some fundamentalist «passing by» may not like to see that package of fags and may want to get you in trouble... We never know these days... (Kidding!)
I'll comment on your story later! :-)

Minge said...

A fiver is a lot for fags!

How long until they're banned?

trying2hide said...

I dunno, but the news here is that when the Stones come to the land of the Scots, they will allow the might Keith Richards to smoke without a fine. I went off on a tangent on my blog about it. (anything to get out of homework) I swear I thought that it was only here that the government was trying to legislate the crap out of us!

Time for a revolution I say!

Minge said...

We live in a democratic dictatorship.

RIC said...

Being stbborn as I am, the more shit they say and do against cigarettes, the happier I am about smoking. I know it's imbecile, I'm spending money stupidly, and it's damaging my health... But each campaign against smoking is more stupid than the previous one. Oh it's really infuriating!
As for your story, Minge, I guess my English is not enough to understand all the subtileness I can sense somewhere in it... Maybe you could, if and when it didn't bother you, cast some light upon it...

Minge said...

I basically wanted to show how vile and nasty children's fairy stories and nursery rhymes are. They are full of innuendo, metaphors et al. Although they're often seen as parables, they're all particularly nasty: Witches, death, sacrifice, black magic, murder, the eating of a murder victim... No wonder wee kiddies have nightmares.

Minge said...

And the fact that only the morally corrext tend to live or be revived. In a fairy tale, you've got to be perfect if you want to live. There is no room for imperfection.

J.a.G. said...

Fairy tales got tidied up for regular consumptions as they were even more violent than they seem now. Of course I cannot find a link to back myself up right now. Hmmf.

Perfection? What's that?