Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time there was a girl with a hood who was walking through a forest. And originally she may have been walking to her Grandma’s to bring her sweet treats or sweetbreads or something - yeah, sweetbreads, she might have been a fine old cannibal like Hannibal or something, living in the woods out of fear of persecution and trying not to eat anyone, anyone important at least – but the reason seems to have changed now anyway. And this girl with a hood is treading most carefully, like she’s hiding or something, away from scary things, like ghosts, that she doesn’t want to disturb. She doesn’t even tread on twigs, she’s that quiet, which is difficult, you know, in a forest. If we look at her feet we can she she’s wearing well-worn sneakers, Converse actually, which doesn’t exactly place this that far back in ye olde mythology, although, right, fairy stories are always updateable, that’s the point?

So we’re looking at her feet for a minute and so we see her sneakers and her socks, odd and stripey - what does that suggest? That she either left in a hurry or got dressed in the dark or has been on the run for some time? Good. And her trousers – girls in fairy stories don’t normally wear trousers, being how they’re feminine and need to be saved and trousers are a bit practical and make those princes who save them feel a bit emasculated, and hey the whole point of saving princesses is so they can feel like heroes and the princesses gratefully let them get their end away, which isn’t quite so easy or seductive in trousers, right? Right? But she’s wearing trousers, jeans in fact that also look a bit worn and grubby, and this hood. Hoodie. It’s a close-fitting sweater with a zip and a hood, and the hood is drawn close round her head with the toggles pulled tight so only her little white face is peeking out. As she leans against a tree we see a strap across her chest and a bag at the end of it, stuffed full or something, probably food and a blanket and stuff. It looks a bit heavy. She looks a bit tired. She waits for full-on five minutes behind that tree, listening, then plonks herself down with her back to it.

So this girl, right, with a hood, in the forest, she is actually trying to get to her Grandma’s after all but it’s not to bring her cookies. She wants to check her Granny’s still there, and the Wolves haven’t got to her. It’s a treacherous time for people who wear hoods and who live out in forests, what with all these Wolves around. People are going missing and it isn’t fair. It’s not bloody fair at all. And now she has to creep about in woods, keeping quiet, and staying with Granny because her parents are too scared to keep her.

Granny lives out in the woods because granny likes her privacy. Granny doesn’t need her granddaughter in a hood to bring her groceries: she’s got Ocado to do that. The girl in the hood isn’t taking the route Ocado takes because she doesn’t want to get caught out on the road – it’s happened before, her hood has blown back when a big van has passed her and it’s too risky to let that happen. Not everyone agrees with what the Wolves are doing, but it’s taking their minds off other stuff, like how there’s not really quite enough food to go around the whole world cos there’s no bees to pollinate it, how everyone’s got to be vegetarian four days a week because there’s not enough meat, how you’re not allowed to fly anymore and everyone buses to work, how – hopefully – different religions will stop bombing eachother now they’ve realised the real enemies in their midst. Lots would say ‘real’ enemies with mucho sarcasm but they’re shouted down by the louder mob mind. Apparently there’s an enemy whose crimes are just being. It’s not their fault, but they’re inciteful, cause violence, and must be put away. They’re evil and must be stopped. It’s been bubbling up for centuries. They are witches and evil and Judas was one and they're breeding and spreading recessive genes so people will die when the sun finally breaks through the ozone layer and no one’s put a stop to it, but now the stories have been collected and there’s too much evidence to ignore. ‘Evidence’, with mucho sarcasm.

She gets back up, breathing a little heavily. She’s a bit hungry but it’s not far now. It’s taken her several days of walking, not daring to use transport or hitchhike because of questions about her hood. People still don’t like hoods either, reminds them of how young people used to be, before ASBOs became electroshock therapy and young people got much nicer. People don’t like to be reminded of the past. Especially mistakes.

The house suddenly pitches into view in a clearing ahead. She can see the road leading up to the garden. Granny’s house is low and pink, with a thatched roof. Ahhhhh. It’s even got those cottagey criss-crossed windows. Luckily it’s also got double glazing, central heating and solar panels , or Granny would freeze in the winter. People tend to be more practical than sentimental these days.

It’s not hearty smoke coming from the chimney that lets her know Granny is in, it’s the flickering lights of the home cinema through the windows. Gently, she knocks on a pane of glass, three times, and waits, hunched down below the window ledge with her back to the pink stuccoed wall. It’s cold, the sun’s going down in an echo of pink slashed above the treeline. She can see her breath. There’s a rustle from round the corner at the front of the house and the noise of the front door opening.

“Ruby?” comes a whispered call. Sloping round to the corner of the wall, she peers over and sees it’s Granny. Breathing out, she stumbles round the wall and into her Grandmother’s pink velvet-tracksuited arms.

“Ruby,” her Grandmother breathes into her ear, wrapping her arms tightly around her as she goes limp with relief. It really was a long journey, and she really was scared of the Wolves. Maybe now she’ll be safe.

“Ruby,” her Grandmother says again gently, and then tugs on her hood. It pulls away, and Ruby’s hair tumbles out, all two feet of red coiled rope, untangling in the sudden breeze, reflecting the sunset and shimmering like fire.

A sudden white light opens onto them with a noise like thunder. Ruby’s Granny pins her close, her nails like claws and arms too strong. All the better to hold her with. Ruby shakes. It’s the Wolves.

“You can let go now, Mrs Ridinghood. We have you covered.”

A strong voice comes out of the bright light behind them, and Ruby is let go. She turns slowly, and sees outlines of men with guns pointed. One walks towards her. He stands above her, looking down, smiling sharp. His eyes are wide. He reaches out and tugs at her halo of red. It’s real. It’s evil and must be stopped.

“Ruby Ridinghood, I am arresting you on behalf of the British Government as part of the Red Menace. You did not give yourself up and have been taken by force, your rights are forfeit and you will be taken to a holding place to await sentencing. Do you understand?” He snarls. Without waiting for answer, he grabs Ruby’s wrists, forcing them into handcuffs, and pushes her o-mouthed towards the lounging, waiting men. She falls to them, hooting and jeering at their prize with their helmets and guns and rifle-butts.

Granny looks on and lights a cigarette. “I told her father she’d be trouble,” she puffs.” You just can’t trust them, even if they’re family.”

The arresting officer nods, showing teeth. He spits.
“Bloody gingers.”