Fairy Tales


Fairy tales usually have happy endings, but this is no fairy tale.  There is nothing happy about this story and there are definitely no fairies in it. There is a frog prince and  a wicked witch who dwelt in the deep dark forest but I can guaranty no fairies, no bad wolf, no ginger bread man, no giant, no beanstalk and no dwarfs. I can however promise you some ugly sisters, some irrelevant plagiarism, some Hollywood action, and little plot or point.

It all started once upon a time, not so long ago, in the land of forever where there were three sisters. All the sisters were pig ugly. Not in a small pink bacon machine kind of way, they were just three girls who had many mishaps with the ugly stick.

It was in this year that the thing happened but we’ll come back to that in a later chapter.

The three girls were sat in the café sole in the town square drinking iced mocha’s and generally people watching while listening to music to watch boys by. They’d had a slow and tedious afternoon despite the amount of talent walking by and none of the girls had been very lucky, which was no real surprise.

They were just thinking about heading down to the market for the fruit and veg for their wicked step mother; apples, beans, and a pumpkin, when someone leaving the pharmacist caught there attention.

As Arrabella looked at him, she knew at once that her prince had come. Turning to her sister Cinders she explained in her very elegant and articulate way that this was going to be the one for her.

“Cinderella.” She said. “This is going to be the one for me.”

“Not much in the nobility stakes” Said Drusilla. “He looks more like a scruffy old cloth wizard.

“Oi, you mate, my sister fancies you.” Cinderella shouted.

Wilfred the Wizard was totally involved with his new medicine and paid scant attention to the boisterous girls. The doctor had explained that he must take it three times a day, three hours before a meal and on an empty stomach. This generally meant that he found that he would have to take the medicine at rather inappropriate times of the day, and now three o’clock just happened to be one of those times.

I must explain at this point that Wilfred wasn’t really a wizard, he was a member of the magic circle and his real name was Jean-Pierre.  No one remembered that he was a frog prince as they never usually saw his French aristocratically alter ego. They just saw, the most important, the most beautiful, the most magical, saggy old cloth hat in the whole wide world. Baggy, and a bit loose at the seams but Arrabella loved him

Wilfred the Wizard was just his stage name. He was a magician, person skilled in magic, enchanter, illusionist, formal prestidigitator; Which is all rather a bit grand for someone who basically pulls rabbits from a hat at kid’s parties.

The girls gave up deciding that there was no place like home and proceeding to leave. Feeling a little chilly, Arrabella pulled up her little red riding hood and Druisilla put on her Elven made, little red Gucci shoes that the shoemaker’s wife had given her. She clicked her heals together and they proceeded to walk across the square, get into their little red corvette and wheel span off, heading for the market like a bat out of hell.

While they drove down the thorny road of honour they had a blow out. The car lost three tyres, swerved, just missing the old willow tree, slightly brushing the mystical philosophers stone before coming to rest on the old street lamp. The girls were very lucky, they escaped with some minor bruising, cuts, and a little concussion.

Dazed and confused they found themselves wandering the deep dark forest. After some time they came upon the old woodcutter’s house in the centre of a clearing. The woodcutter was no longer around having sold up to the wicked witch during the last property boom. The witch who did in fact have a big nose and a hairy wart had become very aware of her general unpleasant social standing and so she invited some neighbours over for a party.

She had invited the three local players from the “black forest bears” football club who happened to live round the corner, the town bicycle Goldilocks, Old Mother Hubbard and all her delightful children and they had brought along the three little pigs.

The girls were invited in with open arms and they all took part in the pleasantries. There was much drinking, dancing, and frivolities but before long the usual arguments broke out between the rather worse for wear party goers.

Grandmother was starting to sound a bit horse when Cinders noticed what great big arms and legs she had. She was getting ever so slightly concerned about her new found feelings for the old lady when she happened upon what great big eyes and teeth grandmother had. She immediately called the police because the suspect had no right breaking his restraining order keeping him within a novel or two from this story.

The sound of sirens and police cars screeching to a halt outside filled the air with a tremendous cacophony. Mr Wolf sensing his time was up, huffed and puffed before pulling his Uzi sub machine gun from one side of his long leather trench coat and exposing the belt of grenades hanging from his shoulder.

FBI Agent Goldilocks pulled her hand gun and started to fire spinning round in bullet time. In the perfect slow motion Mr Wolf jumped for the window, taking the glass out in spectacular style with the spray of bullets that filled the room, pulled the pins and randomly threw the grenades.

The explosion that followed him out of the window blew the house down. None of occupants got out alive.  The patrol cars were riddled with bullet holes and the last policeman fell just as Mr Wolf landed on the floor, made a perfect roll, and stood upright. He took a drag from the cigarette that he lit during the explosion and surveyed the carnage.

“I’ll be back.” He said throwing the cigarette over his shoulder. It landed in a stream of petrol creating a river of fire to the car. The car exploded, propelled upwards by the blast, span in mid air and came crashing down on top of Mr Wolf, taking him out once and for all.

      - The end.

Written Without Prejudice
written without prejudice
Stories to go to bed with
stories to go to bed with

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