Post by Grimm on May 7, 2018 11:43:18 GMT -5
Once upon a time, there were three wrestlers who shared a shack in a great dark wood. One, larger than the others, kept his dark brown hair cut short and had fuzzy cheeks. He liked to gaze with his hazel eyes at a large golden belt he wore to keep up his trousers. A second, the middling one, stroked his longer, lighter hair as he sang hymns under his breath. In passing he seemed to have a calming aura about him, but anyone who looked into those green eyes of his saw immediately just how disturbed he was at his core. The third was a sprightly little lady who couldn’t stop staring at her phone. She often roamed through the woods on her own, absent mindedly, and the other two barely knew where she was half the time. And, truth be told, neither did she.
Elsewhere in those same woods, farther in where the trees stood taller, the underbrush grew thicker, and the briars reached out for you with pointier tips, walked another man. This man never the less passed undisturbed through the darker parts of the woods. His red hair and beard stood out with a rage all its own and yet melded into the forest with a persistent autumnal air. He made his own grimm way, and as he did the beasts of the woods gave him a wide berth. A fox, that auburn-hued brethren of his, pitter-pattered into his path but upon seeing him took off into the ferns. One of the crows perched safely in the boughs of an ancient oak croaked down insults at him, but the man only grinned as he passed below. He had more important duties to attend to than to pull apart some insufferable corbie just to read its steaming innards for signs. The man already knew what he was meant to do. And he knew just how to do it.
Meanwhile, the three wrestlers left the shack for their own errands. One for business, one for pleasure, one for a reckoning. You get to decide which was whose. Not long after they’d gone their separate ways the red-headed Stranger stepped out of the gloom into their clearing. He walked right up to the door and pushed it open. Because why would anyone lock anything here in the middle of nowhere? Anyway, he stepped inside and cast his gaze about the room. Not much else greeted him than three chairs around a table and three beds tucked away against the far wall. A surprisingly humble abode, given the inhabitants.
The man moved to the table and looked down at three bowls of stew set out but abandoned. Given that he was always hungry, he took up a spoonful of the first bowl. Wild game and root vegetables were some of his favorite things, but this stew was too hot. He choked down the bite and moved on to the second bowl. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, but too cold. On he went, and, wonder of wonders, the third bowl was juuuuuust right. He turned up the bowl and slurped down the stew. Wiping stock out of his beard and licking his fingers, he went back to the first bowl which by this time had fortunately cooled to a tolerable temperature. And so, he ate all of that bowl as well. Well done, cook. Well done, indeed.
Satiated, the man decided to rest a spell before moving on. He sat down in the first chair and nearly bruised his tailbone. Much too hard. The second chair was softer, but the stuffing was old and uneven and made it impossible for one to get comfortable. With a sigh the man stood and moved to the third chair.
Ah, that’s the stuff.
The red-headed Stranger sat for a bit, staring and thinking about all manner of things, when he realized how heavy his eyelids had become. You know, he thought to himself, there are three beds right back there. A little nap would perk me right up and then I would be on my way. But just as he started to stand, another thought occurred to him. He didn’t know what kind of people slept in those beds, or what kinds of things they did in them. He wrinkled his nose and scowled. Maybe he would just stay here in this chair. It was a fine seat, after all.
After some time the three wrestlers returned home. The sun had by then begun its descent below the hills, and so, even with the shack’s spot in a clearing and all the windows in the shack, the room had grown quite dark. But not dark enough to mask an intrusion.
“Who’s been eating my stew?” said the stoutest man.
“Someone ate my stew!” yelled the middling man.
“Hey, mine too!” screeched the lady, pointing a finger at the empty bowl.
The stoutest man look around and narrowed his eyes. “Someone’s been sitting in my chair,” he said.
The lady leaned in close to the lumpy seat. “Someone’s been sitting in my chair.”
“Wait a minute,” said the middling man. “Where is my chair?”
All three cast about and came together in one of the darkest corners of the shack.
“Here’s my chair,” he whispered, “and someone is still in it.”
The man looked up at the three people surrounding him. He looked up with eyes the color of the first hard freeze. The three moved in, slow but deliberate. A grin crept up beneath the man’s beard.
Now, “strength in numbers” is a common phrase. It’s common because it has proven itself true time and again throughout the ages. What has also already been said is that the red-headed Stranger knew what he was there to do. And he knew just how to do it.
It’s a fairy tale, folks. Use your imagination.
Elsewhere in those same woods, farther in where the trees stood taller, the underbrush grew thicker, and the briars reached out for you with pointier tips, walked another man. This man never the less passed undisturbed through the darker parts of the woods. His red hair and beard stood out with a rage all its own and yet melded into the forest with a persistent autumnal air. He made his own grimm way, and as he did the beasts of the woods gave him a wide berth. A fox, that auburn-hued brethren of his, pitter-pattered into his path but upon seeing him took off into the ferns. One of the crows perched safely in the boughs of an ancient oak croaked down insults at him, but the man only grinned as he passed below. He had more important duties to attend to than to pull apart some insufferable corbie just to read its steaming innards for signs. The man already knew what he was meant to do. And he knew just how to do it.
Meanwhile, the three wrestlers left the shack for their own errands. One for business, one for pleasure, one for a reckoning. You get to decide which was whose. Not long after they’d gone their separate ways the red-headed Stranger stepped out of the gloom into their clearing. He walked right up to the door and pushed it open. Because why would anyone lock anything here in the middle of nowhere? Anyway, he stepped inside and cast his gaze about the room. Not much else greeted him than three chairs around a table and three beds tucked away against the far wall. A surprisingly humble abode, given the inhabitants.
The man moved to the table and looked down at three bowls of stew set out but abandoned. Given that he was always hungry, he took up a spoonful of the first bowl. Wild game and root vegetables were some of his favorite things, but this stew was too hot. He choked down the bite and moved on to the second bowl. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, but too cold. On he went, and, wonder of wonders, the third bowl was juuuuuust right. He turned up the bowl and slurped down the stew. Wiping stock out of his beard and licking his fingers, he went back to the first bowl which by this time had fortunately cooled to a tolerable temperature. And so, he ate all of that bowl as well. Well done, cook. Well done, indeed.
Satiated, the man decided to rest a spell before moving on. He sat down in the first chair and nearly bruised his tailbone. Much too hard. The second chair was softer, but the stuffing was old and uneven and made it impossible for one to get comfortable. With a sigh the man stood and moved to the third chair.
Ah, that’s the stuff.
The red-headed Stranger sat for a bit, staring and thinking about all manner of things, when he realized how heavy his eyelids had become. You know, he thought to himself, there are three beds right back there. A little nap would perk me right up and then I would be on my way. But just as he started to stand, another thought occurred to him. He didn’t know what kind of people slept in those beds, or what kinds of things they did in them. He wrinkled his nose and scowled. Maybe he would just stay here in this chair. It was a fine seat, after all.
After some time the three wrestlers returned home. The sun had by then begun its descent below the hills, and so, even with the shack’s spot in a clearing and all the windows in the shack, the room had grown quite dark. But not dark enough to mask an intrusion.
“Who’s been eating my stew?” said the stoutest man.
“Someone ate my stew!” yelled the middling man.
“Hey, mine too!” screeched the lady, pointing a finger at the empty bowl.
The stoutest man look around and narrowed his eyes. “Someone’s been sitting in my chair,” he said.
The lady leaned in close to the lumpy seat. “Someone’s been sitting in my chair.”
“Wait a minute,” said the middling man. “Where is my chair?”
All three cast about and came together in one of the darkest corners of the shack.
“Here’s my chair,” he whispered, “and someone is still in it.”
The man looked up at the three people surrounding him. He looked up with eyes the color of the first hard freeze. The three moved in, slow but deliberate. A grin crept up beneath the man’s beard.
Now, “strength in numbers” is a common phrase. It’s common because it has proven itself true time and again throughout the ages. What has also already been said is that the red-headed Stranger knew what he was there to do. And he knew just how to do it.
It’s a fairy tale, folks. Use your imagination.
