Even Grimmer Tales by Valerie Volk

Red
    â€œSo do you always dream in colour?”
    he asks me.
    I stare around his office. Typical shrink talk.
    Questions, questions, questions.
    â€œHow did you feel when …?”
    â€œHave you imagined that ..?”
    â€œWhen your father beat your mother, did you ever …?”
    â€œAnd when your little sister died,
    how did you...?”
    Questions
    I won’t talk to you about, Herr Dr Hempelmeier.
    Forget it, or I’m leaving.
    Except, I can’t.
    Not till you tell the guards
    to take me back
    through corridors of steel
    and gratings, locking
    me in with my thoughts.
    Do I dream in colours?
    Yes, red. Blood
    red. Maybe blue, black and white,
    if she’d worn something different.
    We’ll never know.
    She knew what she was doing,
    tripping through the forest past my hut.
    A dozen other paths she could have taken.
    But no, always this one. Stopping
    at my gate, if I was digging
    in the garden.
    Her mother must have warned her.
    Other children kept well clear of any
    scent of sweets.
    Not her
    daring me with raven curls
    above the garden gate.
    I tell you that she waited for me.
    She knew I’d come.
    â€œOff to Grandma’s.”
    Her excuse.
    A basket full of cakes and pies.
    â€œHave some?
    Mum won’t know.”
    And something else besides?
    But still no further than the gate.
    Well taught.
    Easy to follow that red lure
    to Grandma’s. Many times.
    I’m sure she knew.
    Anticipation’s sometimes
    better than the act …
    The day I got there first
    she didn’t even hear
    old woman’s muffled feeble cries
    behind the wardrobe door.
    Bed
    was more inviting.
    She knew what she was doing.
    Lies, all lies.
    That story of a woodsman rushing in.
    True there was an axe.
    But only me. And Red.
    Funny really,
    the way the stain merged with her cape.
    You couldn’t see it till
    the pool grew to the lake
    that drowns me every night.
    Wonder if she’d worn a blue dress …
    Different story then.
    Perhaps my dreams
    would be a different colour?

The Frog King
    A handsome king is transformed by a witch into an ugly frog. (It’s risky to cross witches!) One day, when a spoiled Princess’s golden ball is lost in his fountain, the frog offers to return it to her. However, because he is missing his former life, he first makes a bargain with the girl, that she will share her meals and her bedroom with him. Her ball returned, having got what she wanted, the princess, typical female, tries to back out of the deal, but her father insists that she honours her promise. The girl grows surprisingly fond of her new companion and ultimately her kiss releases him from the spell. She discovers, to her amazement and delight, that she is sharing her bedroom with a handsome young man. Though, as they say in these days of internet romances, you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you get a prince.



The eye of the beholder
    Don’t give me that old line,
    that looks aren’t everything.
    It isn’t true. You know it. So do I.
    And if you’re honest, you’ll admit it.
    I learned it the hard way.
    I’ve never trusted men
    who have male model looks.
    The sort you see on covers
    of women’s magazines.
    Or blandly smiling on commercials,
    or advertising latest trends
    in fashions for aspiring young executives.
    Worse still, the bulging biceps lot,
    flexing muscles over skimpy briefs.
    Fair made me sick to look at them!
    Something about those guys
    put me right off. I think it was
    the smug look on their faces,
    the consciousness they showed
    that girls would almost certainly
    fall at their well-shod feet
    and find them irresistible.
    Not me!
    Not that I ever had to worry.
    Pa’s money saw me always
    well-pursued. I knew it. So did he.
    â€œWell, Princess, just take care!”
    Time after time, he said that,
    when yet another blond young hunk
    rocked up to take me
    (or was it just the family fortune?)
    out to dinner. I listened to my dad.
    He