The Wolf and the Fox – A Grimm BMore Story
The following short story is fiction. It is a retelling of a Grimm Fairy Tale. It was selected from a list of Grimm Fairy Tales with a random number generator. You can find the original story by clicking here, but I recommend you read my version first.
Fox froze with fear. Being called out by an adult made his chest pound with anxiety. He wheezed as hot air rattle in his chest. A tear of sweat ran down his nose six-year-old nose.
“Did you hear me kid?” the thin Asian twenty-year-old called from behind the counter. His voice echoed through the empty store. “Can I help you find something? What are you looking for back there?” He wasn’t a large man, but everyone was a giant to Fox, the scrawniest kid in the first grade.
Fox gulped and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with his right hand. With his left he squeezed the two Hershey bars he was planning to steal. He saw no way past the giant at the counter. He wheezed again and thought some more.
“Kid, what do you need? You okay?” the worker said kindly.
Fox rubbed his short-cut, bright red hair. He looked down at the candy. His teacher Ms. Lisa always said it was best to tell the truth. “Tell the truth above all else,” she said. He could hear her voice in his head repeat the phrase over and over.
Fox swallowed his panic. He knew he couldn’t steal. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. It simply wasn’t in him.
The six-year-old walked to the register. His eyes barely reached the top of the counter. He placed the two candy bars in front of the man. “I need these,” the Fox said softly.
“That’ll be four-fifty-six,” the worker said punching buttons on the register.
Fox sighed. He thought about what was waiting for him outside if he didn’t come out with the candy. He wanted to cry. Pushing back tears, he clinched his little fists and rallied his courage. “I don’t have any money,” Fox’s voice cracked, “But I need them.”
The Asian man picked up the candy and began to say “no” but something about the boy’s sad eyes gave him pause. If the store were busy, he wouldn’t have given the kid a second glance, but what else did he have to do? “Why do you need them?” he asked suspiciously.
Fox looked at his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I just do,” he said, choking back tears.
“Well,” the kind worker said leaning forward on the counter. “I can’t just give away candy. You’ve got to earn it.” He looked the boy up and down. “Do you have any skills? Anything you can do to earn the candy?”
Fox looked up from his shoes and gave the man a sly grin. He took a step back from the counter. The man smiled, eager to see what the little boy would do to get candy.
With his hands by his sides, Fox focused on the radio playing softly over the store speakers. It was a commercial for a car lot. He waited. His expression was intense. This was serious business. The man didn’t know it, but this wasn’t about candy. Fox was dancing for his life. The commercial ended and a song began. As the first beat hit, Fox stepped forward with his left foot. With the confidence of a lion, he thrust his left hip rhythmically in time with the music, imitating a dance he’d seen an actor do in his grandmother’s favorite disco movie. Next he added a shoulder jerk to the hip thrust. The two motions continued in harmony for a few seconds, then the show really began. Suddenly there was snapping and twirling and jazz hands and power kicks. Through the entire performance Fox maintain locked eye contact with the cashier, willing the man to give him the candy.
The worker was stunned. His mouth hung open, speechless. At the end of the song Fox threw his hands up in victory and looked to the ceiling as a dramatic gesture of completion. The cashier laughed and applauded furiously. “Wow,” he said holding his hands up in surrender. “That was totally worth two candy bars.” He removed his wallet from his back pocket, took out a five dollar bill and put it in the till. Then he passed the candy bars across the counter.
Fox left the store holding the candy bars with both hands. He was proud of himself. Less proud that he’d won the candy with an impromptu dance, more that he hadn’t been forced to steal. He ran down the hill toward the basketball courts where he knew his brother was waiting.
Randy was eight years older than Fox. He was lean and tall, a natural athlete; but his complete lack of discipline and poor temperament had kept him from excelling in organized sports. Unlike most younger brothers, Fox had never looked up to Randy. The older boy was cruel. He punished he ruled his younger sibling with fear and violence. Fox hated Randy and spent most after school hour trying to stay away from him.
Randy was where he always was in the afternoon, shooting baskets and smoking his delinquent friends. Seeing Fox stumbling down the hill, Randy passed the ball to a friend and walked over to meet his younger brother.
Fox slowed when he saw Randy coming. He approached slowly, holding the two candy bars out as a peace offering. Randy stopped at teh base of the hill and waited. When Fox came within arm’s reach, Randy snatched the bars with his left hand. With his right, Randy pressed his palm hard into Fox’s forehead and pushed the younger boy to the ground. Ashes from the lit cigarette Randy held between his fingers fell into Fox’s hair, burning the young boy’s scalp. Fox yelp with pain, brushing his hair with both hands.
“Just two?” Randy said with angry disappointment. He kicked Fox in the ribs. Hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to do damage. “There’s six of us playing ball. What are we suppose to do with two candy bars?”
Fox said nothing. He straightened his glasses and stared back at his brother with anger. He knew better than to try and stand. He’d learned to wait for Randy to bore before getting up.
“You’re worthless,” Randy said, kicking at Fox again. The younger boy grunted, but refused to cry. Randy laughed at his younger brother’s resolve. He ripped open one of the candy bars and sneered at his brother, “You better bring more than two tomorrow. Or else.” Then he turned and jogged back to his pack.
When the automatic doors slid open, the worker was surprised to see the red-headed kid return the next day. The store was full. A line of five adults were waiting to check out. Most held coffees and plastic wrapped pastries. A few had cold sodas from the refrigerated case in the back. An elderly man with a brown cane stood at the head of the line, debating which lottery numbers to select. Six other customers milled about the aisles, searching for the items they needed. Fox stopped inside the front door and took in the scene.
“No time for a dance today, kid,” the worker called as he punched the elderly man’s lottery ticket numbers into a square read machine. “To many customers. Maybe tomorrow. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
Fox grinned in reply. He knew the same trick wouldn’t work twice. He’d come prepared. Fox took off the small superman backpack he was wearing, set it on the floor, unzipped it, and reached inside. From the bag he retrieved a small, empty grape jelly jar and a scrap of cardboard from a pizza box. On the cardboard, scribbled in black marker were the words:
WIL FLEX FOR 50 SENTS
Fox placed the jar on the ground at his feet, then he meticulously leaned the sign against it so the words could be read by everyone in line. Finally he stretched his arms above his head, cracked his knuckles, and rolled his shoulders like a boxer preparing for a fight. Then he let his hands fall to his side and stood still, as straight as a statue. Fox’s face was expressionless and his eyes blankly stared forward.
The adults in line looked at him with curiosity. A portly man in a poorly fitting grey suit, standing third in line, laughed. He fished in his pocket for changed. Pulling out two quarters, the customer leaned forward and dropped his change in the jar at Fox’s feet. Then he took a step back into line to watch what the scrawny kid would do.
Fox didn’t make eye contact with the customer in the suit. Instead, he bent his arms into a horseshoe, gritted his teeth, and flexed every muscle he could for as long as he could. The strain caused the small veins in Fox’s neck to protrude. A growl escaped from his throat. After a few seconds the six-year-old stood up straight again. His face returned to its expressionless, blank stare as if nothing had happened.
The line of customers burst into laughter, shaking their heads. One at a time they each paid. Every time money fell in the jar, Fox struck a different pose. After he had flexed for the ninth customer the kind worker behind the counter called, “Alright, that’s enough. Go get your candy.”
Fox snatched up the jar and ran to the back of the store. He grabbed two Hershey bars and then sprinted to the counter with glee. He couldn’t believe his plan had worked. He put the jar on the counter, said, “Thank you.”
Mustering his courage, Fox stepped toward the door to take the loot to his brother. Fox stepped toward the exit and the automatic doors slide open, but the young boy stopped short. An idea had struck him. He turned around, his eyes gleaming with thought. Fox looked at one of the customers at the coffee bar. The man was pouring creamer into an extra large Styrofoam cup.
Fox walked over to the man and pulled on his pant leg. “Excuse me sir,” Fox said softly. “I need your help.”
Randy again met his brother at the bottom of the hill, but this time Fox didn’t slow. He didn’t want Randy to push him again. He didn’t want his brother’s hands on him. Instead of giving Randy the chance, just before reaching the older boy, Fox slid on his back like a baseball player coming into home. Fox stopped just before colliding with Randy’s legs. From the ground, Fox held up the two candy bars, one in each hand.
Randy was confused. He looked down at his younger brother, not sure what to make of the slide. He took the candy and kicked the boy in the ribs. Fox grunted but smiled with pride at the clever way he’d avoided Randy’s cigarette-ash-shove. “You think you’re cute,” Randy said again kicking the boy a second time. “You’re not cute,” he barked. “You only brought two again.” He kicked his brother a third time, adding more force.
A small yelp escaped Fox’s throat. The young boy was immediately disappointed in himself for showing weakness to Randy. The older brother laughed and kicked him again. “I told you more than two this time,” Randy said. “What are you? Some kind of retard?”
Still laying on the ground, Fox rubbed his left ribs with his right hand. “If you’re so big and smart, go steal them yourself,” Fox replied.
“Yeah right,” Randy laughed shifting his weight to his other foot and kicking Fox on the right side.
“You’re scared,” Fox said softly, fighting back tears. Gaining confidence, he added more firmly, “You’re a scared little baby. You send me to do it because you’re a scared little baby.”
Randy kicked Fox on the right harder. “Shut up,” he yelled.
Fox’s sides ached. He didn’t want to be kicked again, but he knew he couldn’t stop. Instinct told him to press forward, to go through with the plan. “You can’t do it,” Fox mocked the older boy. “You can’t get candy like me ’cause your a scared little baby.”
Randy kicked his brother one more time. The fifth kid was so hard it made Fox choke and then groan in pain. Randy laughed. “I’ll show you how to do it like a man,” he said with confidence.
Randy strutted into the store with no fear. If they’d let his kid brother get away with stealing there was no way they were going to stop him. He paid no attention to the line of customers or the worker behind the counter. Marching down the center aisle Randy grabbed a handful of Modtown Meat Snacks jerky sticks and shoved them into his front pocket. Next, arriving at the candy, he bent down and took the entire box of Hershey bars. With the candy under his arm and the jerky in his pocket, he turned and started back toward the door.
“Hey,” the worker shouted angrily, recognizing what was about to happen. “You need to pay for that.”
Randy didn’t look up. He didn’t make eye contact. With a big grin and his head down, he kept walking. “They didn’t stop Fox,” he assured himself. “They won’t stop me.” He stepped passed the line and toward the door with confidence.
“Hey!” the worker yelled again, this time louder. “You have to pay for those!”
Randy laughed to himself as he reached the exit. He was giddy. “What an idiot,” Randy thought. “Why would you only take two?” The automatic doors slid open in front of him and he stepped into the afternoon sun. His mouth watered as he imagined eating the spoils of his theft.
Randy turned to head back down the hill, but was stopped short. A strong yank from behind on his shirt collar took the thin boy off his feet. His back hit the concrete hard and he yelp. Before he could move, strong hands flipped him onto his stomach, crushing the candy bars under his stomach. Randy was in shock. His mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He strained his neck to see the powerful person pinning him to the ground.
The police officer was in all black. He wore black sunglasses. Randy’s fearful eyes were drawn to the the black metallic gun on the officers hip. Randy winced in pain as the officer forced his hands together. A zip tie ripped at the skin of Randy’s wrists and he moaned in pain. He could taste terror induced vomit in the back of his throat. Tears filled his eyes. He sighed and looked forward.
There at the top of the hill, leaning on a parked car was Fox. The six-year-old stood silently, smiling in victory.
———————-
If you want to read more Grimm BMore Stories, check out the links below:
The Skillful Hunter Part Three
More to come…
