SFSD-X Short Story Smackdown

4.1 Riding Hood

I ignored the first dog who came out to sniff me as I walked down the trash cluttered street, but by the time there were a dozen circling me I was annoyed enough to act.

"Go on, git!" I hissed at them, slinging a few stones in their direction.

They startled and whined, but ran off. A couple of them returned to the dumpsters and piles to stay close by. Only a few minutes later, they were back, sticking tight to me with all the adoration of starving critters who think there were handouts to be had and let me be their pack leader.

"Go on, now!" I tried again, half-heartedly. It was no use. This was why I only walked the streets at night. That and as a budding vigilante, it wouldn't do for my reputation to be seen window shopping after school was out. If I actually went to school.

At least there weren't any squirrels in the area. No trees in this part of town, they'd been cut down during the riots and used as clubs and torches. After the riots, nothing grew in the parks except dealers, thugs and snow-cone eaters. But I was going to put an end to it. This town would be mine.

Several shadows separated from the darkness next to the old Bake and Buy shop. My destiny was walking towards me, slouched and sloppy. I'd knock it into shape.

"Hey, sweet thing, what you doing out here all by yourself?" a man asked. "Kind of late for a sweet thing like you. Why don't you let me take you home?" Two other men snickered as if his drivel was clever or original. I knew I had to start my training and career per se somewhere, but I yearned for the day I would pit my skills against someone with at least average intelligence.

"Need someone to warm you up, hot-stuff?" another man asked.

As if.

What was interesting to me was the influence of shadows and light. Seeing or not seeing the enemy. Now on the one hand, not being able to see the enemy made fighting more difficult for pretty much obvious reasons that I won't expound on here. But what I've learned was that being able to see could also put you at a distinct disadvantage because of natural prejudice. Prejudice as in judgment, or preconceived notion. Let me show you.

I had a few useful 'talents'. One was what I called The Mason Jar Glow.

I covered the jar opening with my hand and set the glow inside, then set it on the ground upside down. It had about the same luminosity as twenty-watt bulb and would last for fifteen minutes, give or take.

More than enough light and time to do what I had in mind.

"Well, well, well. Lookee here boys. I think I know this Miss," said the first man. He was in his mid-twenties, baggie shirt and pants, knitted stocking pulled tight over long, greasy hair. Pointing at me, he smiled. "Yeah! You know who this is? It's Little Redneck Riding Hood." He clapped his hands to rub them in anticipation.

The other two men whooped and whistled. They surrounded me. My mason jar was doing its job.

"I thought you were older," said one.

"Watch out, man, this is some prime jail-bait. How old are you, like sixteen?" asked another.

"Course, if we were cousins it would be legal." Howls of laughter.

And they thought I was trash. I could smell their beer and cigarette breath from three feet away. The dogs who had initially scattered at the approaching men were slinking forward just outside of the ring of light. They turned in quiet circles, torn between fear of men with knives, and their hankering to be close to me. The three men, however, were laughing it up. If I was easy prey before lighting the jar, I was tempting and easy prey now that they knew I was the teenage girl stirring up trouble and picking fights across town. They believed they had it all in hand.

"Can we skip the bull shit and get to the fight any time soon?" I asked.

The laughter died slowly. The man in front drew a thin blade.

"Tell me, do you bleed..? You will."

"Try me."

I kicked the jar over and extinguished the light. I sensed his thrust in the sudden darkness and absorbed the shock of the hilt in my shoulder. I brought the heel of my hand up to break his nose. Then there were a series of kicks and muffled grunts and moaning as I knocked them on their scrawny asses one after the other.

"You guys are pathetic. My grandmother could take you out, and she's sick in bed," I said, readjusting my red scarf and hood the same grandmother had knitted for me. Except for the single knife attack, I didn't even need to use my powers against them.

It was acceptable fight practice, I supposed, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was going nowhere fast in my efforts at revenge. These guys were a dead end, the same as the alley I was standing in.

"Thtupid bitch, I'll make you pay," said broken nose man.

I scoffed. "Can't accept defeat gracefully, can you? This 15 year old girl just owned your ass." I found what was left of his knife on the pavement and relit the mason jar for his benefit. The blade had rusted clear away and only the hilt remained. I'd have a bruise where it hit me and a hole in my sweater, but not a single scratch.

There were footsteps and scuffling noises behind me. The dogs disappeared.

A newcomer in the street called, "Hey, Red, heard you were looking for the SnowBlower."