Crystals & Crows || A Collection of Short Stories

Little Red

"Gran?"

"Ruby? Is that you?"

"Sure is."

"Oh, your grandfather will be thrilled to see you. He's just outside picking apples..."

Ruby smiled stiffly, though she was struggling to breathe. The air was thick with the smell of ash and something so sharp that she was sure it was the stench of death.

In fact, her grandmother looked like death. Her eyes were closed, her chest hardly rising. If it hadn't been for the wheezing, Ruby would have doubted that her heart was beating at all. 

The sight alone was enough to make Ruby's heart ache. 

She didn't want to stare at her grandmother. But she also couldn't bear to look at the room; the curtains were limp, the walls were dented, and there were even iron bars across the windows. It looked like a concrete pen – a prison, even. It certainly didn't look like it belonged to a dementia ward.

"Grandma?" Ruby said. "How are you?"

She couldn't help but hold her breath as her grandma slowly pried open her swollen eyes. Her gaze slid over to Ruby, fingers clinging onto the sheets as if they had been cuffed there.

"Ruby? Is that you, dear?"

"Yes, Gran. It's me."

Her grandmother offered her a weak smile. "Oh, your grandfather will be so happy to see you. He's just outside picking apples..."

Ruby felt her heart sink to her feet.

Oh, her grandfather was picking apples alright. He had been picking apples with another woman for years now, while her grandmother rotted away in the small little room.

With a sigh, she moved to the small table at the very corner of the room, where a basket lay. Ever so slowly, she pulled out the teacups and teapot, the biscuits and plates, the grapes and apples.

She hoped that it would jog her grandmother's memory a bit. She hoped it would make her talk.

But the second she raised the apple into the air, she saw her grandmother's eyes turn wide. She saw the old woman tremble as her gaze found the fruit, saw her rise from the bed and snarl.

And her eyes-

"Gran?" Ruby asked. "Are you okay? Your eyes are red."

Her grandmother's feet found the cold tiles, and her lips were tight as she said, "It's so that I can see you clearly, you little witch."

Ruby stumbled back upon hearing those words.

Her grandmother never spoke like that.

"Where is he?" the old woman demanded, inching closer. "What did you to do him, you witch? Where is my husband?"

"Oh, Gran..."

"Where is he?"

For a cold, wicked second, Ruby could only stare silently as her grandmother edged towards her. She didn't know what she could do – cry out for help? Call a nurse?

Besides, it was her grandmother. She would never hurt her.

But then she saw her grandmother rip a teacup away from the table and raise it threateningly in the air.

"Gran," Ruby said. "I think you should put that down..."

"Where is my husband?"

Ruby took another step back, then another. She felt the cold wall behind her, digging into her very skin, making pain splinter right to her very bones.

"Your veins are sticking out, Gran," Ruby tried to say, though her voice shuddered with all the might of a storm. "The veins on your hands... why are they doing that?"

"So that I can slap you, you little witch."

Ruby dropped the apple and closed her eyes, just in time to see her grandmother raise the glass into the air. With a growl ripping through her throat, the teacup itself whistled as her grandmother swung it down onto her, her breath hot, her withered lips curled back into a snarl, her teeth yellow and rotting and-

And-

There was a sharp squeal of glass against glass.

But Ruby felt no pain.

Instead, when she opened her eyes, she found that the teacup was just a litter of glass shards along the floor. The apple, too, lay there, bits of glass already burrowed through the dark red skin.

Her grandmother, though, looked completely blank. Empty. Her eyes were no longer rimmed red, her veins had faded back into dim blue lines beneath the papery skin, and her snarl had turned into a thin smile.

"Ruby? Is that you?"

"Sure is, Gran."

"Oh, your grandfather will be thrilled to see you. He's just outside picking apples..."

Word Count: 735

Prompt by Platonic_Soulmates: Write a scene from a classic fairytale or myth in modern times, making it relatively clear which story you're using.

For this prompt, I decided to use Little Red Riding Hood, and set it in a dementia ward. As someone who has been volunteering in an aged care, this story is quite close to him.

HOWEVER. That being said, please do not interpret this story to mean that 'dementia = monster/evil wolf'. People with any type of mental illness are not monsters. This short story was just pointing out that, sometimes, illnesses make us not who we think we are.

Look after your family, folks. :) Remember to always show them love where and when you can.