A Very Grimm Tale

(Caution: Explicit Language)

“Yo, bitch!” He had to lean over his friends to yell through the passenger side window. “Gimme my fuckin’ money!” He hadn’t seen her for days although it had happened before. But now it was getting worse.

She couldn’t hear anything over the music radiating from his car: rhythmic, unintelligible words, the beats so heavy she could feel them thumping in her chest. The car was longer than she thought possible even though it was only a two-door. It was a bright cherry red with long tail fins painted with orange and yellow flames on either side of the trunk. The chrome dazzled in the sunlight as the back end of the car bounced in approximate time to the thumping rhythms.

She thought she heard the word, “bitch,” but wasn’t sure who had said it. She tried to focus on the driver and wondered, not for the first time, how he even operated the car. His sycophants were with him – his regular entourage. Two shared the front bench seat with him and there were four more in the back. As many as there were, they didn't appear crowded in the pristine white interior.

The music shut off abruptly and the car stopped bouncing. She watched, lazily, as the entire car hydraulically lowered itself to the street. The driver got out, walked around the back of the car, and stood directly in front of where she was slumped on the sidewalk in front of the boarded up doorway of yet another out-of-business storefront. They were face to face.

“What are you looking at, you old witch?” he shouted to a homeless woman that appeared to take an interest in what was going on. He started toward the old woman, who quickly turned away and disappeared around the corner.

His voice was softer now but no less harsh. “Bitch, what did you do with my money?”

She smiled dreamily and said, “Snow.” She let out a weak laugh. “White, white, snow.” The laugh became a smirk of satisfaction.

“Fuckin’ high ‘ho,” he said to himself. It was a shame really. She was the most beautiful girl he had. She had fair skin, the fairest he’d ever seen. Her ebony hair had been done up in a white ribbon but now the ribbon lazed around her neck with no purpose. She was still in her working clothes – a dress with a blue bodice and capped sleeves, and short white skirt under which she wore petticoats and not much else. She wore white stockings that came up over her knees but left enough of a gap below her hem through which he could catch glimpses of her smooth white thighs. Her shoes were black patent leather and the ensemble, in total, gave her the look of a young school-age girl.

She was young, of course, but no stranger to the streets. Like most of his girls, she was a runaway with no one who cared enough to come looking for her. Discarded by her family as worthless, or a refugee from a bad situation, he didn’t know and didn't much care. When he found her she was scared and lonely and he was the one to take her in. He was the one to provide her with food and shelter. Didn't she know he had saved her?

He knew he had feelings for her but he also knew she would never want him, that she was waiting for someone else. He softened and tried to lift her to her feet even though he knew it wasn't going to happen unless she participated. “C’mon, now. It’s off to work we go,” he encouraged but she would have none of it.

“Fuck you,” she managed with stale breath.

“Fuck you, bitch!” His earlier demeanor returned in full force. He picked up an apple that was beside her, incongruous in the filthy doorway, and hurled it at her head. It hit here squarely and he hoped it wouldn’t leave a mark. He still needed her to go back to work.

She was too stoned to flinch. She picked up the apple and took a defiant bite. Suddenly, her eyes went wide as she immediately started to choke.

He thought about helping her – he loved her so much – but he just stood there and watched. His entourage was silent as they stared from the car, unmoved and unmoving.

Her eyes begged for help as her face turned red, then blue. She pounded on her chest as the remaining discarded apple rolled to the gutter. They stared into each other’s eyes as they both recognized what was going to happen next.

She leaned against the door’s splintered wood as her struggles ceased. Her face regained its normal color - fair as ever with rosy cheeks and succulent ruby red lips. She was beautiful, even in in death. Maybe even more so. He wanted to kiss her but instead gazed upon her as if she were only in peaceful slumber.

"All I had to do was squeeze her," he thought to himself. He considered trying to dump her body somewhere - he had the help - but he changed his mind. "Fuck it," he said as he turned back to his little friends. "Why get rid of something this beautiful? Why not let everyone see her?"

He got back into his car and pulled away from the curb. “Let’s see someone else save her now,” he said  without ever looking back.

(Thank you to Vancouver Community Library for help with research for this story.)