Gretel fell through the air. Her arm was covered in black dragon-blood. Above her, the dragon was screaming its terrible scream and writhing back and forth. Above that, the moon was trying to spit the disgusting dragon-meat out of his mouth, and cursing himself for missing Gretel’s tender flesh. She watched them disappear into the blackness as she fell.
Gretel would die any moment now. That was clear. She had been thousands of feet in the air. Higher than the ravens could fly. Soon she would hit the ground, and all of her bones would be broken, and her brain would smash through her skull, and her heart would stop beating immediately. Or, she thought, she would land on a sharp branch and be skewered like a piece of meat. Her speed increased as she fell. The cold air grew a little warmer. She could see the stars twinkling at her from above.
Then she hit something. It was soft, and she rolled off it and kept falling. She hit another soft thing, and then rolled off that. She hit a third soft thing, and then rolled off that and into the branches of a tree. She fell all the way down the tree, hitting its leafy branches as she fell. Then she hit the ground.
She was not dead.
She sat up and looked around. She was covered with black feathers. She heard a fluttering sound, and saw three woozy black ravens, missing most of their plumage, settling on a branch overhead.
“Ow,” said the first raven.
“Ow,” said the second raven.
“Ow,” said the third raven.
“That hurt,” they all said at once.
“You saved me!” Gretel said.
“Not intentionally,” said the third raven.
“You just happened to hit us on your way down,” said the second.
“Of course, we knew that would happen,” said the first. “We just didn’t know it would hurt so much.”
Suddenly Gretel leaped to her feet and ran off into the woods.
“Manners!” said the third raven.
“We saved her life, and she just runs off without a thank-you?” said the second.
“She’s going to find her brother,” said the first.
“Oh yes,” said the second.
“We knew that,” said the third.
Gretel tore through the wood, branches slapping at her face, vines grabbing at her ankles. “Hansel!” she cried. “Hansel!” The creepy, child-eating moon shone down through the branches of the trees. She ran by his light.
Ahead, in the shadow of a pine sapling, lay a body. It was facedown on the ground. Gretel slowed and approached it. She turned it over and quickly turned away. It was not Hansel. It had a gash across its chest. And half a head. Gretel got up, swallowed bile, and began to run again.
She saw another body, lying half in a bush. She ran to it and pulled it out. A woman. Her chest was caved in, and her neck was bent at an unnatural angle. Gretel turned and ran on.
Bodies. More bodies. Gretel hadn’t realized so many had fallen. There were dozens of them, scattered, lifeless, throughout the woods.
But where was Hansel? Where was he? Was he as lifeless as these bodies she found in the underbrush? Was he as still? As cold? Where was he?
Then the forest floor began to shine. White pebbles. The white pebbles were lighting her way. She followed them. They brought her to the clearing.
There, standing at the clearing’s center, was Hansel, covered in blood. She ran to him and threw her arms around him. “I’m okay,” he said hoarsely. “It’s not my blood. I was helping the wounded.” She nodded and held him.
They followed the path of shining pebbles out of the woods. As they walked, the creepy moon illuminated the forest floor and the bodies scattered among the silent trees. Some faces were covered in blood, with eyes open but dead. Others were crushed beyond recognition. A hand was lodged in the crook of a branch. A young woman lay facedown, her hair spread out about her bloody head like a halo.
The children hid their faces.
Lost lives.
Empty bodies.
Hansel and Gretel held each other as they walked through the quiet, awful night.
Okay.
Take a breath.
Last story.
Here we go.
HANSEL and GRETEL and Their Parents
Once upon a time, two children, a boy named Hansel and a girl named Gretel, followed a path of shining pebbles out of a dark, bloody wood and into a small town. The inn of the town was lit, and the children could hear loud voices within. They walked to the door. They opened it. They were met with a roar.
“They live!” someone shouted, and they were swarmed by people, slapping their backs, rubbing their heads, embracing them.
“You did it!” they cried. “You survived!”
“And you saved us!” It was the man who had been hiding behind the tree. The woman was next to him. She beamed at them.
“Most of us,” someone said. The cheers began to fade.
“And the dragon?” another asked. Now all became silent.
Hansel and Gretel stared at the people, their faces expectant, hopeful.
“It lives,” Gretel said, shaking her head. “The dragon lives.”
A long, heavy sigh passed through the room.
“We’re sorry,” Hansel said. “We tried.”
“Oh, well that’s good!” There was a young man sitting in the corner. He had a long fresh cut across his face that was yellow with balm. “The children tried! Well, that makes it all better!”
Hansel and Gretel stared at the young man and his grotesque, raw scar.
“They had a cute little idea,” he went on, “and they gave it a shot! Good for you two!” His tone suddenly changed. “Do you know I nearly died out there? Do you know that we all nearly died!”
“We didn’t, though,” said a large man with a beard.
“We didn’t. How many did? How many dead are there?”
There was silence. In their minds, Hansel and Gretel saw the bodies scattered among the trees. Gretel thought of the woman whose hair looked like a halo.
“They’re children!” the scarred man shouted. “Children! We followed children to fight a dragon? What were we thinking? What were any of us thinking?” He put his head in his arms on the table.
A woman nearby placed a hand on his shoulder. She glared at Hansel and Gretel.
The man with the beard stepped up to them. “Don’t listen to them,” he said. “You did good. Most of us lived. No one has ever survived a fight with the dragon before.”
“And what’s this on you?” said a woman, gesturing at Gretel. Gretel looked down. She was covered in the black blood of the dragon.
“We hurt it,” Gretel said. “We took two of its toes and cut the side of its face.” She did not explain that the moon had bitten half of its cheek off. She wasn’t sure they would understand.
Her news was met with a louder roar than the one that had met them when they’d entered.
“Hurt it!” “Took two toes!” “Gashed its face!”
