This time, I wake up in the forest. It’s been a while since I wake up in a fairy tale, so at first I think it’s a dream. Most of the time, when you think about the forest, you think about chirping birds and filtered sunlight through the canopy, but when you have no idea where you are or how to get out, it’s feakin’ scary.
I push my hands into the dirt and get up on my feet. Before I let myself panic, I start walking. The forest looks the same in every direction, so it’s not like I can make the wrong choice. I can kind of tell that the sun is high up in sky, but it’s still dark down here.
I wander for a long time. I mean a really long time. I won’t boor you with the details of my fruitless journey; just know that by this point I’m tired, hungry and thirsty. Mostly, I’m tired. (I think that totally goes against Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs or something. Just take my word for it. I’m bushed.) Maybe this is a really short fairy tale and it’ll end soon all on its own. A girl can hope. So I kneel down and scoop up a big pile of pine needles to sleep in.
Can I just say: there’s a reason they’re called needles. I fold my arms under my face, but the rest of me is still being pricked to death. It’s like I’m not even wearing any clothes; they just poke right through.
I roll off the pile of death-mulch into the dirt. I guess I’m tired enough that I can sleep on the hard ground.
When I wake up, I wonder what the heck kind of fairy tale I’m in. I know there are a lot that involve wolves. As soon as I realize that, I sit upright and look over each shoulder. I have a healthy respect for big dogs. Big dogs have big teeth. But wolves have fangs. Do you hear wolves before they attack? Are talking wolves different from regular wild wolves?
That’s when I notice a line of small rocks on the ground. A trail! I stand up and brush myself off. I’m smiling pretty big. If I’m right, not only is this trail going to lead me to a house made of food, but I get to shove a nasty witch into an oven. Not bad for a day’s work.
Part 2/2 of Hansel and Grettle, Meet Ivy Thorn