Short Story: Rewrite a Fairy Tale

I've been on vacation for the past week, so forgive the lack of posting. A while ago, we had an assignment to rewrite a fairytale of our choosing. We could update it somehow, change the setting, some of the plot, etc., but we had to keep the basic storyline the same. I failed. I just couldn't think of what to change about the story I chose (it was Old Sultan, which was really very bad. I'm not sure why I chose it) and my finished story was too similar to the original. So, for our revision assignment, I chose to redo my failed attempt. Instead of sticking with the farm setting of the original, as well as my first attempt, I made it into a post-apocalyptic kind of thing, somewhat akin to that tv show Jericho (which I don't particularly reccomend, but the setting was very cool).  I think it turned out a bit better:

            Sultan cursed loudly as he threw the tool down into the red dust. Angrily, he nursed a long slice in his weathered hand. After a moment to accept the pain, he looked at his newest injury- it was bad. Shouting more curses into the wind, Sultan slowly propped himself up off the dry, cracked earth. His joints ached and moaned as he made his way to the infirmary cabin.

            “Looks like a good gash there, Sultan,” the Doctor muttered while he examined the wound. “You must have been trying real hard this time.”

Sultan stared bitterly at the Doctor, only to receive a hearty chuckle. After so many years, the people seemed to be used to Sultan’s moods, even his once frightening demeanor.

            “Now then,” the Doctor said, finishing the dressing on Sultan’s fist, “Try not to use this hand for a good week or so. I don’t want you to tear the stitches or anything. I would give you a leave of absence form, but I doubt you need it. It’s not like you’re a critical worker or anything.” The Doctor’s faced flushed as he realized what he had said. “No offense, of course.”

            “Gee, thanks, Doc. It almost sounded like you were concerned,” Sultan’s retort dripped with sarcasm. The Doctor, while often very blunt and abrasive, usually meant well. His good humor didn’t hurt either.

           

Quietly, Sultan slipped out of the medical lodge, hoping to avoid his imminent reprimand for at least a few hours. His hopes were utterly crushed, as Theo Larsan, the Head Foreman intercepted him. Theo was a harsh man, all too focused on his work. After the Third Invasion tore the mid-west apart, he had become a Rebel sergeant for some time, before finally escaping the conflict and coming here. He was tall and strong, with heavy, stoic eyes faceted into his bald skull. In a word: brutal.

            “Can you go two days without hurting yourself, Sultan? This is the final straw!”

            “I am an old man, Theo! I cannot do such hard work anymore.” Even to himself, Sultan’s argument sounded thin.

            “Precisely why I had you building fences,” Theo’s deep voice resonated with anger. “You’re costing us time. And more importantly, materials. I see you lost another hammer while you were out there, not to mention the pry-bar you left in the dust while you were tending to your scratch.”

            “I will find the tools tomorrow, you stubborn boar. Can’t you see that I am injured? Just let me rest.” Sultan tried in vain to push past the imposing Foreman.

            “No, Sultan. You know what this is about. New Oaksborough doesn’t have the supplies, or the manpower, to survive unless all its members contribute. I have no qualms over sending you into the wastelands if you have become a liability.”

            Sultan’s heart trembled. Theo was cold, but he wouldn’t throw him out into the desert. Would he? After the Invasions, and the bio-chemical and nuclear strikes they brought, little survived on the North American continent. Only small areas, near rivers and streams that had not been polluted by fallout had survived. Certainly, an old man like himself would perish.

Theo stalked away, allowing his ultimatum to sink in. Thoughts jumbled Sultan’s head clouded his thoughts. He needed a plan.

Late that night, Sultan found himself walking about the outskirts of the small settlement. His mind would not quiet down and allow him rest. As if by chance, his groggy wandering had brought him near Tad Rennet’s tent camp. Early in the town’s founding, Tab had displayed an impeccable knack for bartering. To exploit this, he and his family- three children whose parents had died in the last cholera outbreak, which Sultan narrowly escaped himself, as well as a handful of scavenging mutts- had moved beyond the bulk of the town, near the only access trail. Tad, being the eldest in the settlement save Sultan, had been a good friend to him over the years. Quietly, Sultan made his way to the larger of the tents and rang the bell. The dogs leapt at the summons, barking madly, thought they knew him well enough. Minutes pasted before Tad finally appeared at the tent flap, hastily dressed in a mismatch of patched clothes. It took him a moment to make out who his visitor was, so late in the night, but he soon recognized Sultan and greeted him with a firm clap on the back.

“Well, old Sultan! It’s a pleasure to see you, as usual. I must admit, I’m a bit surprised to see you out here so late. I thought old farts were supposed to sleep more than this.” Tad exclaimed. “Please, come inside! Have a cup of coffee! I bought some off some southern folk for a couple of corn seeds. What a trade!”

Solemnly, Sultan told his friend of his latest slip-up and Theo’s rueful decree.

“We can’t have that, now can we?” Tad said, as Sultan finished his tale. “I may have a solution, though.”

Sultan’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “Really, now? Do tell.”

“It’s very simple, actually,” Tad whispered. “There is a merchant staying in one of my tents with a less- than scrupulous background.  Since I am the tradesman of our little village, I could ‘procure’ a crate of provisions for the winter from the storehouse. I would claim that I had gotten the crate from a traveler in the night, in exchange for some cloth, and perhaps a little brandy, and have you come by in the morning to take it to the storehouse. We then get my guest to steal the crate, which you leave outside the storehouse until the store master comes with the key, making sure that Theo sees. Then, you chase after the thief. He’ll leave the crate somewhere in the meadow out near the stream. You just have to take it back to Theo, and he’ll think you’re indispensable.”

Sultan considered this for a moment, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Talk to the merchant. Tell him Ill pay him whatever he wants, within reason, after I return the crate tomorrow.”

After his friend had retired back to his cabin, Tad set off down the long road leading into town. He walked silently through the checkpoints along the road, their humvees and machine guns were dusty and stiff from the lack of use in the dry heat. Tad paused for a moment as he fumbled for the storehouse key, nearly dropping them to the ground in the low light, then let himself inside. The large structure was eerie and silent, darkened by the grime on the windows. Carefully, he lit a kerosene torch and removed it from its bracket. He searched for a suitable crate for a few minutes, one that was light enough for Sultan to carry, yet large enough to look important. Tucked into the corner of a shelf, he found a leather-bound strongbox, coated with spider webs. Pulling the chest out, he filled it with a few spare tools lying on the nearby shelves, along with a spare clip of ammo. Tad then locked it with a length of rope and carried it out, careful to hid his footprints. Using the ammo clip to bribe the checkpoint guards, Tad returned to his tent ‘unseen’.

Early that morning, Sultan came back and picked up the crate. Slowly, he brought it back to the storehouse like Tad had told him to. Carefully, he put it down beside the door to the building and went off in search of the store master, who usually locked himself in his small office next to the storehouse to file records. Just as he was returning for the crate with the store master, Tad’s merchant came sprinting from the edge of town. Quickly, he scooped up the box and spun about, heading toward the stream. Sultan sprang into action and pursued the thief, while the store master sounded the alarm bell on the side of the storehouse. Sultan quickly tired, but did not stop running, although his lungs felt as if they would burst, until he was out of sight of the town. As he slowed to a brisk walk, he stumbled over the chest. Cursing loudly as he got up, Sultan grabbed the box and made his way back to town.

            “Sultan!” Theo bellowed as he approached the storehouse. “That was some chase you put on. Looks like you’re finally starting to take pride in your work here, instead of just mouthing off like usual.”

Sultan just nodded slightly at Theo’s attempt at a joke. “Just doing what I can, sir.”

“Heh, maybe I’ll keep you around for a while longer, Sultan. Might be able to use you.”

During the next few days, Theo assigned him easier tasks, helping to keep track of inventory in the storehouse, taking stock orders from the crafters; things he could actually do in his old age. Then, one night, the merchant came to Sultan’s cabin. Sultan greeted him happily, and asked him how he could repay him for his help.

“Get me the keys to one of your town’s humvees, a few machine guns, and ammo for each of them, and we’ll call it even.” The merchant’s voice was rough and low, as if he had been caught in a sandstorm.

“What!” Sultan cried, “How could I possibly get that? We only have three humvees, and not enough guns for each. Even if I were a leader here, I couldn’t possibly get you that.”

“You told me you would pay,” the merchant replied icily. “Do you wish to be revealed? From what I understand, one slip of my tongue could leave you out in the wastelands.”

“I will get you a machine gun, with ammo. But nothing more.”

“Make it two, and perhaps I won’t send you to your death.” The merchant slipped into the night, leaving Sultan standing in his doorway, shaking.

The next night, Sultan snuck out and made his way to the armoury, near the edge of town. Silently, he stole into the backroom, where the gun safe was kept. Amazingly, no guards were stationed in the building. That would surely change after his crime. He finally picked the lock on the safe, and t swung open with a loud creak. Wary of someone hearing, Sultan quickly grabbed to guns, but in his haste he fell into a stack of ammo crates. The crates spilled over the floor of the room, spraying bullets all about. Sultan heard the shouts of nearby people coming to check the noise. Knowing he had little time, Sultan threw the guns to the floor and hid himself in the gun safe. He heard footsteps outside the small enclosure, then the deep voice of Theo, barking orders to the others. One of them walked up to the gun safe, looked over the lock then opened the door. Sultan jumped at the man, hoping to get away before the others noticed. But, he was too slow. The man grabbed him by the collar as he lunged forward, and pulled him into a strong hold. Hearing the commotion, Theo spun around. His eyes turned intense and fiery, anger bubbled through his pupils.

“I’ll have you killed for this, Sultan! You betrayed us all. And to think, I was just beginning to have some hope for you. Throw him into the desert.”

Someone threw a bag over his head, and he heard the sharp crunch of the butt of a rifle against his skull, before blacking out.

Sultan awoke with a start. Slowly, he pulled the blood-stained bag off of his head. The light blinded him for a moment. Slowly, he raised his hands to shield his eyes, and squinted out across the horizon. He was alone.