Twisted Tales
by Richard Campbell
Red
Although Red, as he was known because of the colour of his hair, was a very cute little guy, he had a tendency to drive everyone who knew him slightly insane. He was mischievous (which is not a bad thing in a young teen, provided they don't take it too far) and had no sense of danger (which is a bad thing whichever way it is taken, especially by a young teen). Additionally, he had a predilection to consider orders, warnings and outright commands as amusing suggestions by would be stand-up comedians. He would dismiss them with a sigh and a wish that they would get some new material instead of repeating the same tired old jokes over and over again (which can be fatal for a young teen).
After noting their well meant suggestions falling on deaf, though rather cute, ears, most folk of the adult comedic persuasion would shake their heads and mutter that he was riding for a fall.
Of course he was. It was written in the stars! However, the fall in question, when it was ridden into, did have its amusing side.
Having been told that it was dangerous to cycle too close to the car in front, Red sighed (old joke again!) and proceeded to do just that. After all, the bicycle had been declared King of the Road and laws, rules, even amusing suggestions, no longer applied to it or its rider. So he pedalled furiously down the drive, was a fraction too late to cut in front of a huge vintage American vehicle with an astonishing length of hood (called, for some obscure reason, the bonnet) and squeezed in behind it, a nose length from the vehicle's massive, chromed, rear bumper.
So far so good. Except for the cat which chose that moment to saunter—in the arrogantly casual fashion of the feline—across the road.
The American owner of the monstrosity—still smarting from the comments of a youthful MOT mechanic who had expressed incredulity that such a primitive machine had even been built (let alone still existed!), given a rude (and unasked for!) estimate of its scrap metal value, then sniggered all the way through the following MOT test!—was delighted to demonstrate the efficacy of the old fashioned, non power assisted brakes. He slammed his foot down on the pedal.
The cat, after giving him an affronted look as the vehicle screeched to a halt beside it, continued, without a hair out of place, on its nonchalant way.
Little Red didn't fare quite so well. He certainly continued on his way, but not wholly in the fashion he'd anticipated.
An elegant somersault, which would certainly have gained an Olympic medal had he done it off the high diving board, landed him in the centre of that long bonnet which groaned in protest.
Stunned by the appearance out of nowhere of an over-large (even by old time American vehicle manufacturers standards) hood ornament, the bemused driver pulled himself together and craned his neck for a closer look. Could it be?…Was it really?…Surely it wasn't…it couldn't be…could it…?
He sat back on the vast, old fashioned bench seat, a smile breaking out on his face.
"Well, well, well," he said to himself, "Who would have believed it. It's little Red riding hood!"
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