GRANDMA GRUNT (Hairy Tales)

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Grandmother and Granddaughter Lust - Incest/Taboo - avijihybihyl.ga

A Weapon Shop?! What the Hell?! EXE M. Academy Mighty Switch Force! Massagy Mr. Shadow Mr. Triangle's Adventure mr. President Prologue Episode Mr. Oh No! The Hollywood Roast Oh Again Princess. T Project: R. Reloaded Red Comrades 3: Return of Alaska. Democratic People's Republic of Korea! Super Turbo Demon Busters! What The Heck, Dude? What's under your blanket!? What's under your blanket 2!? Where is my Brain!? Where's My Mommy? Where's My What? Duel Links Yu-Gi-Oh! S Zup! X Zup! Masha Rescues Grandma. When had Gunther become too heavy for Grandma Marit to lift?

Adda helped Grandma Marit to her feet, then gathered Gunther into her arms. The ground soon leveled off, trading its upward slope for a grove of spruce trees capped with snow. The trees leaned into each other like tall sturdy loggers huddling for warmth. Then Adda spied what they were huddling around—the slithering orange and red, the curling dance of smoke, the crackling with which it sang. As they drew closer, Adda saw that Grandma Marit was very right indeed.

What had looked at a distance to be a thickset spruce was not a tree at all but a troll sitting on a log. His ears resembled giant saucers with an unappetizing dish of hair and earwax plopped in the middle. Adda tried not to cringe at his wet-fur scent. Adda winced; Gunther whimpered; the flickers wailed and whined.

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Grandma Marit, on the other hand, looked ready to try wrestling the troll to the ground. There had been a time when she could have, and she had the scars to prove it. With his point made, the North Wind quieted down and drifted on his way. I need that fire. Gunther barked, prodding the flickers into action. Soon the flickers and the embers were flittering about each other and bursting into full flame.

The woods are terribly dark. He scratched a waxy ear, clearly confused as to what to do about such a predicament.

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Adda and Grandma Marit started down the path into the dark, quiet woods where the scent of spruce and snow hung heavy in the air. Grandma Marit regarded Adda with one bristly, questioning eyebrow raised. Adda smirked, quite pleased with herself. But the further they walked, the less pleased she grew. In fact, she grew most displeased with herself.

She may have outsmarted a troll, but Grandma Marit was still on her way to meet Death. And by outsmarting the troll, I helped her on her way , Adda thought in dismay. Perhaps I outsmarted myself as well as the troll! Your tears will freeze to your cheeks and Grandma Marit will die disappointed in her foolish, foolish granddaughter. They continued on in silence, their resignation imprinting the snow as heavily and deeply as their boots.

Her chest grew so sore and tight that it became hard to breathe; she felt as if an entire clan of trolls was sitting upon her. Just ahead, the tree branches formed an archway over the end of the forest path. The woman standing beside Adda no longer looked like strong and sturdy Grandma Marit. This woman was sad and wrinkled and could no longer wrestle a troll to the ground. Her thin lips quivered in the cold, and her teeth disturbed the otherwise quiet night with a percussive chatter.

She deserved to die at home, warm in her bed with Gunther curled up at her feet.

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Adda ran through the archway, Gunther whimpering in her arms. Grandma Marit hurried after them, scolding all the way, but Adda barely heard. Only a few steps out of the woods, Adda halted and let out an awestruck gasp. A white-sheeted landscape lit by moonlight stretched out before her.

A ripple passed through the dark mass, as if she had startled it by bursting out of the woods. The mass moved toward her, undulating across the snow, swallowing the moonlight in shadow. The closer it drew, the colder the air became, until Adda felt as if she were swallowing ice with every breath. Gunther howled; Grandma Marit sucked in a thin, frightened breath. They were standing before Death. The shadowy expanse contracted and expanded, as if blinking in surprise.

Some try to argue; others are just angry. He sounded more like an old dog kicked one too many times than something to be feared. And people in Svalgearyen would get so tired that they just lay down in the snow and slept until they became blocks of ice. They were quite upset when they thawed out in the spring. No one can. Adda swallowed hard, then addressed Death.


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Death seemed so agreeable, but he was still Death. When they reached the heart of Svalgearyen, gasps and curses sounded from within the homes they passed. One man threw open his door and staggered toward them, a hatchet buried in his head, held in place by a frozen clump of blood. What have I done? Adda thought. Regret tried to sneak its way into her heart, but it retreated upon hearing a whimper of longing from poor little backwards-headed Gunther.

He looked up at Adda with pained, watery eyes that told her she had done the man a favor. Soon enough they were home; Grandma Marit propped up in bed with a mug of hot cocoa, Gunther curled at her feet, Adda nestled in a bedside chair. Death coiled a shadowy tendril around his own mug of cocoa.


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They all watched in fascination as he absorbed the chocolaty liquid into his dark nothingness. She winked at Adda, who smiled tearfully in return. As much as Adda still wanted to argue, she knew the time for it was past. Grandma Marit set down her cocoa, gave Gunther one final scratch behind the ears, then lay back and pulled the blanket to her chin.

Death cast his shadow over the bed. Grandma Marit breathed her last with a peaceful sigh, Gunther his with a contented murmur. Adda, though, offered no breath at all; it had gotten tangled up with the grief welling in her chest. She collapsed into a chair beside the fireplace, feeling more like a heap of sniffles than a human girl. The rocker where Grandma Marit should have been sitting was empty and still; the patch of rug where Gunther should have been curled up was threadbare and worn. Their presence, though, was so strong that Adda half-expected Gunther to bark and Grandma Marit to rise from bed and chide her for sulking.

Barbara A. Barnett is a writer, musician, graduate student in library and information science, orchestra library intern, Odyssey Writing Workshop graduate, coffee addict, wine lover, bad movie mocker, and all-around geek. Barbara lives with her husband in southern New Jersey and can be found online at www. Your email address will not be published. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment.

Current Issue. Issue — Jun. A Handful of Sky. Praying she still had the skill to do it, if indeed anyone alive could do it: gather, and sew, four square yards of sky.

Hairy Tales

Black, Like Earth. They hand me long strips of torn fabric. Issue , June 27,



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