This was my original writing coursework for my english GCSE. I will be getting my grades back for it soon and I'm actually really proud of it. The brief was to write an inverted fairytale. Mine is a load of bad jokes strung together in some form of an incoherent plot. Let me know what you think. I'll post what grade I get for it as soon as I recieve it.

My Yellow Brick Road is a Red Carpet of Mould

Once upon a time in a land not quite as far away as you might think, in an enchanted forest of buildings threaded with the magical rivers of tarmac called roads, the world was peaceful and quiet. The 4x4 rumbled on in their usual rumbly way, drivers busy chatting on mobiles or primping their hair. Reporters reported, managers managed (barely) and somewhere a prima donna would be having a hissy fit within the next few minutes. In a quiet secluded part of town, on a quiet secluded street, lined with neat ‘semi detached, 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom, an en suite and a swimming pool’ style apartments, everything was, well… quiet. Until something terrible and unthinkable happened. Something horrific and traumatising. Something that seemed to happen every other night in every household across the land. Somewhere, deep in one of those quaint semi detached apartments, a front door slammed open and all hell broke loose.

“Dad! God, how could you embarrass me like that?! No wonder none of my mates want to come over mine! Why are you such a freak?”

In blazed a petite blonde followed by a stumpy man with a wizened face. Spinning on her heels, she glared at him, a scowl marring her usually sweet face.

Rumplestiltskin groaned quietly and rubbed his hand across his face absently. Having a teenager was stressful at the best of times. Add parents evening and an upcoming social event on the weekend made for one sickly cocktail of volatile elements. Chemistry never was his strong point. And he was guessing he had combined the worst possible concoction.

“Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he mumbled beseechingly. Her scowl deepened as waves of anger radiated from her.

“Save it, Dad. You’ve really messed up this time. For god sake, why couldn’t you have just told the stupid teacher your name?! And did you have to dance in front of everyone? Oh and just a little hint for next time, don’t try and bribe my French teacher with straw and a spinning wheel! It really doesn’t help my grades in the slightest. God, I’ll be lucky if anyone ever talks to me again from school, never mind about this weekend!” And with that, the girl turned and stomped up the stairs, her beige Ugg boots thumping on the floor. She disappeared from sight and Rumplestiltskin winced at the sound of a door slamming.

‘Nice going there Daddy,’ he thought bitterly, hanging up his coat and trudging into the kitchen, ‘You’ve managed to ruin the girls social life, embarrassed her to the next century, tried to bribe a teacher, become the most unpopular parent in the entire school and destroyed any form of relationship you had with your own daughter simultaneously in one single night. That must be a new record.’

He sighed, the burden of parenthood feeling like a sack of rocks on his shoulders. He needed a drink and he needed one fast.

Wandering over to the drinks cabinet, Rumplestiltskin fixed himself a whisky, pouring liberal amounts of the smooth amber liquid into a small tumbler. This had almost become a ritual in the past few years. Whoever said parenthood was the best thing ever had been lying out of their a- …bottom. It was hard, and annoying, and depressing, and my god did it give him the worst headaches ever! It wasn’t surprising how the occasional small glass of whisky had soon become the quite frequent small glass until now a few years later - half way through the terrible teen years - he was downing at least two glasses a night with alarming regularity. His liver would be shot to hell but with yet another teenage epidemic looming, he really did not care.

Slumping down onto a sumptuous white leather sofa, Rumplestiltskin leaned over, grabbing hold of the remote and flicking on the TV with a subconscious practiced ease. It flicked and then sparked into life and immediately his senses were assaulted by bright lights and blaring noise.

“… as Hansel and Gretel become just another case of childhood obesity. And in other news, Sleeping Beauty? Pop star singing sensation, Princess Aurora was admitted to hospital late last night for supposedly taking an overdose of sleeping pills. The singer is said to be in a critical, yet stable condition. Our reporter Mike Stephens is on the scene. Mike can you – ‘ The monotone voice of the news reporter was cut short as he hit the mute button. Disgusted, he took a small sip of his drink as images of people, ambulances with their flashing lights and reporters from every news station across the world crowded onto the screen. He closed his eyes and let out an inaudible groan. What was wrong with the world? A society where singers took overdoses of sleeping pills for attention. Where children as young as ten wandered around, flashing their stomachs and legs to the world. Where every time you turned on the TV, you were assaulted with images of people being shot, stabbed, killed every day. Either that or adverts flogging you items that would improve your appearance, make you more desirable to the opposite sex, and it went on and on. It was almost enough to make a dwarf weep.

He sighed and swirled the alcohol around his glass aimlessly. Times had changed, that was for sure. Before, he could pinch a kid and have gobbled them up as a snack on the way home. Nowadays, you popped a child in the oven and they were on the phone to Childline before they were even cooked. Princesses couldn’t kiss a frog any more without the RSPCA breathing down their necks. Times really had changed.

Rumplestiltskin tried to think back to a happier, more pleasant time, before reality had decided to intrude on their little fantasy world. Trouble was, it felt so long ago. A distant memory of a half remembered land. What could have possibly gone wrong?

It had all began to go downhill when one day some stupid mortal managed to stumble onto FairyTale Land. Then it all really started. Tourists. Back packers. Families with screaming kids and stressed out parents, bored teenagers trailing behind spraying graffiti on every available surface. What had once been a peaceful quiet community set out on living their stories and getting their happy ending had become a commercial enterprise. But then the lawyers and entrepreneurs turned up. And then all the real trouble began.

They wanted to take over FairyTale Land, capitalise on it, change it into some giant money making factory. Of course the name was all wrong, so that had to go. And with Canada being already taken, they went for the next best option. Hollywood. There were talks of hotels, movies, record deals, advertising, souvenir shops, chain restaurants and who knows what else. Plans to cover the yellow brick road in some stupid red carpet. Apparently yellow was too garish and so last season. Of course as soon as it rained, the carpet started growing mould. Ha, bet that yellow brick road is suddenly looking a whole lot less garish now! Not only that, they wanted to stick giant letters on the hills surrounding FairyTale Land, now know as Hollywood stupidest name ever!.

Rumplestiltskin knarled and wizened features twisted into a look of revulsion. The most ridiculous thing out of the entire affair had been when the King and Queen agreed. Now, he had always know that they weren’t the sharpest knives in the draw – in FairyTale Land everything was based on looks not actual intelligence – but even that had appeared to be the thickest move ever. But of course they had scribbled their signature on that blasted contract, signing away all of FairyTale Land and life as they knew it at the same time. Trouble was who could blame them? Life was a lot simpler when every book was exactly what its cover said. The bad guys looked like the bad guys; the good guys looked like the good. It was pretty basic; if you had long golden hair or skin as fair as snow, chances were you were the main character and destined to win no matter what happened. The bad guys were always covered in warts, or had terrible hair and a crooked nose. At the very least they had a bit of acne. But these lawyers with their polished suits and oily voices were harder to place. So away they signed and everyone’s world got turned on its head.

Frowning and taking a more violent swig of his drink, Rumplestiltskin blinked away the burning tears that threatened to spill from his shrewd eyes. With the invasion of the real world, everyone had been forced to change. And everyone had suffered. Now they had to play by a different set of rules. And the big hot-shot lawyers and managers didn’t care about doing things by the book. They had a different book to follow. One filled with constraining rules, legal legislations and health and safety codes. So it was bye, bye happily ever after and hello reality. Before the creatures were content to live theirs days waiting for their prince or hiding under bridges waiting for goats. Now they had to go get actual jobs.

A small groan fluttered from Rumplestiltskins’s throat has he remembered some of the disastrous interviews and jobs he had had to suffer. And that was the ones who would actually even agree to see him. Being a fairy tale creature offered little qualifications, and no matter what spin you tried to put on it ‘child snatching’ was never going to look good on a CV. Other creatures were running into similar problems. Well, the bad guys anyway. Most of the good guys could manage for a short while as high fashion models, but that was a dangerous slope to start slipping on. The real world’s treasures came in all shapes and most could be sniffed, swallowed, smoked or shot straight into the veins. It wasn’t long before the tabloids were flooded with tragic sob stories of washed up princesses hooked on heroin with a kid on the way and some trailer trash boyfriend who they thought was their Prince Charming.

But it wasn’t all doom and gloom, he thought, draining the contents of the glass and looking forlornly at the bottle sitting on the counter. Some of the fairy tale celebrities had made quite a success for themselves. There were always exceptions, people who had managed to make it in this cruel world. Snow White made it into the film business, training animals for the big scene. Her work could be seen in blockbuster titles such as Snow Dogs and Racing Stripes. Rumplestiltskins smiled fondly at the stories she had told last time they had met up for a quick chat. Cinderella had set up a very lucrative business in designing and making shoes, she catered to some of the top celebrities now, and it was handy when any of the kids at school wanted autographs. Last he had heard, the smartest of the three little pigs had gone into construction and Jack had become quite a successful landscape gardener. The Three Blind Mice had made a packet suing a company under the Disability Discrimination Act and were now on a cruise around the Mediterranean. He would get a post card occasionally, always blank except for a few smudged paw prints. Life wasn’t all bad, he supposed, in retrospect fairy tale creatures had done all right for themselves on the whole. Getting up, he poured himself a considerably smaller drink before flopping back down onto the sofa, what could have been the beginning of a smile creeping onto his wrinkled face.

But these pleasant thoughts were soon shaken from his head as another loud bang sounded from upstairs, swiftly followed by thundering footsteps and blaring pop music. Rumplestiltskin sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples. He missed life in the good old days. Even if ripping himself apart had been pretty painful, it still had been fun taunting mothers with the threat of losing their child. And he missed catching up with all the other bad guys, swapping intimidation techniques and regaling particularly juicy conquests. Sure he had always lost in the end – that was the way it was supposed to end – but it was fun seeing how far he could get before the knight in shining armour rode in to save the day. Now all the knights he saw were a bunch of wannabe losers in tin foil. But that was life. You had to play with the cards that fate dealt you. Make lemonade out of lemons and all that jazz. He just wished it wasn’t so damn painful. So damn hard. So damn pointless.

So he sat in the dark, just like he had done the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that for what seemed like a hundred years. Just sitting, nursing his drink as the TV flickered with images of horror. Whispering under his breath the rhyme from years ago. Whispering hoarsely, lost in memories of better days.

“Today I bake, tomorrow I brew

The next I’ll have the young queens child.

Ha, glad I am that no one knew

That Rumplestilskin I am styled.”