I took a creative writing course recently (it was why I started Adaptation Analysis) and each week, we would be given thirty minutes to write a story based on whatever oddities our professor came up with. Sometimes it was as simple as "what does the abstract painting on the cover of your textbook look like." Other times we were loosed upon the unsuspecting townspeople of Bum Fuck, Kansas, looking for things we could use to create our own versions of A Martian Sends a Postcard Home. While I had to turn in my original writings (most of them sucked anyway so it's not like I lost much), I still have the assignments themselves and a pretty good memory of what I wrote. Here's a recreation of one of the stories that I didn't think was so bad. We were asked to describe how mythical characters (such as Santa Clause, Gandalf and Mario) might try to solve today's problems. I chose to write about Robin Hood; partially because I suffered from a crippling addiction to the Disney cartoon as a child and I have yet to fully achieve sobriety.
Things were different once. I used to be a hero. I was cheered and beloved by the common-folk; but everything has changed. First of all, caravans are nearly impossible to rob these days; now that they replaced horses with explosions. And while we're on the subject of robberies, have you ever tried pulling off a bank heist with a bow? Yeah, a bow. You'd figure somebody would have thought to inform me that the weapon had been obsolete for centuries, but apparently the merry pricks didn't consider it important. Little John said he sent me a memo. Great! Not only am I outarrowed, but my right-hand man is making up words now! Don't even get me started on the sheriffs now. Back in the day, I just hung out in the forest for awhile after a big heist, but now? These blighters just won't quit. They'll follow you anywhere. The curs will track you down with goddamn flying machines if they think it necessary! You're buggered. That's the gist of it. It doesn't matter where you run. It doesn't matter where you hide. You're buggered. I take back everything I ever said about the Sheriff of Nottingham. He was a monumental cock, but at least he played fair. Worst he ever did was send that guy from Gisbourne after me. What was his name again? Doesn't matter; he was a vile wretch.
The nobility somehow managed to turn the people against me. It was sickeningly easy, I might add. All they had to do was have their criers call me a "socialist" and just like that I'm the bad guy! All I'm doing is taking from the rich to give to the poor; I don't even know what a socialist is! Friar Tuck suddenly decided that thieving "isn't very Christlike" and won't even speak to me any more. I didn't hear him complain when we were still successful. I once cut off a guy's head and used it to collect my own bounty and he didn't utter a damn peep. Hypocrisy from the Church; shocking I know. On top of that, Marian left me. She said that, while the dashing rogue thing was romantic when we were young, she needs someone she can settle down with. She then accused me of living in the past. I don't know what went wrong. Don't the commoners realize they're being lied to? Don't they see the crimes their nobles commit against them? What happened? I used to be a hero.
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