Once upon a time, there was a young girl. She loved the color red, and she was kind to many people. She had no name, yet she went by many aliases. "Merry Red", "Cherry", "Sweet Rosebud". However, there was one name she did not like. "Blood Apple," they sometimes called her. Her classmates jeered her with it, her abusive parents chanted it and her tormentors whispered it as she walked by. She was so sick of it to a point whenever she heard the two words, it made her cringe and her breath shuddered. She was participating in the village festival soon that week and she had a heap of work that had to be done. As soon as the festival came, instead of the streets being full of chatter, were full of bright lights and the performers danced and promenaded down the lanes. As Merry Red pirouetted down the aisles, someone called out "Yay for Merry Red!" Merry Red smiled as she did a grand jete and her partner lifted her high and and put her back down gently. Some people in the crowd scowled at her and chanted "Blood Apple!" to make her lose balance. She did her best to ignore them, and it worked. After their performance, as they went out to bow, instead of calling "Merry Red" as usual, they shouted "Blood Apple". When she walked down the street, people threw apples at her and purposely spilled red juices and exclaimed "Oh, Apple! You're covered in blood! Let us clean you up!" They yanked her hair and poured cold water from the river. Why was this happening to her? What did she do to deserve this? Merry Red sobbed and ran to the forest, where she sharpened stick ends. Suddenly, a voice called to her. She was surprised. She wanted to know where the voice was, more importantly whom it was coming from. She trudged deeper into the forest, searching for the voice. she found a man in a straitjacket with emerald eyes, messy blonde hair and thick eyebrows. "Ah, Blood Apple. I have waited for you." She finally had enough. She took the
sharpened stick, smiled madly and stabbed him in his abdomen. The red liquid dyed the stick and her hair along with her dress. She dragged the the corpse throughout the village and smiled madly.
"And that is why they called her Merry Red." I exclaim. "How long did it take for you to make this story," asked Canada. "I finished it last night," I confirmed. "Koppyo! WHY DID YOU KILL ME?!" shouted England. I'll never say.