Now then, I’m sure you’re all familiar with the tale of “Jack the Giant Killer,” and the beanstalk he climbed to reach the giant’s castle high up in the clouds.Well, my friends, that tale is highly exaggerated in the favor of that good-for-nothing, thieving, liberal, Englishman. In fact, the truth of what really happened is quite different. I know this for I am the giant’s brother, who saw the whole matter take place from my castle not far away. The truth of how it all really happened is quite different.
First off is my family’s state of wealth and well-being. We obtained it not from thievery or treachery as that scoundrel Jack, but from good old-fashioned entrepreneurship. We did not rob and pillage villages as so many would like to believe about us, but we were in fact farmers and inventors. Not only that, but with a bit of knowledge in the ways of magic, which is where our wealth came from. For years we held the patent on a form of bean crop that my brother and I had created. It had the ability to grow very large and plentiful crops within very short periods of time. This was extremely useful to giants, for after all, we do need to consume large amounts of food per day due to our size and dietary needs. My brother and I named them “Magic Beans.” This was all true until one day the majority of our beans were stolen by an odd man who had a fetish for bovine. This is how I believe that murderous Jack must have attained them, for as the tale says, he traded a cow for them.
If one is familiar with the tale, they will know that the beans were planted and grew into a great beanstalk. (As they are very well supposed to do.) As those familiar with the tale will also know, being curious as humans are, he climbed it to the top where he found my brother’s castle. After breaking in, (Note this being only one of several felonies he would commit.) the scandalous Jack then tried to move in on my brother’s wife, and ate his food. After having been taken advantage of by the man-whore Jack, my brother’s wife heard him returning home. Returning from a long hard day of work, trying to figure out what to do with the company now that most of our crop had been stolen.
In a fit of confusion, she hid the vile Jack deep within a secret location we’re yet to know of. My brother arrived to the presence of what he could tell was a less than faithful wife. Thus my brother, being quite the songs-men, as he was revered not only for his business skills but vocal talents, sang out “Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman, Let him be alive or let him be dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.” Now, giants don’t typically eat people, it’s not among our favorite foods, but he could tell that much of his meal had been eaten. And after all he was upset for he had a long day and knew his wife had possibly been unfaithful. He searched the castle, for it was possible that someone was there, but that sneaky Jack was well hidden, and my brother gave up in time. When my brother had finally eaten, he went off to try and rest, in hopes of getting some peace in the day. Yet that no good cutpurse Jack stole the bags of gold my brother kept and fled the scene of the crime. (For this is how giants keep our gold, not in wallets or the like.)
The next day while my brother was off again working hard to save his company, that scoundrel Jack would break into his home a second time. This time, he stole from my brother his prize hen that laid golden eggs. Eggs that are not only valuable, but are among giants’ favorite dishes. As my brother returned from work to find his prize hen missing, he was obviously upset. Who wouldn’t be after all, if someone had stolen money from you, made with your wife, and had now stolen your prize hen?
Then as if that wasn’t enough, that brigand known as Jack would break into his house a third time. This time to steal his beautiful and lustrous harp, that would sing for him as he wished. It was the one thing that was left to him by our mother, and he cherished it very much, until that robber Jack came along. When Jack tried to take it, the harp sang out to my brother not wanting to be taken by such a dirty thief as Jack. So my brother was obviously angry, as anyone would be. Having now separated from his wife because of the conflict caused between them by Jack, and having had his gold, his hen, and now the one heirloom of his mother stolen from him, my brother was now quite angry. (Anger at this point would be justifiable would it not?) He ran after the dirty thief as fast he could, but that slippery Jack had made it to the bottom of the beanstalk spawned of our “magic beans.” Then he and his harlot mother cut the stalk down, causing my dear innocent brother to fall to his death that day.
Meanwhile, today that murderer, Jack, and his mother reap the rewards of his illegal antics. Frivolously spending their stolen gold, selling and eating the golden eggs that are rightfully ours, and forcing the poor harp to play for them as they poorly maintain her. While my family morns the loss of one of our finest, most handsome, and intelligent members. A giant with what was a bright and worthy future, shattered by that loafer “Jack the giant Murderer!”
Composed through the mind and medium of:
Phil McKinney
