To Grandmother's

Little Red Riding Hood has become a huge influence on my muse. Written October 2008.

 

“HELLO,” she says.  She breathes, and he smells her blood—it makes him hungry.  No—thirsty; it is the sight of her flesh that aggravates his constant hunger. “Hello,” he manages, rough-voiced with inner perspiration.  He takes her in: beautiful girl.  Red hood.  Dark curls—hello, little girl.  “Where are you going this fine day?” “To Grandmother’s,” she answers, and points to one of the paths at the fork, marked by a sign on which has been painted a bright red pin.  “I go the way of pins.” “Ah,” he says, truly sorrowful.  “I take the path of needles.” “Alas!” says she, but smiles when she does it—insincere.  “Perhaps I shall see you again.” “Yes,” he says, mind leaping to a grey-haired grandmother, juicy with age and wisdom.  His hunger stirs fiercer.  “Perhaps.” And when she goes down the pins’ path, singing to the flowers, he races down the path of needles, starving.

Reviews

[PaperHearts]

I loved this! I thought that it was really intriguing and thought-provoking. I was captured from the very first line and was totally immersed in the mere spookiness of this piece until the very end. I loved the last sentence of this story, and also the whole concept of pins/needles.
This was a really well-written story,
~PaperHearts

[Spit_and_Prayers]

Ooo, this story just oozes of allegory. My first thought is you should extend it, it works in it's brevity, but I believe it could be the foundation for something wonderful! Perhaps explore all the possible metaphors that could be formed from the wolf meeting Red Riding hood. Well written.