The color RED

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Once upon a time-oh, dear, scratch that. I think you've already heard of that first-liner. Hmmm, how about this-
There once lived a very quiet-
No, that won't do.
Here, I've got it:
In the wolf-ridden forests, there will never be a chance for the girl with the red hoodie to fall for a silent lumberjack.

Submitted: May 12, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 12, 2013




{The color RED}

“My grand-mère is sick.”

You turn your profile to face the girl with the red and ragged hoodie, the pale complexion and the dark, dark ringlets. Her colourful irises are widened in fear and they reveal an open window to her soul. You feel her desperation and clamor reaching out to you. “In which part of the woods does she live?” You ask, reaching for her tenderly but she moves away from you, snapping twigs and branches, “at the other side of these woods,” she drops to a whisper, “we have to go now. Please.” You slowly nod your heard, willing to do anything for this girl, the one you love and need. You pick up your axe and lead the way and she follows, like a lamb and her shepherd, in company.

Unaware of the Wolf lurking behind.

The woods smell more musky and sweet with her jogging beside you. You plan to keep this memory forever in the deepest corner of your mind, knowing that she won’t.

This reminds you of the first time you met.

It was in the middle of the school year, when she intruded in your working area. You were chopping up more wood; the sweat of your body was a mere nuisance. Your uncle had almost choked on his own vomit and it was up to you to provide for the fireplace…again. You remembered that it was too hot.

When she stumbled into your part of the woods, she brought a cool breeze.

You decided to call her Little Red because of her stature and scarlet hoodie. You recalled her from school as the lonely one sitting at the back of the classroom. She stared at you, “I’m lost.” She took your chuckling response as an insult and glared at you before turning to go. You didn’t want Little Red to go, you realized.

“Wait up, stay! I’ll help you!” You caught up to her. Little Red glanced back at you and started sprinting. You swore loudly and followed suit. After 15 minutes of this, she finally dropped in a meadow. “I know you,” you lied down beside her, “you’re that girl who won that art competition last year.” She turned around to face you and said, “It’s no use remembering your name, I’ll forget you anyway. I have amnesia fallouts every day.”

Another perplexity, this fact about Little Red, that made you love her more.

“That’s cool, I like to stay mysterious.” You responded coolly.

“You’re that lumberjack’s nephew; the girls always giggle your name.” She bit her lip.

“Shh, the Wolf might be near,” you stood up and jokingly checked behind every nearby tree, “It fancies me, so it’s easily jealous of other girls.” A laugh from Little Red.

Your heart beat faster and it seemed to have a mind of its own when you heard her laugh.

And so start the weekends full of “coincidental” meetings with Little Red, who always forgets you and where she was going. This made it a challenge for you-make her laugh every day she forgets you. She always went to her grandmere’s house every Saturday and you made it your goal to follow her route, in order to “stumble” upon her.

“Hey, are we any closer?” Little Red is huffing and panting already. She has tied her red hoodie around her waist and is struggling to catch up with you. Her voice jerks you out of the memory lane and you promptly answer “we’ll be there soon, in five minutes.” Little Red’s grand-mère was your optimum customer when it came to your wood business. But you were doing it for her grand-daughter whom you hope will one day remember you every day, just like you do with her reminiscence.

Suddenly, rustling is heard and is accompanied with growling.

You clutch your axe tighter and tell Little Red to run.

She stays frozen in place as soon as she sees the Wolf.

“RUN, I TOLD YOU TO RUN!” you shout back at her and miss sight of the Wolf, who’s obviously encircling you and her, its prey. Little Red’s pallid expression was covered with fear and she stumbled into a rock while backing away from you and the Wolf. You ignorantly turn your head away, swinging your axe almost playfully. You don’t notice the Wolf’s pounce on Little Red until the very last moment.

Time slows down.

You observe the meadow before taking in the space between Little Red and the Wolf. It’s more ferocious close up, with its yellow snarled teeth and thick, shaggy coat. Little Red’s profile is more startled than fear. Without her, your existence would be hollow. Or a hole filled with chopped wood. There’s only one thing to do.

You place yourself in between them and swing your axe high above your head, aiming for the Wolf.




You feel yourself falling on the meadow in agony, and realize that the Wolf has opened up your chest with its massive claws. Blood pours out as if your torso is crying gory tears. The pain is intolerable. But if she’s alive you can take it, yes you can make it. You’re going in and out of consciousness and the woods’ colours seem to mix and warp together. At least the Wolf is dead or gone.

Where is your Little Red?

She’s weeping silently for you, and you can feel her putting something on you. Something soft that oddly feels like the color red.

You’re pretty sure you’re screaming now.

The suffering’s too much.

“Grand-mère’s house is so close! Please stay for a little longer.” She pleads into your ear. You chuckle silently and think, where else will I go?

Even you know it’s too late.

You turn to face her now and with strength, you caress her wet eyelids softly.

Her hoodie’s on you, you notice.

She’ll forget you again tomorrow, but she’ll wonder why the lumberjack’s nephew has her red hoodie in his cold dead hands, when she goes to your funeral.

© Copyright 2020 Friday Maria. All rights reserved.

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