Red

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Imagination Station
What was once a story for children is now the only chance of survival.

Submitted: February 09, 2016

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Submitted: February 09, 2016

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Little Red ran across the floor of the forest, snapping twigs and branches beneath her ruby slippers with each step. Keeping track of the sun’s trajectory in the sky was just as important as getting away from whatever was chasing her.

Ragged clothing, spiked teeth, ears tilted towards the sky, all on top of one hell of a mound of terrifying fur; that was what was chasing her. The wolf, who had always had it out for her, even in her early years, was right behind her. Even when her crimson hood was only a scarf, the wolf watched. His yellow eyes burning with a wistful longing have torn into her soul since the day of her birth.

Now wasn’t any different.

Red flew through the outcropping, shoving shrubs and litter to the side to make room for her illustrious glowing gown. Any passerby or animal eyes could’ve mistaken the speedy red bullet for a simple trick of the eye. Sometimes Red felt like she was a trick, or a mistake, or an accident, or…

No, she thought, Granny told me otherwise. I mean something. Not only to her but to the world.

Red’s Grandmother was there for her when her mother was not. Her father was never there, never existent. He left Red’s mom after the birth, and her mom just couldn’t handle the stress of it all. Despite those horrid, falsely appealing retellings of Red’s story that the girl despised so much, her mother never sent her to Grandmother’s house. Red lived alone, traveled alone, and went to Grandma’s alone.

The trees grew dim and dank, shutting the setting sun off from the rest of the world. As dawn turned to dusk, light to dark, Red’s hopes seemed to be running slim. Loose branches tug and gnawed at her overcoat, slowing her down, bringing her closer to the claws of the wolf.

Almost, she thought.

Almost.

Almost…

The house was in sight now. Her Grandmother’s house was a place of refuge. That was the only truth in the fairytales, the only glimmer of all things good that Red had going for her. Her Grandmother provided a future for Red and urged her to continue to grow and learn. Red considered her Granny to be her idol, as she was the only authority in her life.

Red nearly tripped when she saw the red brick house, its white, painted windows, its stout little chimney; all the pieces she knew and loved were still there, and so was the safety that came with those pieces. Making one final dash, Red flew through the piles of leaves resting on the ground, allowing the light from the moon to illuminate her hood through the now airborne foliage.

The wolf scraped and scribbled against the wooden door as Red slammed it shut into its face. 

“Granny,” she called, “I’ve made it.” Panting, Red slouched and slid down the wall that held the coat rack. Relief flooded her limbs. She didn’t bother hanging her hood; the carpeted floor was as good a place as any. The grunting and scratching seemed to have stopped as a bellowing wind was heard blowing through the open kitchen window.

Where could she have run off to, Red thought. Her Grandmother seemed to be out.

“Granny! Are you home?”

Outside the door of the house that Red thought was safe came a familiar voice. Red’s eyes grew wide, her world now crumbling down at the seams, the thread once used to hold her life together now dissolved down into the crumbs of a beggar’s bread.

“Yes, dearie, can you please open the door now?” asked Red’s grandmother, seemingly oblivious to prior events. “It’s a bit chilly out here, and my clothes seem to be in quite a state.”


© Copyright 2019 Hanorbi. All rights reserved.

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