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Story time, boys and girls.   Settle the fuck down, and listen up.   This is what happened after.

 

So a long time ago, Little Red Riding Hood killed the wolf, of course – because he started it.   But killing wolves must be lucky, or unlucky, or some such shit, because then she was hungry.   A lot.   And soon it wasn’t just wolves – it was young mothers and little boys and old women and wayward brothers.   They were all just goodies to her.

But the law of fairytales says you always want what you can’t seem to have.   And the law of desire insists the most attractive fascinating thing in the world is the very thing you probably shouldn’t do.

And Red Riding Hood took these laws to an artform.   She craved.   She craved with all the gluttony of gingerbread-house vandals and gold-hoarding dragons and magic-curse inevitability.   Everything you shouldn’t – she wanted.

She broke hearts in two and made the metaphor a frequent actuality.   She ate when, where, what and whom she pleased.   She played tricks on her neighbours and games with her family – stealing their self-assurance and hiding it, gobbling up their personal space, breaking off pieces of newly-made py.

And she made a small, dark pubescent monster in her image, and set him loose upon the world.

For a while the prodigy was a new plaything.   Then she kicked it while it was down a lot, and neglected it for a while, and when she came back ready to play with it again, the little bastard bit her back.   So to speak.   It made her heart ache when she left – but only for a little while.   Because it meant her offspring was growing up to be just like her after all – doing all the things he shouldn’t.   Aw.

So Little Red Riding Hood packed her basket and set off to re-visit him: her favorite – ‘relative’.  

Of course, being a fairytale, you never get told motivations or – hell forbid – feelings.   So who the fuck knows why she did it, or what the plan was, or how the game was to end.   Maybe she wanted to remind her boy about his origins and who he was – fairytales are into all that kind of bullshit, right?   Maybe the outcome was just as she’d decided.   Maybe it was a mistake.   Maybe it was a nice little stroke of luck.   See, if a lost princess knocks on your door before you’ve even had the chance to sell any more poisoned apples, well – that’s just peachy, isn’t it?

Or maybe – she just got bored.   Because ‘ever after’ is a very very long time – and when it comes down to it, you just have to take the amusement as it comes….

 

NEXT ENTRY…

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4 Comments

  1. Absolutely breathtaking.

    …although you must be used to taking that away.

  2. I like it! I wonder where the story goes… I will continue to read to find out of course, unless you want to give me clues 😉

    • Rosemarie Fullerton
    • Posted February 3, 2010 at 4:12 pm
    • Permalink
    • Reply

    *smiles*


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