A Red Riding Hood

Written by: Frank F. Atanacio

		The dark thoughts in her head
		 would pop,
		and the fear was her enemy,
		that much was said,
		but she didn’t stop,
		she proceeded ahead,
		a young girl, pure,
		feet sure,
		and the grass gave way as it should,
		to this little red riding hood,
		leaves cracking, branches bent,
	  	 the sound and scent
		of a wolf blew on the wind,
		as she moved relentlessly
		pausing only now and again
		to catch her breath,
		she knew that facing the wolf
		was almost certain death,
		something whispered in the darkness
		of the night,
		the wolf emerged silhouetted
		against the moon’s light,
		she fought back a scream,
		then she heard a river’s stream,
		the wolf knocked her on her back,
		slowed the attack,
		then turned her around,
		face in the ground
		her arms trembling ever so slightly,
		the air was cold,
		her small boots dangling,
		digging into the earth to hold,
		then swung free again,
nothing stirred, nothing was heard,   
		she listened,
		the wolf’s eyes glistened,
		her senses quietly separating the tune
		of the water from the tune
		of the gently blowing leaves,
		but nothing else was heard,
		not a cry nor a single word,
		then it struck her gradually,
		everything would unfold,
		and nothing else needed to be told,
		a chill came over her arms,
		her throat, and finally her face,
		that night was too lifeless,
		and she died in that place.