Once Upon a Time,

There once was a young girl, with hair, red as fire, and eyes, green as emeralds. This young girl devilishly delectable. She wandered with a Red Hooded jacket and a very simple white dress. She would walk from the bakery her parents owned on fifth and head east to twelfth. She wouldn't dally, she never talked to the beggars and avoided all the strangers. Her parents used to say Little Red don't look just stare straight ahead. Follow these directions and get to Grandma's house.

I worked at a little flower shop. It took some time to coax her to stop. I would place beautiful wild flowers I picked at the park in her path and wait. It took months of watching and waiting. She then began to stop and smell the roses. Even though her parents yelled and screamed. She always stopped. The way she leaned her head down her Red Hood almost, but not fully, concealing her face. Whenever she rounded the corner of my street I would follow. If she took a left and a right, I would follow suit. She never strayed from the path her little hood contrasting against bleak dirt mixed snow. I protected her by following in her wake. Nobody would look at her the way I did. They couldn't see the precious flower that bloomed in the concrete jungle around us. It's reaching metal fingers clawing at the sky and causing each of us to rot in it's underbelly.

As she opened the door to the apartment complex. I remembered the layout after slipping in, months ago, behind a terrible mother struggling with her brat of a child. My sweet Red wandered up the stairs her little hands gripping the banister scared of the darkness that trailed below. Now, my hand was drawn to the railing each tip of my finger longing to run themselves against the fur lined hood and soft locks.

I paused at the door cracking it open. Her Red Hood stood out against the darker lighting and off white halls. Her grandmother opened the door. An old frail woman with translucent skin and age spots. As the door shut I walked forward into the small hallway. It took five steps to the fragile door. I thought of the ways I could enter.

I chose to knock. My own red hood covering my face and my fingers covering the peephole. I didn't rush the entrance as the old woman opened the door. I didn't barge in. I stepped in. She let me in under the guise of maintenance. I walked towards the kitchen looking for my little flower. I caught her hood on the seat of the kitchen and turned to the sink. It leaked. Droplets dripping on the old cups and I began noticing the other dirt and clutter littered about. Old cereal boxes dotted the counter tops. Coffee filters sat on the top of a garbage pile. Stained linoleum uncovered and peeling off from the ground.

I stepped forward kneeling next to the cabinet door underneath the sink. Bags and empty cans scattered as the doors creaked. Disgust filled me how could my delicate flower live in such sloth. The thoughts of swallowing my little flower whole pervaded itself in each thought. She could grow like the Casablanca Lily, her red hood could turn white. She could grow inside of me. I looked to the stove and then to the cutlery hanging above.

I could protect them. I could gobble them up. I would gobble them up. I did gobble them up.