Real Story Of Red Riding Hood

Hi! My name is Red. Does the name ring a bell? If not, I'll give you a hint. It includes a long red hood, a vicious wolf and an ill grandma. If you are still not able to put these pieces of the puzzle together, it's the story of Little Red Riding Hood!! 

I'm a part of one of the most famous tales everybody claims to know. Well, this might come as a shocker but the version everyone's heard is a big, fat lie. My true story has been under wraps for several years but I can't hold it back any more. I feel like a dormant volcano just waiting to explode and I can't wait to abolish the story that defames me by calling me a damsel in distress who needed help from someone to save my grandma from a wolf!

I've decided to write this story because of the pure irony of the situation. The fake tale that diminished my reputation was spread by a story, a fake one. And now, the story that will diminish the vile villain's reputation is a story too - THE REAL STORY!

Let me start from the beginning. The neighbourhood kids had always made fun of me for wearing my favorite red hood and called me names. "Oh, Red has gone completely red,'' and "Ooooh, is this a tomato passing by - or Red?" These silly remarks did not bother me because I simply adored my red coat. It's soft fabric felt like fluffy clouds against my skin. 

Well, now let me tell you what really happened on the day of the infamous event. Dad wasn't around so mom asked me to deliver some stuff to my sick grandma who lived at the other end of the forest. I vividly recall how I checked the basket for the apple pie, cake, fruits and an inhaler. I put a red plaid cloth over it so the aroma would not entice me to eat the goodies. 

I set out for grandma's house around noon, walking down the twisting and turning path of the forest, listening to the sweet humming of birds and chatter of squirrels. I almost tripped over the tangled roots underfoot. I took a deep breath - my nostrils sucking in the earthy smell and the fragrance of the flowers. I picked up some crimson poppies and sangria geraniums along the way and put them in my bamboo basket. It was a windy day and I was grateful for the red riding hood I was wearing. It kept me snug and warm. 

Mid-way through my journey, I decided to rest for a bit even though the tickling of the grass took some getting used too. I munched on a sandwich and piece of cake that my mom had packed separately for me.. It was scrumptious! . I watched a squirrel scurry by as he "stole" a piece of cake that I'd left unattended. 

Suddenly, I saw a shadow pass by. I could tell it had big pointy ears and a thin, swift body. Suddenly it disappeared, probably hiding in the bushes. I was cautious for a while, making sure the mysterious figure didn't intend to harm me - a young and seemingly naive girl in the forest, all alone. 

My heart was thumping. I had butterflies in my stomach. No, that's a huge understatement - it felt more like elephants marching in my stomach! Around fifteen minutes passed by (even though it seemed much more then!) and finally I was able to relax. My brain stopped rambling about possibilities and came to the conclusion that the shadow probably wanted to steal some food but didn't as it saw me. The crumbs fell to the ground as I brushed them off my lap. I got up and left hurriedly, forgetting one very important thing: the basket.

I skipped through flower beds and wispy bristles of moss, singing to my heart's content, not realizing that the only reason I was walking through to the mysterious woods, the basket for Grandma - had been left behind, 

Finally, I reached Grandma's quaint little white-washed cottage, surrounded by her benevolent but small garden, where peonies and orchards, blossomed. Though grandma was old and mostly unwell, she just couldn't resist gardening. This year, she'd won the first prize at her county's Annual Garden Competition.

I walked in, totally mesmerized and knocked on the wooden door of her cottage. ''Hello, it's me Red,'' I said. ''Come in," I heard her reply. As I stepped in, the old, wooden door creaked shut behind me. I put my slippers on the side and walked in, instantly greeted with a spectrum of colours. Each time I was here, I couldn't stop myself from admiring the colourful tie-dye tapestry. I walked further down the hallway, crossing the lounge and powder room, when I noticed a piece of orange fur. "Weird," I thought to myself as I explicitly remembered my grandma did not have any pets or, as a matter of fact, letting any forest animals indoors since her medical condition did not permit it.

I was just about to abandon the thought and move forward when I saw a shadow scurry past me. It had the same pointy ears I'd seen in the forest, but I couldn't know for sure that it was the same creature, animal or person as I did not see the body. I saw it move towards my grandma's room and followed its shadow. 

The shadow crept into my grandma's room making a creaking noise while entering. I mustered all my courage and ran into grandma's room, ready to attack whatever was behind there. ''AAAAAAAAAAAAH," I screamed as I bolted in. I was about to attack the creature with my hands held up high, ready to strike, when I stopped midway and realized it was a cat - a big fluffy cat! My serious combat face relaxed into deep affection, "Awwwww," I said, while gaping at the cat. "Seems like you already met Madam Meow," grandma said. I replied, ''Madam Meow? Quite a formidable name indeed. She's adorable!"

I nodded my approval at the fat, ginger cat. It seemed to give me a questioning meow. With that, both grandma and I erupted in laughter. I gave my grandma a tight bear hug. "You do know that old people like me come with a warning not to hug too tight!," Grandma said chortling. I ignored this remark and continued hugging her. We talked for hours and hours about school, family and just about life. My grandma was one of the only people who understood me and was one of the only people who I could unwind with and be myself.

My grandma started talking about how I was when I was little; how naughty and troublesome I was, how I used to hug my red riding hood while sleeping. This reminded me of one of my favourite memories of when I was four, how she used to sing poems to me whenever I was feeling glum. I pleaded with her to sing one to me, my favourite one about candyland. She agreed immediately and started singing:

As I listened intently, Grandma offered me some cake and tea which I gladly accepted. My mouth started watering even before she got them out of the oven. The magnificent aroma filled the air. I dipped the sugary white tea cake into the delicate, porcelain tea cup. As I munched the cake a ballast of flavours burst in my mouth. While I was devouring the cake my grandma was taking each piece gingerly and eating slowly.

I excused myself and had just turned my back to go to the washroom when Grandma started coughing terribly. The spontaneous hacking surprised me as my mind raced, trying to think of a solution. The first one that came to mind was getting her some water; I quickly fetched a glass of water. My grandma's bony hands clutched the glass tightly as she gulped the water in huge sips.

I racked my brains on what I should do next and realized the most obvious solution: to get the inhaler out of the bag. I scoured grandma's house inch-to-inch but failed to find the basket. That's when I realized I must have left it in the forest where I was sitting. I abandoned that possibility and started rummaging through the garden looking under large leaves and each nook and cranny. I had never felt worse: my own grandma might die because of my foolish forgetfulness.

Out of the blue, in her serene and quiet garden, I heard a twig snap. I looked around hastily. What was that noise? Was someone breaking into the house??? I quickly grabbed Grandma's walking stick and started edging behind, slowly formulating a plan to pounce on the attacker as soon as he approached me. 

Now, I just needed to find the attacker. I knew he wasn't in front of me and was about to turn around when a thick, gruff voice greeted me. I was facing a wolf! It had brown matted fur and large pointy ears; it looked familiar but I did not know where I had seen it. "I followed you back, you forgot this basket." Well, I didn't really have a choice but to trust this animal as my grandma's cough grew louder and persistent. I snatched the basket from the wolf and muttered a quick thank-you. I bolted towards the door, my auburn tresses flying behind me, my egg-shell coloured skin turning red, my blue eyes glinting with tears. What a mess had I gotten myself into?

Right when I was about to reach the old, wooden door a big, burly man blocked my way. He had a grizzly, unkempt beard in which I could see the remains of his last meal. "You aren't going anywhere young lady,'' the thick, gruff voice said. 

"Woodcutter Sam??!! I thought you were grandma's friend. Why are you not letting me help her??"

"Correction, young lady, I was her friend but ever since she beat me at the Garden Competition this year all I have wanted is revenge. The best part is no one will believe y'all cause they think I'm her closest friend,'' he said nefariously and cackled. I was flabbergasted. "All this for a silly garden festival??" I shouted back. 

Suddenly, a loud voice behind me said, "Don't worry. I'll take care of it." The wolf interjected and pounded the woodcutter onto the ground. 

I ran like the wind into the room where Grandma lay coughing, and gave her the inhaler. She took one dose and heaved a sigh of relief. I quickly explained to her what had happened and we both emerged outside. A few spectators were crowded around the woodcutter, who had bloody gashes on his face and body. The passers-by, who had found the woodcutter ruthlessly scarred and left to the ground, had come to help. By this time, the vile and nefarious woodcutter had formulated a sob story and narrated it to everyone. He was telling everyone about how the wolf had "attacked" him and fled into the forest. Grandma and I tried explaining the truth to everyone but nobody was willing to listen. The woodcutter's version of events now became the village's new gossip and spread like plague.

Now the wolf has gone into hiding though I'm in regular contact with him. We both agreed that the best way to spread the real version of the story is that I speak out. I leave the rest in your hands. It is your responsibility to tell everyone what really happened that eventful day. 

PS: Just don't let this story reach the woodcutter because then neither you, nor me, will have a good fate…