Little Red Riding Hood (Watch Out for the Wolf)
Little: God, how I've always hated that word. I've always been small, that's true, and I looked even smaller when standing next to my giant of a father. It was the comparison, I suppose. Put a white object on a plain surface, and it's white. Okay, sure. Whatever. But if you took that same white object and place it on a black surface, suddenly it was more than white. It was incredibly white. And it was the same with me and my father. On my own, I was small, but next to him, I was incredibly small, and that made me a target. Who's the target now? Idiots.
Red: Red. Quite possibly my favourite color. I was more subtle about it when I was younger. A red circle on my shirt, red backpack, red and white trainers. White. Another favourite back then, but I can't stand it now; it's too pure. Too innocent. If you looked at me now, white would be the last thing to come to your mind. If you looked at me now, you'd know for sure that my favourite color is red, because everything about me is red. My eyes, my hands, my hair and my boots and everything. It's all just red. And it's all your fault. But that's okay, because it isn't just my red. It's everybody's red. It's mine and theirs and yours and we're all covered with it. You should have seen this coming. It's always the quiet ones, you know.
Riding: I used to love riding. Horses, when I was younger, a lot younger, and my mother (still Mummy, then) would take me and we'd spend all day with the horses. It calmed me. Then, as I got older, my mother became more and more obsessed with her work, with that Ghost Portal, and she couldn't take me riding anymore. I started riding bikes, which I didn't like as much as the horses, but I didn't complain. Then, that very same Ghost Portal gave me ghost powers, and I started to ride the winds. I'd go flying every night I could, and it calmed me almost as much as the horses had, because I knew somehow that the wind didn't expect anything from me. It didn't need me to be a great ghost hunter, or good at math, or anything. When I was flying, I was free. What do I ride now, you ask, as you lie there staring at me with your cold, dead eyes? I ride your screams. I ride destruction. I ride death, and I am death- your death. It's so beautiful.
Hood: I always hated hoods. Hats, I could deal with. Umbrellas? Sure. Any sort of head covering was fine- unless it was a hood. I didn't like hoods because they hid my face. To the majority of Amity Park, I was invisible, and I was afraid that if I put a hood on and no one could see my face, people would forget me, and I would disappear entirely. I can disappear now, and I do so quite often, in fact. But now, you'll never, ever forget me. Will you?
Watch: People watching. Always watching. Watching me when I was alive, to see when I would screw up, so they could mock me for it. Watching me when I was dead, because I was a 'menace to society', or because I was saving them all. Whichever one fit the moment better, I suppose. But now, I'm watching you. I'm watching you scream and beg and plead for mercy, as you die slowly, knowing I could save you. Knowing I won't. How does it feel to be watched? To be seen at your worst and your best, and to know that to the person or people or whoever is watching, you're just one more person. Just one more victim.
Watch Out for the Wolf:So, you ask, why should you look out for the Big Bad Wolf? Because even if you can't see him, he can see you. He can stand right behind you and you'll never even notice, not until he's eaten you. And he can shape shift too, you know. That's how he gets the people you love. The people you care about. He pretends to be you, and he waits, and eventually he gets his prey. His kill. He always does. You can't fight him, hurt him, or destroy him. It simply isn't possible. Why? Well now, that's the smartest question you've ever asked. Why should you be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
Because the Big Bad Wolf… is me.