Little Red Riding Hood knew what humiliation was. Far more than a taunt from a childhood friend, far more than a few dropped plates in shards all over the ground. Humiliation sunk deeper than any of that, and was something that stung like a hive of bees that only a little child would be afraid of. It was pity and "I told you so" and the whining sound of "But I'm not a little kid anymore!" echoing in her own brain in her own voice.
She stood in the corner of the cabin, largely ignored, clothing and skin still drenched with the bile and stomach juices. Her lungs, still petrified, gasped for air, refusing to believe they could be allowed so much after near suffocation. Even her eyes could hardly focus, squirming patches of blackness covering every subject of focus if she strayed her gaze on it too long. She could not even see the Wolf, the handsome, polite wolf with the shining fur. He was dead now, there was nothing to see, just a gaping wound where his head was.
She hated the hunter in that moment. She had heard his rants before. Stay away from the Wolf. The Wolf is trouble. Like he knew so much about the Wolf.
Turns out, he did, and Little Red Riding Hood was humiliated to learn he did.
Maybe she was supposed to be saying something at this time. Maybe her mouth should be moving, groveling and apologizing to both the hunter and her grandmother.
Her grandmother said nothing. Of course she said nothing. Not only was she so sweet and kind and understanding but she was the type that would never force a lesson. Little Red Riding Hood was grateful for that even as much as she hated it. It was that silent smile that irritated her.
So she had messed up. Once. One single insignificant time. Was not everyone allowed a moment to mess up everything? Adults all forgot about that rule. They grew up, they married, and suddenly youth was a distant memory and beyond their comprehension.
Except they did know more than she thought and it was the worst thing anyone could possibly be thinking. She suspected what they were all thinking now. Foolish Little Red Riding Hood. Thinking herself all grown-up. Such a big girl, such a knowledgeable lady.
Her face grew hot, and she wondered if she would faint.
Why would it be so hard? A simple task, one she could make better. She was too old to go straight to Grandma's house. She knew the woods, all the paths. She could take care of herself.
There were shortcuts, ones that quickly rounded the gully and returned to the main trail. Everyone knew about them. The Path of Needles and the Path of Pins. Nothing particularly menacing, considering they were merely habitual names from a seamstress several generations back. Just what they were called. The adults all took the Path of Needles. A little quicker, but not by much. They all said the Path of Pins went too close to the darker part of the forest. They missed the easy trail. They missed the berry patches. A few minutes longer, but they were all still much quicker than the main trail. Every child knew enough to take the Path of Pins.
And talking to a Wolf. A gentlemanly wolf, all handsome and striking with a perfectly grey coat. Besides, Little Red Riding Hood could take care of herself. Not some silly child who ran screaming from a wolf. Show no fear, have no fear, and a wolf wouldn't bother you. Unless you wanted him to bother you. A little teasing, a pretty little smile, answer his questions, laugh at his jokes. A charming Wolf would make a girl feel pretty. No, not a girl. A young lady.
He wants a race? Say sure! Maybe if one runs, the Path of Pins is that much quicker. Little Red Riding Hood had been up to the challenge. Definitely. The ground was sure, and she knew it well.
Maybe the adults had it all right. Maybe they were right to say little girls can't handle wolves. Not the warmth of their furry bodies, not the heat of their breaths. Not the way they would lie.
Too much had happened that day. She made her way to chair and breathed in and out, making sure each lungful was just that. Full.
She was still Little Red Riding Hood.
Little.
The End