Little Red Wolf

Once upon a time there was a little girl in a red cape. She visited her grandmother regularly, who lived in the woods and stubbornly refused to move to town, bringing her various food stuffs her mother had baked. One morning she found a trip was called for and the little girl set out through the woods carrying a heavy basket over her shoulder, stamping over the ground in the early morning light.

“Hey,” a voice came from a nearby cluster of leaves. The sudden noise startled the girl and she dropped the basket, spilling the food over the ground. “Hey, little girl,” the same voice came from over her shoulder. Spinning on her heels the girl came face to face with a man, great in stature and presence. Grinning, his sharp teeth filled her vision and caused a shiver to run up her spine.

“Who are you?” She asked, clutching her red cape around her shoulders against the sudden chill.

“Just a guy looking for some fun…” he trailed his eyes up and down her figure. “Where are you heading?”

“To my grandmother’s house,” setting her jaw the girl bent down to pick up the dropped food. The man knelt next to her.

“To grandma’s?” He said, following her every move. “That sounds promising.”

The girl huffed. “If you don’t mind I’d like it if you moved on.”

“Move on to where? I’m a bit of a loner you see,” he said in a sorrowful tone. “So I’d like to keep you as company.” Watching the girl pick up a block of cheese he reached out and took it from her, swallowing it whole.

Huffing again the girl stood, taking the basket with what food she’d gathered. Trudging on it wasn’t long before she heard the heavy footfalls of the man catching up to her. “Was it something I said?” He smile as he put his arm around her shoulder.

“Please don’t touch me.” Out of fear to have, the girl now simply found the man annoying. He chatted the rest of the walk until, standing before her grandmother’s front door, she turned to him. “Leave me alone,” she shouted. Stomping her foot she shoved him away.

“Aww, don’t say that. I’m sure your grandma will love me.”

“Where did you even come from?” Sighing, she rang the door bell.

“Over the river. I’m glad I found you.”

“Just please don’t eat my grandma; she’s quite old and doesn’t have much meat on her bones.”

“I won’t eat your grandma, but I can’t say the same for you. You’re so cute!” He reached out and pinched her cheeks as the front door opened, revealing an elderly woman dressed as a tablecloth.

“Grandma,” the girl sounded less than enthused.

“Who is this?” The elderly woman looked up at the tall man standing next to her granddaughter with wide eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“I found her in the woods.” He grinned. “She was lost.”

“I was not.”

The woman looked between the two and smiled. “You finally have a boyfriend!” She exclaimed. Inviting the two inside she set out milk and cookies, expecting to hear all about their first meeting and future plans together.  

Advertisements

Mortician

Lately, the world had been in quiet the commotion because of some very peculiar news. From somewhere deep in the south it came, and sent chills down the spines of anyone who heard it.

 

“Have you heard about the incident? Has is really begun?”

 

The incident in question was rather a strange thing. A man had been murdered, but not in any typical sense. Hardly even in an atypical sense was this man’s end. He had been eaten. Partially. Though I find it hard to believe he cared either way. The man who had done the eating was found and shot on sight by a local neighborhood watch. Illegal, maybe, but I don’t find it hard to believe no one bid for his case.    

 

What could cause a perfectly fine human being to turn towards cannibalism? While the world reeled in their fantasies and horror flicks, this possible future held little appeal to the man who dealt with the supposed “zombie”. 

 

The victim’s body was completely repulsive to behold, resulting in his family wanting a cremation. That was that. The attacker, however, apparently had no family, so was instead destined for an unmarked plot on the edge of town. But first, of course, had to come the autopsy. The Police Department was interested in what the man had “been on” when he perpetrated the act.

 

This is where our main character comes in. Daniel is his name, but from hence forth shall be referred to as Mortician, for that was after all his occupation, and the most relevant piece of information about him you will ever need to know. Put in charge of the autopsy, the Mortician felt little interest in the dead man’s case.

 

His body, dirty and riddled with bullet holes, felt like every other body to his expert hands. He operated out of sheer ritual, slicing the man clean straight up the middle. This is where things start to become interesting. The man’s internal organs had begun to decompose. But the body had only been dead a day, hadn’t it? The smell was overwhelming. Backing away the Mortician took off his mask and breathed deeply. It puzzled him. Grabbing another scalpel, he turned to face an empty examination table.

 

He blinked as his mind went blank. Next thing he was hit upside the head with a ton of bricks. Inhuman snarls filled his ears as he struggled to glimpse his attacker. It was the man, but he wasn’t a man at all.

 

His eyes turned milky white, no longer seeing, rolled around as hot moans escaped his throat. His chest, still cut open, poured out all he had to offer in terms of organ donation. Ripping at his coat, the dead man gnashed his teeth with vivaciousness until one fell out and plopped against the Mortician’s cheek.

 

The Mortician yelled and struggled, disbelief clouding his judgment. The zombie fought on however and with surprising strength broke through his victim’s defenses and bit his shoulder. Roaring in pain the Mortician took at better grip on the scalpel he still held and lashed out, planting it deep within the zombie’s jugular.

 

The creature went limp. Seizing moment the Mortician shot out from under the monster. Now, this Mortician just happened to have an axe stashed in a cabinet behind his desk. Flying to it now, he ripped open the cabinet and took the sharpened blade in hand. Behind him, he heard the zombie struggle to its feet. Turning to face his foe, the Mortician steeled himself for the kill.

 

The zombie limped closer, uttering such noises that, I can assure you, a dying moose wouldn’t dream of making. Bursting forth a war cry, the likes of which have never been heard and shall never be matched, the Mortician bravely flew forward, striking out.

 

He hit the zombie square in the face, splitting it clean in two. For good measure he struck again and again until all that was left was a scattered assortment of body parts.

 

“Oh Mr.—” Just then his assistant, a lovely young woman writing notes on a clip board, walked into the room. Before she could finish her sentence she slipped on the blood now effectively covering the majority of the floor and fell flat onto her face. Confused, she glanced up to see her boss.

 

Cover in blood and various other body fluids, the Mortician looked quite the ghastly sight. Feeling a throb in his shoulder, he looked to see it already turning a sickly grey-green around the edges of the very noticeable teeth marks.

 

“Ms. Dill,” He said, looking at his assistant. “I’m going to need you—”

 

“Need me what?” She looked wide eyes as the figure of the Mortician slowly came closer. She glimpsed his face as he shuffled under the light and screamed.      

Poem #2 (Main Character)

I am not the main character of my life

I am the friend

The side-kick

The background music

I am not the focus

My life revolves around

Making certain those around me

Are ok

Are well

Are happy

Why?

Because I care

Because I am not the focus

Whether I am content

Or not

Is irrelevant

I do not have the spot light

I do not have the lines

I do not give the inspirational speeches

I do not save the day

Or win any hearts in the process

I am the backdrop

The scenery

I am not the main character of my life

*Note: Another poem? I’ve been into them lately… I’m sure everyone has felt like this at one point or another. It is an old poem, one I have held onto for years! It’s very dear to me and takes me back to a tender time in my life.