Red

Ciara never wanted to leave the house.

It was cold.

She never wanted to leave her mother.

She could see her breath.

She never wanted to leave her father.

Her fingers wouldn't listen to her.

She just wanted to stay inside bundled in front of the fire.

She couldn't get up.

She just wanted to be safe and warm.

Her legs wouldn't move.

But now she can't go home.

Her arms were still.

All she could do was lie in the snow.

The frayed basket was covered with frost.

All she could do was wait to die.

Her white hood lay on her back, doing nothing to provide her warmth.

But then she heard something.

The need to be warm coursed through her.

She heard a wolf, a howling wolf. 

She knew she might have a chance to die quickly.

So she lets out a small moan, trying to show the wolf that she was wounded, that she couldn't fight back.

But the wolf doesn't attack her.

She wanted it to.

Instead it curled its warm body next to her shuddering form.

She just wanted to die.

And slowly she started to get a little warm.

She tried to cry out of despair but she started to realize something else.

The wolf didn't hurt her.

It warmed her.

But she had been inside the snowy cave too long.

She might be warm, but she was also-

She was also hungry.

So she lay there, unresponsive to the wolf.

Until finally she felt warm enough to do it,

to finally end her hunger.

She slowly reached out a trembling hand out to the basket next to her.

The wolf lay still, asleep and warm next to her back.

She reached into the basket and took out what she was supposed to give to her grandmother.

She took it out.

She held the knife carefully, making sure to stay as still as possible.

The wolf shifted but remained asleep.

In one move she plunged the knife into the wolf's neck, all the way up to the hilt.

The wolf shuddered and whimpered painfully for a few seconds before finally dying.

She let go of the knife and slowly hugged the wolf's still warm corpse to her body.

She whispered only a small 'I'm sorry' before pulling the knife out of the wolf's body.

She slowly, carefully, skinned the wolf.

After a few minutes she was starting to get cold again, so she tried to hurry up.

She chewed the wolf meat viciously and with pleasure.

Her white hood was soaked with the wolf's lifeblood.

The wolf meat was warm and tender as the small girl devoured it.

After she ate all she could, she picked the wolf skin off the blood-soaked snow.

She put it around her shoulders, not minding as the remaining blood streamed down her now red hood.

So slowly, slowly, she limped out of the snow covered cave, pulling the basket with her, and hugging the wolf skin tightly to keep warm.

Over the river.

She huddled closer to the basket as she tried and failed to not fall on the ice-covered wood bridge.

And through the woods.

She stumbled more, tripping over ever little rock and stick and root that lay on the path.

To grandmother's house we go.

And finally, she staggered onto the nicely made porch that belonged to her grandmother.

She knocked only once.

The door opened.

Her grandmother screamed shrilly and tried to back away.

Ciara was the only one in the doorway.

Her once-white-cloak now soaked red.

Her once-clean basket dripping blood from the pieces of wolf meat that she had saved for later.

Her once-brown hair now saturated with blood and ice, making it look black and matted.

Her white face now streaked with pieces of gore.

And on the shoulders of the girl were the remains of the friendly wolf, the closed eyes and still moist mouth of the poor wolf resting on the little girl's head.