Little Red Ryeding Hood

[Fake]

Hi there. The name’s Talbot Alvazam, but most people call me Man, sometimes following the also less than flattering, “Big Bad,” description. On account of my being a bzou. Not the cleverest nickname out there, but it’ll have to do. Racist sonuvabitch’s.

As I was saying, I’m a bzou. I’m not going to delve to deeply into my past, because Christ, it’s boring as hell, but I might as well give myself a brief autobiography. I mean, what kinda phony would start somthin’ like this without actually telling you what it’s all about? You’re here to learn about my life, so I might as well tell you who the hell I am.

As I said, they call me Man. To be honest, it’s been used to describe me so often that I’ve gotten used to it, but I still feel lousy when people use it just because I’m different from them. Christ, they act like I’m some kinda monster just because I can shapeshift into a demon and all.

Anyways, like I said, I’ve been called Man my whole life. See, my parents and littermates, they’re also Bzou, and we’ve always been a bit ostracized in the community-since before I was born. My whole life, I was surrounded by these guys who would spend all their free time being sonuvabitch’s to us. Calling me man and all, or demon. My brother, Lyall, tells me to just ignore them, but I can tell that they have him pissed off at them too. Once, they were ganging up on me-snapping at my neck and all-and Lyall went beserker on them. Christ, the guy’s a nut, but he’s pretty cool and all at times.

Other than that, our life was pretty average compared to the average Sent. We live, eat, hunt, and defend ourselves against the demons and their goddam pets. To be honest, it kind of pissed me off-nobody would ever do anything about the demons, nobody would ever fight back. Christ, it still pisses me off-we needed to strike first.

That’s-primarily-why I left the pack, and the other Sents. They were all phonies-they lived in fear of the demons, and even their pets and all. So, what I thought I’d do is, go around killing the demons-just for the hell of it. The demons never knew what hit them-to them, I was a nightmare, something to tell their children to scare them out of our lands. It worked marvelously.

I remember a quite recent example. Having left my pack, I was having a few eating issues-primarily, going for days without eating. At one point I began tracking this phony named Peter-some godddam idiot wandering through the woods for game or something. I had to ditch my meal on account of a bunch of goddam demons with guns. It was depressing the hell out of me, and how cold it was didn’t exactly help. But then I spot this pretty demon girl-she can’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen-wandering through the woods with a red hood and cloak on. For some reason, it reminded me of a hunting cap, but I can’t imagine why.

So then, in this really cutesy, phony voice, she asks me a question. It’s only then that I realize I’m in my demon form-so I don’t look too out of place in the woods.

“I’m sorry, could you please repeat that, little girl?” I asked in this real sincere voice. What I thought I’d do was, ask her if she had any hunters or demons with guns with her, and either play it cautious or just dig in depending on the answer.

“Do you want an apple, sir?” She replied, still in that goddam voice. Christ, even being near her was making me feel ill. She grabbed an apple from this cute little basket she was carrying, and offered it like she was giving me some kind of goddam priceless present, with an expression on her face indicating that this was some kinda selfless and totally pure action that automatically granted her sainthood. It killed me.

I solemnly took the apple from her outstretched hands, and bowed slightly. “Why, thank you very much, little girl. Tell me, where are you headed?”

She took an apple out herself and bit into it thoughtfully. “To Mémé Hecate’s house. She’s sick, so my mère asked me to bring her some vin and pain.”

Her grandmother was almost a legend to us Sent’s, for daring to live in the thickets of our home. I’m not kidding you in the slightest-she, a demon, lives in our home. Apparently so she can pick herbs for her medicine and all. She’s a pretty nice lady, actually. For a demon, I mean-she’s still a total witch.

She started down the path, and I suddenly had a thought. See, the road was going to fork for the girl in about a quarter mile, and what I thought I’d do was, go along with her until then, and tell her to go the wrong way. I know where her witch of a grandmother lives-down the path of the pins-so what I thought I’d do was tell her to go down the other path-the path of needles. It was ingenious, really. I’d attack her in the comfort of her own home-where there were no hunters to stop me from killing her-and have her grandmother as food to boot. I know I said that she was a nice lady, but she’s a bit of a phony, and to be perfectly honest, I was kinda thinking with my stomach at the time. Why I didn’t just eat the girl then and all is your guess as good as mine, as they say. Sometimes I like to come up with these elaborate and delicate plans, the like of which you normally hear about in stories-just because I’m bored. To be honest, I don’t handle boredom all that well. Sometimes I go around gutting these demon pigs in their own houses. They don’t call me the ventilateur bzou for nothing.

"Do you mind if I walk with you?" I ask, again in this real sincer voice.

"Why? She said, not slowing down at all.

"There are a bunch of bzou and other monsters out here in the woods." Christ, I kill myself sometimes. "Besides, I need to come this way anyways.

"Sure, please do!" She said with this big cheerful look on her face. It absolutely killed me.

So, I walked with her, and she suddenly started going down the path of pins like I told you.

“Hey,” I called to her, sounding all innocent. “I thought you were going to see your grandmother’s.” Confused, she said, “I am.”

“But this is the trail to her house through the path of pins was blocked by some trees yesterday, following the storm we had. You can’t get to her from that path, and it’s too dangerous to climb over. You need to go down the path of needles-it’s slower, but much safer, and you’ll at least eventually get there. It’s impossible to get to your grandmother’s house this way. I should know, I tried, why, just this morning. See, I deliver fire wood to her, and went down this way-and ended up regretting it. I wasted a whole two hours trying to find a path through there-no such luck,” I said, obviously lying.

“...Oh. Ok, then!” she said, and she smiled at me. “Thank you very much, sir.”

Christ, I could hardly stop myself from laughing. “It’s my pleasure, miss. Now, I have business down the path of pins. Tell your grandmother I said hi.” I began walking down the path of pins, she down the path of needles. Sometimes I kill myself-I’m just too brilliant for my own good.

After I was sure I was out of her site, I shapeshifted out of my demon form. Christ, it felt good to stretch my legs again. I never enjoy being in my demon form-it’s too cramped, too goddam upright and all.

So I began sprinting, and eventually reached the house. It was this old and weathered hut, with thatch so thick and so old a small sapling was growing out of it. I shifted to my demon form, and knocked on the door. “Who is it?” an elderly voice called out, in between coughs and all. Jesus, the woman was sick.

“It’s me, mèmè,” I called out, imitating the girl’s voice perfectly. Having two vocal cords comes in handy more often than you’d think.

"Oh, Meoquanee. Please, come in. Just pull on the latch.” Meoquanee? Who names their kid Meoquanee?”

So, I step in, and the old woman does a take. “Y-you’re not...” I didn’t let her finish, and quickly broke her neck with my teeth as I shifted to my normal form.

I ate her, thinking deeply on what I was going to do now. What I thought I’d do was, pretend to be the little girl’s grandmother-the woman was somewhat of a deaf mute, so it wouldn’t be too hard-and hide in the woman’s bed. So I took out my knife and skinned her face, and wrapped it around my own. Perfect. In the poor lighting, Meoquanee wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. I had a bit of trouble dealing with the body-I suddenly wasn’t feeling too hungry-and I couldn’t just leave it out. So, what I thought I’d do was, put some of the women’s blood and meat in the pantry, and have the red hooded girl eat her grandmother. That way it’d be nice and tender when I ate the girl-besides, I kinda wanted to see the girl eat it. I’m a bit crumby like that.

So, finally, there was a knock at the girl. Imitating the grandmother, I called out, “Who is it?” punctuated with coughs.

“Let me in, please, mèmè. I have treats for you,” the girl called through the door.”

“Oh, please come in, mon cher! Just pull the latch. I’m too weak to get out of bed, I’m afraid...” I followed this with a large amount of coughing.

She entered, looking real pretty in her red cape. She smiled at me, and I said, “Please, it must have been a long journey...go into the pantry, there’s a dish of meat and some wine for you to eat.”

She placed the basket on a table, and waltzed off to the pantry. Soon, the smell of her grandmothers cooking flesh filled the air as she fried it, and it was all I could do to keep myself from laughing.

She took it to the aforementioned table-a really rickety looking thing-and proceeds to lay it out and pour herself a glass of wine. “Mémé, do you want me to bring you some?”

“No thank you, mon cher. I already had some,” I said.

She begins eating, taking a bite from her grandmothers flesh. Suddenly, a voice cries out, “You are eating the flesh of your mèmè, you foolish girl!”

The red hooded girl turns to see a cat, sitting there. Another Sent. I recognized her as Nebi-this phony who used to accept cream from demons.

“Mèmè, that chaton says I’m eating your flesh,” the red hooded girl stuttered, sounding frightened. I smirked.

“Throw your shoe at that noisy cat, mon cher,” I said, giving the cat a death glare.

The red hooded girl leans downwards and pulls off her shoe, and throws it at the cat. Christ, she had a good throwing arm. Unfortunately, Nebi managed to dodge out of the way, and disappeared out the window.

The girl, clearly troubled, reached for her wine glass and had a sip. Suddenly, another voice cried out, “You’re drinking your grandmothers blood, you fool!”

This time it was Ayah-another Sent, a crow perched on the window sill. Christ, I was getting pissed off.

“M-mèmè, that corneille says I’m drinking your blood,” the girl again stuttered, this time deathly frightened.

“Throw your shoe at that nasty bird, mon cher.”

The little girl bent over to grab her other shoe, but by that time Ayah had flown away. The girl, a bit shaky, finished her meal.

“Now, come to bed, mon cher. You must be awfully tired, and I need some rest.” The girl nodded, and headed over to the bed I was in, and proceeded to climb in. Again, I’m real crumby at times-I don’t know.

She lay in bed, and I started waiting for her to go to sleep. By this time, I actually was tired, and I was half scared of falling asleep myself. Things were silent for a moment, before she broke the silence by asking, “Mèmè, how hairy you are!”

“The better to keep you warm with, mon cher.” By this time I was feeling extremely depressed for some reason-I just felt really bad for some reason.

Again, it was quiet for a while before she said to me, “Mèmè, what big arms you have!”

“The better to hold you with, mon cher.” With that, I hugged her, pulling her in tight.

Later... “Mèmè, what big ears you have!”

At this point was getting real annoyed at her. “The better to hear her with, mon cher.”

She was silent for almost thirty minutes. I nearly fell asleep, until she whispered, with considerable fear...

“Mèmè...what big, bloody teeth you have.”

I simply smiled at her. After half a minute of silence, simply giving her a warm, nice expression...

“The better to eat you with, mon cher.”

[Contradiction]

:D

*like*

What I thought I’d do was, pretend to be the little girl’s grandmother-the woman was somewhat of a deaf mute

*smirk*

[Fake]

I really need to include less references and obscure jokes...

:D

[Avenged]

*skims*

The style is very Catcher in the Rye. :P

"Crumby," doesn't he use that a lot?

*reads*

LMFAO!

[Avenged]

Sonofa..

just realized what the "ryeding" signified

Headdesk

I've had no sleep and way too many finals today....*signs out*

[Fake]

He uses crumby to describe things that are more or less perverted-for example, he finds a man walking around in a dress crumby, and he thinks that a man and woman squirting highballs at eachother to be crumby as well.

He also finds the fact that he enjoys watching them do it crumby.

Given that the original story was actually extremely pedophilic, it seemed fitting. How was it pedophilic, you ask? Well, the wolf makes Red do a striptease before he tells her to get in his bed.

Yeah.

Needless to say, I didn't include that part in my school paper.

I assume you're refering to the pun? The way this thing worked out, I've no doubt made at least fifty unintended innuendos.

[Fake]

:D And thanks.