Do not own anything
Well...that is enough to grab your attention right there isn't it? And I don't know about you but I hate this girl before I even hear any more about her. And she is supposed to be me! Welcome to my world.
"A girl who was loved by everyone who met her," my fairy tale behind.
(Once again – mother and PR people)
First I will start by pointing out some key points – commonly known as bare faced lies.
One – I wasn't loved by everyone who saw me. My mother being a fine example of this.
And two – I was not a 'dear little girl'. I was a moody rebellious teenager who liked walking by herself, reading books she probably shouldn't have and drinking far too much coffee. And thanks to my mother's marketing attempts everyone was under the impression that I enjoyed wearing red. Why red? Why couldn't she have picked blue or something like that? But no. It had to be red. Talk about sticking out from a crowd. So red clothes and red hair (and more often than not a red face from embarrassment) and people with their lack of imagination began to call me Red. As if that was my real name. And who was I to argue with my elders…
And then that fateful day happened. For my tenth birthday my gran made me a beautiful cloak. It fit snuggly around my shoulders and fell in folds down my arms and reached the floor. It was beautiful. And it was white.
You see it had been part of my grandmothers wedding clothes. It had been the very same cloak that she had worn over her wedding dress and she chopped and changed it to fit me and I was so proud to have it and wear it. And then, one fateful day I came home to find my cloak hanging from the clothes line, no longer the dazzling, pure white that it had been but a deep crimson.
Needless to say I threw a tantrum that any child would have been jealous of and felt my mother's hand on my backside for my 'attitude'. After all she had done it all for 'my own good'.
I sobbed into my grandmothers arms the next time I saw her - crying for the loss of her beautiful present to me. And that was the day that she whispered into my ear that I was bound for something special. Now it is more than likely safe to say that most kids doting grandmothers tell them how special they are so there was nothing too amazing about her telling me this. But somehow I don't think she had my kind of 'special' in mind.
But sorry I was telling you about the cloak. The next day I wore it out to school, not trusting it in the house with my mother – after all, who knew what else she would do to it if I gave her the chance.
And that was the day I became known as Little Red Riding Hood. Oh goody.
So, despite the fact that I grew older with each year the 'Little' stuck and those who dared to called me Red. Now I am sure that they would have called me by my birth name if they remembered it – or even knew it. I couldn't even remember it without my head hurting. I'm sure my mother would have felt extra proud of herself if she realised that she was actually brain washing everyone with my name – including me. But is she wasn't catching onto it then I wasn't going to tell her that's for sure.
I was sent to see my grandmother (on my father's side) regularly – believe me when I tell you that my mother's mother is one scary lady and I am very glad that she went off and married some widower woodcutter with two young children (rather them than me is what I say).
Anyway, sorry, back to the story. I was sent to see my grandmother who lived in a cottage in the woods. She said it was to get away from the hustle and bustle of town but I think she just wanted to get away from my mom. She wasn't a very well lady though o couldn't always make it to the town to get her foods I would take her the provisions she needed every few days.
And it is during one of these visits that my story starts.
I know this is short, but the next part didn't really flow with this so it will be in the next chapter.
Please let me know what you think.