Little Red Riding Hood walks through the forest because she is bored. She wants the wolf to find her. She buys the brightest red cloak she can afford and turns into a lighthouse. She stands at the highest point in the forest and lets her red light shine until the wolves come home. There are many of them. Some want to eat her, others want to play. Some want to lead her back to the safety of her village. But there is one wolf she is waiting for, the one that will ask her to stay and live among them. She waits the longest for him, in the wind and the rain and the scorching heat. She waits through every season and every phase of the moon. She waits day in and day out and sees every color there is to see in the sky. She watches flowers bloom and die at her feet, befriends baby animals who grow and age and say goodbye. She learns about the darkness and its army of shadows. She meets Dusk and Dawn, and they become her king and queen. She stands and waits as grass grows around her, each blade a story to tell of the waiting game she plays. And even the trees begin to whisper, their crisp leafy voices carrying words of courage, doubt, insanity and love throughout the forest. Some even reach the ears of the villagers, but Little Red Riding Hood doesn’t budge. Not even when her grandmother’s plea is carried back to her on the wind. “Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember what they did to me?” But Little Red Riding Hood doesn’t care. Little Red Riding Hood grows sick with waiting. She turns into a volcano and when she erupts she becomes a red firework in the sky, and instead of howling at the moon, the wolves now howl at her.

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