Under a Saturday sunrise’s ascending heat, you scamper inside Grandma’s home. With a bucketful of revenge, you strip away a strip of Scheele’s green wallpaper.
Through her bedroom door open like Saturday morning eyes, you spot Wolf smiling while splayed across the bed clothed in a crimson Victorian dress’ disguise. A candle’s swaying light throws shadows on the nightstand. You peel back your burgundy hood to reveal braids pulled tight over your skull’s tapestry.
“Hello Grandma. I have a present for you.” “What is it, my dear?” “Lick your wallpaper. This Scheele’s green is as good as a ripe green apple.” Wolf’s rough tongue takes a thick lick of arsenic surprise. “This is delightful. I’ll keep on licking.”
In less time than an acidic stomach breakdowns a cherry, he kneels over with a tear-out-your-heart-pain in his gut. Snatching a kitchen blade, your sequoia smile grows as you stab his predatory insides. When you twist the blade a terminal time, blood stains your cloak.
His heart gets sold to Rory’s Butcher Shop. When the Wolf Delight is bought by a suntanned woman, Rory commands her to never consume the chambers raw. “I can’t be held responsible if you turn big and bad,” he says, his crimson bread freshly trimmed.
For the last errand of the day, you carry your cloak to the dry cleaner. “Now remember, wolf blood needs a double-rinse cycle,” you insist.
Meandering out into a Sunday dusk, you gape upon a full blood moon bleeding out into a fairy tale sky.