seaomelette

United Arab Emirates

Heyo! I’m Lauren, a high school sophomore who loves reading too many fantasy novel series, listening to music, and eating a probably unhealthy amount of ice cream.

Message to Readers

Is there anything I can revise or improve? Please let me know! It'll help me a lot. :3

The Evil Hood and Her Unfortunate (Or Perhaps Fortunate) Demise

July 17, 2020

FREE WRITING

2
The Evil Hood stalks through the deep, dark woods. There’s an evil, twisted smile on her face, and something that looks like blood trickling by the right side of her mouth. Or perhaps that’s just poorly applied lipstick.

She’s armed with a picnic basket. It’s your ordinary, run-of-the-mill picnic basket—cheaply made of glossed wood and providing certain risk of splinters to unfortunate fingers. Its contents, however, are practically wafting with toxic fumes. A complete feast of deadly cucumber sandwiches, killer strawberry parfait, mercury-stirred lemonade.

The feast is somewhat reduced, however. Reduced because the Evil Hood has just murdered an entire village with her extraordinarily convincing, contrived kindliness, and a good handful of her poisoned parfait. Contrary to our expectations, the Evil Hood’s wicked ways stretch far beyond than simply killing an entire village. Oh, no, she is far more evil than that, far truer to her name. She is hungry for death, particularly that of her grandmother.

There’s a certain appalling image floating in her twisted brain at the moment. It’s of her poor, old grandmother foaming pink through her eyes, gasping agonizingly as she slowly chokes to death. Her twisted smile grows a little gnarlier, and she stalks a little faster through the undergrowth.

As for the poor, innocent grandmother, she’s frolicking in her cottage garden with her pet wolf, Pete. Most people would be aghast at the thought of a pet wolf, but Pete is the friendliest creature you’d ever meet. He has never lapped anything stronger than water, and never consumed anything meatier than thinly sliced chicken.

And right now, Pete’s playing ball with the grandmother, who happens to be very fond of knitting, fancy tea doilies, and pound cakes. The grandmother is also very fond of her granddaughter—the Evil Hood—who unfortunately, doesn’t return her adorations. To the Evil Hood, her grandmother is made of stupid fluff and stuff, and could never possibly understand her far darker motives.

After all this tedium of walking, the Evil Hood herself has reached the gate of her grandmother’s quaint cottage. With a mildly clean corner of her bloody-bile-stained red cloak, she mops up her messy lipstick and fluffs her unkempt hair.

              “Oh, Granny, dear!” she calls, in a sickeningly sweet voice.

              “Scarlet! Oh, how nice of you to drop by! I was just having tea with Pete!!” exclaims the grandmother, pleasantly surprised. “Do take a seat, darling.”

The Evil Hood lets herself in through the gate, plops herself in the proffered chair, and arranges her blood-steeped cloak politely.

              “As a matter of fact, Granny,” she continues, saccharinely so, “I’ve brought you some scrumptious cucumber sandwiches and refreshing strawberry parfait! Oh, and some fresh lemonade, of course, how could I forget that?”

She sets the picnic basket on the grass besides the table and lifts the lid. But WAIT! Perhaps poor Granny’s fate is not so dismal, for an old woodsman is hurrying as best he can through the woods.

This woodsman, a retired magician, had been returning to the village after an intense meditation session with the wood creatures. That village also happened to be the very village exterminated by the Evil Hood’s machinations. The woodsman had arrived just in time, to watch his friends and family keel over and gasp their last gasps.

Alarmed (of course, who wouldn’t be), the woodsman had been hurrying to the best of his aged ability through the woods, to warn the poor grandmother before she met her demise. Being an ex-magician, he had scoured his brain for a long unused speed and agility spell, but unfortunately, owing to his increasingly faulty memory and increasing state of panic, he had forgotten it completely. Due to that unlucky development, he was now limping all in a tizzy straight to the grandmother’s cottage.

Of course, limping doesn’t get anyone to their intended destinations very quickly, so that meant that when the woodsman finally reached the grandmother’s cottage, she and Pete were already consuming the last of the sandwiches and parfait.

Stumbling up to the gate, the woodsman panted incoherently.

              “M-M-Margaret!! T-The gasp s-sa gasp sandwiches gasp!!”

To which the grandmother, still hearty and hale, replied,

              “Fred! So nice of you to stop by, do take a seat with me, Pete, and Scarlet, and do try one of her sandwiches—they’re awfully delicious.”

However, the poor grandmother was soon to find out how awful they were.

Mid-sentence, she choked abruptly, turned bright green, and fell to the grass, near camouflaging within its stalks. Pete, near simultaneously, convulsed and flipped on his back, emitting loud, high-pitched whines. Near instantaneously, the Evil Hood raised an affectedly shocked hand to her affectedly smeared lip makeup and gasped artificially.

              “Granny! Pete!” she sobbed, capping her artful performance.

The woodsman, as we well know, was not the least convinced. Having regained his breath, and some fraction of his former repertoire of spells, he advanced forward, steely determination in his wrinkled face.

              “You poisoned them, Scarlet, as you did my friends and family,” he said, glaring his best menacing expression and mentally preparing his best reviving spell.

The Evil Hood flicked her hair dismissively as she cast off her pretensions.

              “So what if I did?” she laughed cruelly. “I might as well get rid of you, too, Fred.”

              “Not,” the woodsman ground each word out, “On. My. Watch.”

              “I’d like to see you try,” giggled the Evil Hood, picking up an old axe stuck in the garden stump and swinging it precariously by the handle.

              “Bring it on, Evil Hood,” hissed the woodsman, as he flung the silvery reviving spell at the prone bodies of Pete and the grandmother, who promptly stirred and revived, which was the exact point of the spell.

The Evil Hood snarled violently. All her grand evil plans had just been thwarted by a stupid old wizard, and she was now very, very angry. Practically enraged, if you must say. Out of her lipstick-stained mouth came an ear-piercing, fear-inspiring, awe-increasing, explosive battle yell. And then she charged, full force, at the woodsman, who had now been joined by an infuriated Pete and grandmother.

Pete, all ruffled up, charged at the Evil Hood’s skeleton legs, while the grandmother, also ruffled up, pulled out her trusty, super pointy knitting needles and flourished them at the Evil Hood’s eyeballs. The woodsman, in the meantime, hoisted up a telekinesis spell and yanked the rusty axe from the Evil Hood’s sticky fingers, not before bonking her on her twisted head with its splintered handle.

To which the Evil Hood, not looking very evil, crumpled to the lawn with barely a squeal. The triumphant three rushed up, raised the axe, and brought it, wind screaming, down on her thick neck, which was immediately twain in two and separated from her shoulders. The Evil Hood was dead.
I was running out of writing ideas and decided I might take the classic tale of Little Red Riding Hood and transform it into a new story. The result is kinda ridiculous and perhaps very weird, but at least I had lots of fun writing it! 

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