Red Riding Hood: Book 1 Chapter 1

Verse 1
Red Riding Hood knew it well.

She smelled blood.

The deafening crack of brutality.

The thrilling lash of pain.

"Oh my god. I love it so much!"

More bleeding.

More wounding.

More screaming.

"Pleeaaase! Oh, pretty pretty please!"

PLEEEASE!

She needed her author 's help.

For reviving him meant she could keep killing.

Sacrifices are needed to revive your Author!

Can I really kill them all?

Sure! Kill all you want!

Yay! Time for a snack!

Verse 2
Bake those sloppy entrails into a cake!

Add some blood to that wine!

It was finally time to visit dear old granny.

Verse 3
She mustn't dawdle along the way!

Poor granny might get bored if Red Riding Hood didn't hurry.

Verse 4
If she met a wolf along the way, she would bash its head in with a rock and turn its skull into a puppet!

Verse 5
At granny's house, she'll light a roaring fire and make a stew from her old bones.

Verse 6
Don't forget about that friendly huntsman!

She'll take his rifle and shoot him right in the tummy!

Verse 7
I love my granny, puppy, and huntsman!

That's why I have to kill each and every one of them! Hehe!

Verse 8
But once they're all gone, poor Red's story comes to an end.

That's no fun---she still wants to play!

Verse 9
If only I could revive my author.

Then I'd be free to play forever!

Killing my darlings till the end of time!

What fun!

Verse 10
Hahaha!

"You, over there! Are you hurt?

Poor baby! You clearly need to suffer MORE!"

Ah hah hah hah!

But it wasn't enough.

She wasn't done having fun.

Where was her next playmate?

Her red hood was awash with blood.

Like a moth to a flame, new playmates appeared once again.

So, what are you killing and why?

Oh, just everybody, I guess. Because it's so much fun!

Don't forget about your author either, you hear?

Crush that big bad orc's face!

Slash its guts and slit its spleen!

Stuff some rocks deep inside.

Toss it in the lake! He's finished!

Golly! Wasn't that fun?

Red never stopped smiling.

She only wished more people would play with her.

Brutality.

The velvety madness that cloaked her body.

Discordant Poem
Aren't children terrible?

Smiling like angels as they torture tiny creatures,

ripping off their wings, tearing out their hearts.

A giddy innocence rang out.

It was the jubilant sound of a child playing...

Playing with the dead, that is!

Brutality at its most pure.