I run down the main street, making my presence known,
letting them see me. I stop in the town
square, point my nose to the sky and howl out of sheer frustration for the secret
woods and dark trees that used to be my hunting ground, where you could have a
nice private moment to make your kill.
They stare, these women in red and their woodcutter husbands. Their old adversary is back. They thought they could make their world safe
by cutting down the forests, by setting up cameras in every private room
and by arming their women with smartphones, but I’m here in their city of surveillance
now, I’m hungry and I will rise to the challenge. I'll find a nice, private place to slay Red Riding
Hood.
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