My first ever Fucked Up Fairy Tale.
1.
Didn’t an act of love seal Little Red’s fate? Sure, Grandma wasn’t there, but here’s the truth from that day (if you care):
Red was planning a special date. She was so sick of Granny’s critical stares, a cross-dressing wolf – especially male -was to Red delightful dare. She met him on Tinder, gave the address and time to meet. Red had rat poison in grandmom’s beets. Since she’s in intensive care, Red is housesitting the perfect lair for horny girls with time to spare. She didn’t feel guilty, she’s sick of the bitch. Whether it was grandma staring from her bed or repeating herself in Red’s hooded head, the You Suck choir sang in perfect pitch.
Though red may be her favorite color, her family sees quite another: a black sheep is always blamed, the problem child, the source of shame. Her bad behavior causes their vices, though Red must choose wisdom or pay prices. Apparently, it’s okay- to be a slave or an addict because it’s not your fault, it’s a habit. It’s not your fault that you must escape pain, and that’s why it’s okay to spread it again. It’s my fault because I am me, I’m the source of your disease, because I mirror your disgust, for living the life you were told you must. But we all know a lie even if we choose to believe it, and we focus our lives on protecting an image. We must ensure children do better, but pass down the secrets from our family letters (more like fetters). Sharing blood with your brood is caring. Tearing each other down depending on mood is perfectly good. That lawful silence long has stood. No matter how good, you can always do better, acceptance and approval like a fish to a hook with a feather.
Continued
Mah Butt Itches 