The Red Riding Hood Society for Lost Girls

So much red. Everywhere she looked, she saw red. Blood pooled on the floor, the bed, the walls. Blood streaked the windows and she could see the hand print her grandmother left on the sill as she tried to pull herself up. She never made it; the monster was too quick. There was so much blood that when the light shone in the window, it cast a red tint across her face. She couldn't move. The sight shocked her. Vaguely she wondered if this was the fight or flight response her teacher talked about. There was no time for her to ask her grandmother why her teeth were so big, or why her eyes were so large. Grandma was gone. The only thing left of her was the splashes of blood in the room. Red heard the soft growling behind her, and realized she wasn't alone. Slowly she turned, and faced the wolf. This is the real story of Red Riding Hood. This is not a fairy tale. 10 years later. Red woke up sweating; a tangled mess in her blankets. After all this time, she still had the occasional nightmare. She unwound the comforter and scooted off the bed. It was time to wake up anyway, and head out to train. She pulled the sheets back and opened the bedroom window. Cool air filtered in, and she allowed herself a moment. She popped her head out and inhaled deeply. The scent of honeysuckle filled her nostrils, and she smiled. She gave herself one more minute of peace, and then started moving. The Woodsman wouldn't be happy with her if she was late. Red pulled on some soft leggings and an old Beatles t-shirt. She grabbed her trainers,  pulled them on her feet and laced them up. As she was straightening up her bed, she made a mental checklist of the things to do before the newbies came. She would need to check the rooms, take an inventory of supplies and food, and also go over the training schedule. Some of the girls had never had to pick up a weapon. Red walked into the bathroom and flicked on the light. She grabbed her toothbrush out of the cup by the sink and squeezed some paste on it. As she brushed her teeth, she mentally reviewed the days activities. She glanced in the mirror. Dark circles looked like smudges under her cobalt blue eyes. Her dark lashes stood out against her pale skin. She was blemish free, save for an angry red scar that ran from the bridge of her nose and across the length of her left cheek bone. The scar shone like a beacon and she wore it proudly; like a badge. She rubbed the tip of her index finger along the line of it. It was slightly raised but smooth. She found it soothing to touch, and she found herself doing it often; sometimes unaware that she was doing it. It served as a reminder to never forget that she was a survivor. She survived. She spit out the paste, rinsed her mouth, and grabbed the hand towel hanging on the hook by the sink. She blotted her face and hung the towel back up, and switched off the light. Red grabbed her gear and glanced at the clock. She had about 30 minutes before she was expected, and wanted to see the therapist before welcoming the new recruits. She stepped outside and took a another satisfying, deep breath. The air was crisp, and the sun was shining. She closed the door behind her, and headed off down the path. Her therapist was only about a quarter of a mile down the way. As she walked, she took note of her surroundings. It had become second nature since training with The Woodsman. Red noticed the moisture on the ground, and checked for disturbances in the brush. She checked for animal prints and dung, but so far didn't see anything unusual this morning. She passed Em on the way down. Em smiled and said "Good morning!" to her as she passed. Red smiled and went on her way. Em was a survivor, like Red. She had her own story to tell, but kept her secrets close. Em hadn't divulged too many details of her past, and Red respected her privacy. Red knew what it felt like to have trauma,and didn't like to talk about what happened that day 10 years ago. She shivered and mentally shook herself. She needed to focus on the present. Red made it to her therapists cottage. The little house stood serenely at the end of the path and was surrounded by beautiful rose bushes. Her therapist said the roses served two purposes: they were beautiful too look at and also served as a protective barrier around the house. The thorns were large and hurt if happened to prick someone's skin. Red stopped at one near the door and inhaled deeply. Just then, the door opened and her therapist stuck her head out. "I was wondering if you were coming by today." Red smiled and walked inside. Her therapist, Miss C as everyone liked to call her, followed Red inside and shut the door. "I've just finished brewing a cup of tea. Would you like some?" She poured a cup and started to hand it to Red. "That sounds lovely. But I have to go make sure the rooms are ready for the new recruits." Miss C paused, took a sip out of the cup, and sat down on a pink, overstuffed chair. She leaned back and put her feet up on the matching ottoman and placed the cup on the stand next to the chair. "What's on your mind?" Red hesitated. She sat down for a moment on the matching pink chair. She didn't know exactly why she came. Well, she did know. The dream. "I had another dream last night. I was wondering if we could schedule a session later." Miss C nodded. She had been trying to get Red to come see her for weeks. So far, Red had only made it to one session. Red relaxed. She didn't realize how tense she was until just then. She knew Miss C would help her work through this, but for some reason she resisted therapy. "Thank you, Miss C." Red stood up. "I have to head out now, but I will come back later." "All right, dear. I will see you then." Red walked down the small hallway that led to the front door. She turned and smiled, and then walked out the door. She glanced down at her watch, and then hurried down to the dorms where the new recruits would be sleeping.