LITTLE RED
We don’t hear much about theof Little Red.Her fear, yes:tip-toeing through forestwith baskets of apple-cake,quick, uncertain, keeping the path.And her gullibility,of course,buying his performance;that tatty faded shawl and grandma’s dustyrouge a poor disguise not fooling many, yet our girl -our girl fell.Her shameis implied.But her rage(as he rips away her hood revealing creeping blush on cheek)her rage(as his teeth sink in and her life bleeds out and she screamsand he snarls and she swoons)her rage(as he tears into her flesh and she is what big what big what bigwhat big what-)her rageis alwaysforgot.