Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

Once upon a time,

in a land not too far from here,

there was a

BIG,

bad

wolf.

My little red riding hood sparkled in the sun

as I sang my song

and skipped across an open field of flowers,

trekking through a dangerous wood,

all alone.

Disguised as my loving grandmother,

he hid under the familiarity of her clothing

IN

her

bed.

I didn’t notice what sharp teeth he had

or the size of his claws,

too distracted by his big, bright eyes and his soft ears,

his feigned kind words and his

PISS

poor

excuses.

“Come closer,” he whispered to me,

beckoning my vulnerability.

I inched in,

unaware of his façade, until he

SWALLOWED

me

whole.

Eaten alive, presumed dead.

There was no huntsman to save me,

no axe to slash through my front door.

I had to become my own hunter to avoid being hunted

by this nasty predator.

As I sprang from his stomach,

an explosion of insides rained down on me and

WASHED

me

clean.

The BIG, bad wolf had devoured me

(and threatened to blow my house down, too, while he was at it),

yet here I was,

ALIVE,

victorious,

fueled by adrenaline to survive.

And as I leapt forth from his stomach to freedom,

I witnessed my sisters

who had also been consumed by ravenous wolves.

I saw I wasn’t the only little girl in a red cape

who had to become her own hero.

My strength wasn’t mine alone,

but the strength of all the

WOMEN

turned

warriors;

unsung soldiers who were

Once upon a time

forced to save themselves from a

BIG,

bad

wolf.