The Twisted Tale Of Little Red Riding Hood

It looms before me
Watching my every move
Hunting me
Stalking me wherever I turn

I can feel its breath
On the back of my neck
Its drool
Burns the tenderness of my skin

Its jaws are open wide
Showing off its teeth
Its foul breath
Fills my nostrils with a sense of dread

I can see its body
Covered in thick fur
Larger than life
Bigger than first imagined

I call for help
My voice is weak
No louder than a mouse
It's barely a squeak

I clear my throat
And try again
Yelling louder this time
Praying someone hears

Someone does
They pound on the door
Calling out
Begging me to answer

I turned my head
As the monster leans in
It sniffs me
And I cower and cringe

I let out a scream
As it licks my cheek
Tasting the salty texture
Of my tender skin

That's when I turn to look
Facing my fears
I open my mouth
But nothing comes out

Its paw holds my throat
Its claws sharp
It begins to snarl
Its lip curls up

"My, what big eyes you have"
It says with a smirk
"Don't worry, my dear,
There's nothing to fear
But for what it's worth
Grandma says that woodsman's a jerk."

It smiles
Its teeth gleam in the light
I let out a scream
As I feel its fangs bite

Now I wander the woods
Somewhere between death and life
Warning all those
Of a creature that stalks the night

My cape is torn
My dress is ripped
I am doomed
To wander forever

And every now and then
I can do nothing but gulp
As I hear its laughter
The laughter of the Big Bad Wolf

Always The Same

Lyrics by John Farnham
See the video here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqhKdlqJoIk

There's a young girl working the corner
There's an old man lost at sea
They could tell you a million stories
About the wrong side of the street
There's a rich man making money
From a poor man's misery
It's always the same

Always the same, the fight for survival
Whatever you do today don't make
Tomorrow the same
Fight for survival
Forget about yesterday, don't make
Tomorrow the same

There's a runaway looking for shelter
An innocent heart that bleeds
There's a blind man playing for pity
Says it's the only way to make ends meet
And he's living of his hard luck story
Says he's a victim of society
It's always the same

Always the same, the fight for survival
Whatever you do today don't make
Tomorrow the same
Fight for survival
Forget about yesterday, don't make
Tomorrow the same

The seasons come and go
And all the questions why
How will we ever know if we never try

Always the same, the fight for survival
Whatever you do today don't make
Tomorrow the same
Fight for survival
Forget about yesterday, don't make
Tomorrow the same
Fight for survival
Whatever you do today don't make
Tomorrow the same
Fight for survival
Forget about yesterday, don't make
Tomorrow the same

Bakers Road Crossing

Emma stared over the table at her boyfriend, Anthony. He was cute, with jet black hair and the richest chocolate brown eyes she had ever seen. He was a picture of perfection.

Her elbow was bumped. She rolled her eyes. Sitting on her side of the booth was Anthony's best friend, Scott, the brainless oaf. 

Emma looked at her friend Kristy, trying to work out how they managed to sit opposite their boyfriends in the four person booth in the Mismatch Diner. 

Kristy shrugged apologetically. Scott was a handful, that was no hidden mystery, but he was a gentleman when she needed him to be. Although, she had seriously thought of drop kicking his video gaming ass to the curb.

Anthony seemed unaware of any tension among the group. He signalled for the waitress, making writing movements with his hand. “Check please!” he called to her. She nodded and headed back to the counter.

Once they had paid for their meal, they headed out to Anthony's old Mustang. Emma had often teased him about his love of the car and that he needed to get a new one, but Anthony dismissed her with a wave of his hand. He loved the Mustang. It was reliable, durable and above all, was a classic. He felt all manly whenever he would drive through town in it.

They climbed in, Emma sitting in the back seat with Kristy while Scott called shotgun. 

Silently, they drove through the streets of their small hometown. Emma couldn't wait until she finished high school, then she was out of there, leaving Hill Ridge for good to attend Brown university. 

“Hey, do you guys want to hear a true story?” Anthony asked, breaking the silence.

Scott drummed his fingers along the dashboard and turned to stare at his friend. “A true story? Like what? How you two fell madly in love at Cordelia's party? We already know that story. You were both drunk and high and it resulted in a rather pleasant exchange of bodily fluids.” He winked.

Emma groaned. Scott clearly didn't have a filter from his brain to his mouth. He often said whatever popped into his head and made no apologies for it.

Anthony clucked his tongue. “No, but thank you for bringing that up, again,” he said. He turned down Bakers Road. “No, I'm referring to a local ghost story. Bakers Road Crossing. Ever heard of it?”

“You mean the railroad crossing that's further along this road?” Kristy said. Anthony nodded. “What about it?” Kristy demanded, leaning forward in between the two front seats.

Anthony didn't say a word. He just continued driving. Kristy swatted his arm. “Tell us,” she said, her voice urging him to get on with his story. 

Anthony just grinned as the car approached the railroad crossing. He stopped the car, turning the engine off. Kristy sat forward. “Um...why have we stopped on the tracks?” she asked nervously.

“You want to hear my story so I stopped,” Anthony said, grinning madly. He unfastened his seatbelt and got out of the car. He popped the trunk, got something out and slammed the trunk closed again. 

Emma tried to see what he was doing. Through the dirty back window of the Mustang, she could see he was sprinkling something white over the trunk. 

Anthony discarded the packet of flour he had used to cover the top of the trunk and climbed back into the car. He locked the doors. Then he turned to face the others and began his frightening story.

“Thirty years ago, today, there was a bus filled with young school kids coming back from a field trip at the lake that broke down in this very spot. The driver climbed out, along with the teachers, to see whether or not he could fix it, but he couldn't. Suddenly, the door on the bus slammed shut, trapping the children inside. The driver and the teachers began to panic, attempting to pry the doors open with their hands and nails. The driver even tried to throw a rock through the window, but the glass wouldn't shatter.

A sound in the distance made the panic heighten. It was the sound of a trains whistle.”

“What?” Emma couldn't believe what she was hearing. She was starting to wonder about what the abundance of maple syrup he poured on his pancakes did to his mind.

Anthony didn't miss a beat. “The teachers and the driver were trying everything to get the kids out. They even tried to push the bus off the tracks but it was stuck. Eventually, they had to abandon the bus and the kids. 

It was tragic. The wreak was awful. I couldn't imagine what those poor people saw. The mangled wreckage of the bus smashed and wrenched under the train. Just horrible. But the story doesn't end there. Ten years after the accident, a young woman was driving when her car came to a complete stop, right here on this crossing. The engine just died. Then she heard the train whistle so she kept turning the key, hoping that the car would suddenly start. But it didn't.

She was about to climb out when suddenly the car began to roll. As you can see, there's no hill or anything here to indicate that a very strong wind pushed the car. In any case, by the time the train got to the crossing, the lady had avoided death by the spirits of the children who died here.”

“Fuck off!” Scott had a stupid grin on his face, not believing a word that Anthony said. “There's a bullshit ghost story in every town,” Scott added, cynically dismissing the story with a wave of his hand. “It's not real.”

“It is,” Anthony insisted. “If it wasn't real, then why is it every ten years, someone gets saved on this spot? First it was the lady whose car broke down. Then it was a mechanic. He said the exact same thing. The car had been pushed off the tracks.”

“Lucky break,” Kristy said, tossing her hair back. “Nothing more, nothing less. Coincidence.”

A faint noise made Emma's head snap up. The train whistle. 

“Anthony, start the car now!” she cried.

Anthony didn't move. Scott grabbed at the door, trying to open it. “Fuck. Let me out!” he cried, throwing his weight against it, hoping it would give. It didn't.

Calmly, Anthony opened his window and tossed the keys outside. “What the fuck?!” Scott demanded, looking a little thrown. “Dude, this is just an urban legend. And I'm sure as hell not wanting to test it.” Scott rolled down his window and climbed out, with Emma and Kristy following suit.

The train was in clear view. It barrelled down the the tracks, hurtling towards the car. The car in which Anthony resided in, his calm demeanour not changing despite the apparent sudden death charging towards him.

His hands were firmly placed on the roof, showing the others that he wasn't touching the steering wheel or anything.

“Get out!” Kristy yelled. “Anthony, don't do this!”

Emma watched with horror as the train got closer. Squeezing Scott's arm in fear, she prayed that Anthony would come to his senses. 

As the train got closer, the car began to rock. Just a little at first, but then it became more violent. Slowly, the car began to inch forward. The train hurtled towards it, blowing its whistle. 

The Mustang suddenly lurched forward and became clear of the tracks. The train safely passed by while Anthony climbed out, completely unharmed. 

Scott stood there in disbelief over what he just witnessed. Kristy's mouth hung open and Emma launched into a tirade about not goofing around or tempting fate.

Anthony, in silence, took her hand and dragged her to the trunk of the Mustang. She gasped and beckoned the others to follow. 

Together they stood there and stared. For in the flour that had been caked on the back of the car were five sets of children's hand prints.

Said The Spider To The Fly

I stand over your grave, black roses in hand.  Tears caress my cheek with a gentle touch.  Oh, I'm not weeping for you.  These are tears of joy.  You see, now that you're dead, I can rejoice and get back the life I use to have.

Let me explain.  When we met, it was love at first sight.  For me anyway.  You just saw me as a potential conquest, someone who you could have fun with.  But my personality won you over and we became a couple.

We would do everything together.  We were one of those annoying couples that everyone complains about.  You know, we finished each others sentences and "I" in conversations gave way to "we."  I was happy.  Much happier then I could ever be.

Then she came along and you strayed.  Promising to call me tomorrow and never following through with plans.  You made these great promises but never saw them through.  You offered me the moon, the sun, the stars and what hurts the most is that I believed you.

When you called to cancel our plans two hours before we were suppose to be somewhere, I knew it was the end.  So I followed you.  I saw you run to her, greeting her with open arms.  That was the way you greeted me.  Or at least, you use to.  Now you won't spend any time with me and the time that we do spend together usually results in you staring at your phone.

As I watched you embrace her, a plan formed in my mind.  I would make you see the error of your ways if it was the last thing I ever did.

When you got home, I was there.  Dolled up to the extremes, my blond hair straightened, my little black dress nothing short of temptation.  I walked over to you and before you could speak, I kissed you.  My hand played with your belt as my tongue danced with yours.

I broke the kiss, stared at you seductively, giving you a look I knew you couldn't resist.  With your belt in my hand, I wrapped it around your neck, pulling it tighter, the seduction dancing in my eyes faded and all that was left was coldness.

You called my name, fighting, clawing at me with your last breath as your life slipped away from you.

Satisfied that you were dead, I released the belt and your body fell to the floor.  "Prick," I said, as I kicked your thigh.  "Rot in hell."

I dragged your body down the hall and into the bedroom, stripping you before carefully laying you out.  I handcuffed you to the bed, the belt still around your neck. 

I left you there as I seeked out your other girlfriend.  I found her, and I have to say, she didn't put up much of a fight.  Of course the chloroform may have had something to do with it.

When she woke, she found herself, naked on top of you, her hand on your belt.  That's when I walked in and discovered your body. 

As I stand on your grave a smile crosses my face.  I told you I wasn't one you could mess with.  I told you that if you ever broke my heart I would kill you.  As far as you and I are concerned, I gave you fair warning.  It's not my fault that you didn't listen.

I toss the roses down onto your grave as the funeral ends.  I wouldn't worry about your little friend.  She's making friends with Big Mona in the state prison. 

I glance around.  The cop that questioned me stands by a tree, his eyes watching me.  I remove my jacket, showing off my ample breasts in a tight black top.  I see the lust in his eyes.  Deep down he knows I am responsible but has no proof.  And if he decides to mess with me, you will have a new buddy in the ground.

As I walk from the cemetery, my heels sinking into the grass, I glance over my shoulder, my eyes lighting up with a seductive dance.  The cop acknowledges my stare with a tip of his hat.  I nod my head, suggesting that he follows me.  His smile broadens and he does.

I lean against the car and lick my lips which are bloody red.  He comes overs, nonchalantly staring at my body.  "Do you like what you see?" I ask.

His smile is bright, his lips full, his teeth straight and whiter than most.  "I do," he replies. 

I unlock the car and open the door.  "Why don't we go somewhere and talk?" I suggest.  I run a finger down my neck and across the top of my breasts.  He smiles again and tells me he'd love to.  I glance up at the sky.  It's threatening with rain.

"Then get in," said the spider to the fly.

Death Becomes Me

Special note: This is written on behalf of a special friend of mine.  We've had our ups and downs, our share of fights, but all in all, when push comes to shove, there's nothing that can tear us apart.  Based on our high school poem "Death's Hand" may I present Death Becomes Me.

There's something about you that I find intriguing.
Your quick wit and cheeky charm is alluring.
But now I've peeled back the curtain
And revealed myself to you.

It scares me knowing that you know.
Knowing that you will never see me the same way.
Knowing that you can use it against me at any time
For your enjoyment is my pain.

I long to be near you
Wishing each day would arrive quicker than the last
So I can hold you in my arms
And never think about the past.

But it is all you want to bring up
How I had hurt you before.
No amount of saying I'm sorry
Will get you to forgive me.

So now I sit alone in my room
Staring at the wall.
Not seeing it
But seeing past what it represents.

I long for the cold hand of Death
To release me from Life's prison.
I long to feel His weighted stare
As he tells me that my time is up.

A chill glides down my spine
When I realise I'm not alone.
I turn my head to see Him there
His face shadowed by his robe.

His hand reaches for me
And I scoot away.
Pressing myself against the wall
I close my eyes and wait.

When his bony finger touches me
It's like ice.
Cold, wet and sharp
It pierces my flesh.

My life drifts before my eyes.
My defense is shot
As I feel my life slipping away
And I slide into the pit of no return.

I guess they named it wrong
For I have returned.
To watch over you and your friends
And judge you on your actions.

Like the valleys to mountains
Like the rivers to the sea
Like the answers that we seek
Death becomes me