Flash fiction by Christine Gallagher Kearney

Red Goes to the Desert

Little Red Riding Hood looked at the red cape, the generous hood folded open like a mouth beckoning her back in. Were those teeth? She squinted but saw only darkness where the fabric folded into oblivion. She knew going back would bring ruin. But what if she had kept wearing that cape, had run around in the woods with that basket looking for danger? Or was it, waiting for danger to find her? She couldn’t be sure. Her memory was obscured by wolf-themed trauma. 

Red had given up the deep forest for the arid and sandy landscapes of Tucson, Arizona. But she longed to put the cape back on. It was like an old friend who refused to text her back, but also refused to end the friendship. Now that she was safe in this two-bedroom rambler, it no longer mattered. She could give the cape to Goodwill and wear the new Irish jumper her mother had brought back from a visit to the Emerald Isle. “Red,” her mother had said, “this will keep you warm and protect you from snakes on desert nights.” At least that’s what the old Irishman had told her.

Red thought the desert lifestyle suited her. She smiled as she watched greater roadrunners flip their tail feathers and Gila monsters plod along, their bellies plowing dry dirt. She no longer jumped at the sound of a howling wolf, although admittedly she cringed when she heard the rattle of a tail just beyond a boulder. Sure, she missed her woodland friends. They were less scaly, more apt to smile. She had yet to encounter a smiling reptile, and the cacti were predictably prickly. But then she remembered the wolf smiling at her and thought with a shudder, It’s okay if they don’t smile. I don’t need everyone to like me.