Someplace Warm

Someone once said the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, but that’s not really true.

Everything they said I did was my fault, and I loved every minute. I was a monster on the loose in a frigid dustbowl under a graying lavender sky, a mix of death and beauty, only rivaled by my prey.

I stalked a lifeless valley, once an enchanted forest, and stumbled over the broken bones of spirits that flew long ago.

The empty, meandering path was strewn with charred splinters of magnolias and desiccated branches, which had once been lined with emerald towers that dripped with sweet spheres I devoured. I craved the coppery tang of rabbits and tiny creatures, but those unsatisfying goodies no longer ran freely.

Bits of destruction dotted my face, and I spat out the bitter aftermath of destruction. A few steps to my left lay an unexpected find-a single apple, its once pristine white flesh covered in ash and riddled with holes. Yuck.

The day before The End came, I strolled a verdant land streaked with beams of light. By then, I was an expert at chicanery, hiding where I needed to and becoming who they trusted. It was so easy, and I always caught what I pursued.

Then I saw her.

A sliver of a honeyed ringlet spilled from under her shroud of the deepest crimson. The tread of her boots tapped a rhythm and bristled my fur in anticipation. My teeth ached and clacked at the thought of being sated in the most delicious way. I thought she might drop the woven basket of treats, with their sweet buttery aroma wrinkled my nose and teasing me, only half as much as she.

Her voice rose just above a whisper, a dulcet tune like a bittersweet earworm when I inquired about her destination and offered a kind, helpful suggestion.

“Flowers? But I must get there soon. She has daisies and tulips in her garden, I shall pick a few when I am there.” She tugged the cloak over her curls and clasped her basket a little tighter.

“Surely the flowers of the field are as lovely as hers. Go on child, pluck only the best for your beloved and then be on your way.” I winked, and she waded deeper through the endless carpet of emerald and clover, disappearing into the mist.

I sprinted ahead to the cottage.

The garden shimmered, even lovelier and more inviting than the girl had described, so I sopped up a few drops of lake water to give life to the faded blooms. It’s so sad when plants are left to flounder, but it happens when one is unable to attend to them.

Inside that place—wow. Kinda warm, even though it wasn’t too big. The windows got so much great light, even in the early evening.

If I stayed, maybe I’d have a home I could call my own, the perfect place to hide and scope out my next target.

I feared the plan might go awry, but it didn’t. I consumed the first course, less tender than I would have liked. She was nothing like the ones I’d enjoyed—lost runners and hunters with hearts and muscles at their healthiest, so choice.

But I was starving, so, I gulped her down this little old lady and waited for the meal to arrive.

The glasses slipped down my nose, and the gown scratched everywhere, but I made it work. It was a great step up from the usual places I laid my head-on piles of leaves that stuck to me, beneath branches I feared would crush me in my slumber. Here, the bed cradled me, and her sheets cooled my fur, probably a real high thread count. I wanted to stay in that house forever, but I had something else I needed to do, and I’m selfish.

Then the red hood girl showed up, and I had a job to do. I knew it was wrong, after she came so far through the damp woods to do such a good deed. But she was everything, I couldn’t resist.

She was so much smarter than the old woman, but nothing in that basket tasted as good as she did. It was worth the wait and the struggle.

Then, I left the cocoon I'd crafted, because I needed a new challenge. But fate took hand, the world went to shit, and there wasn’t much left soon enough. Those foolish humans, with their engines and machinery tore the world to pieces. Only folks left were those survivalist people, the ones who can live anywhere, with their tents and campsites.

I should have known one of them might be my downfall.

My nose no longer worked. I thought I could smell people a mile away, but he was farther from me, and I didn’t see him until it was way too late. By then, what you see now had already begun—dark skies, air so cold that warmth is pain, even with the thickest fur don when the seasons change.

I eased down the familiar path and stopped to rest beneath a rotted, barely standing oak. I tried to run, but all that dead crap impeded my progress. Damn campers.

I caught a glimpse of silver as it hovered above my head. The swinger of that axe was sequoia tall, with a neck like a boar’s ass, and arms like an ancient tree stumps.

I guess it was instantaneous, because I don’t remember pain or blood. The sky became a lump of charcoal. My head floated in that awful acrid smell, and the biggest piece of wood I ever saw danced before my eyes.

Maybe it’s better this way. Being down here is an infinite snack break. I feast on tiny morsels of memories of the tastiest ones, the good old days. It’s so quiet, like I’m deep in that forest again, a copse of endless shadows.

The guy in charge here isn’t so bad, even with those scary-ass horns. Maybe I’ll be happier, we’ll see. At least it’s warmer.