Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time...

"Bailey poses exquisitely, a single damp tear trailing down her porcelain face, yet an elegant smile painted upon thin rosy lips."

"The raucous caw of the ashy bird resounded carelessly through the vacant beige sky, the calloused sound reverberating above the scarred flesh of numerous fallen soldiers."

"Smile," the voice coos, "they won't know the difference."


Author's note

Dear Readers,

When I was younger I used to play pretend like any other child would. I would play Warriors or I would play make believe; just about anything that could release the ideas the flowed through me. But I’ve changed because of them.

Kids at school had once questioned me why I acted like an animal. And I was confused. I’d never told anybody about that since elementary school, so where did it come from? I don’t quite know myself. All I knew was that something had spread, and that whatever it was, it needed to stop.

And there have been many things that have influenced me to keep writing. Some of my teachers, my parents, and even a couple of my friends. But this event has by far impacted me the most. Ever since that day I stopped playing make believe. And instead, I started writing. Things could come alive on my paper however I wanted them to, and nobody would have to know. It’s all mine.

So call me selfish. But the reason I share that story with you is because I hope you’ll feel something. Not for me, no. But for yourself. We were all children once, and we all played inside our heads to some extent. Some just daydream now, and some of us read, and some like me; write.

Don’t stop dreaming. Cause we all lived in a fairytale. And some of us, we yearn to stay there. So this is dedicated to those of you who are broken. Who are bruised. Who wish they could still play make believe. I just want to let you know, I wish you all a happily ever after. So don’t stop believing.

Note: Please understand that my opinions will be seen in and throughout this story, though somewhat ‘secretly’. It’s your choice how to interpret my writing and what it means to you.



5. Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

A carmine tinted cloak whips feverishly in the breeze, the thick clothing pleating itself even tighter as the platinum stranded girl sprints clumsily through the undergrowth. Monstrous branches extend their limbs in futile attempts to grasp her; abstain her from her flee. But no such thing could stop her from tearing away from the frightening creature behind her.

The humanoid animal had gilded claws with deadly accuracy and florid opal eyes that glinted menacingly under the thin shreds of moonlight that leaked through the canopy. Its pelt was oddly rough and coarse like unused sandpaper, not even appearing to be smooth to the touch.

But the most stunning, yet appalling thing about the fiend was not its eyes or fur, it was its towering stature. So much larger, faster, and stronger than any other big bad wolf Little Red had ever encountered.

Swiveling around the next ridge and deeper into the undergrowth, Red released a shrill scream; the note ripping through the air painfully as she hit the mucky forest floor. And promptly a grimy paw clutched her now twisted ankle as she fell forth, the rugged padding rubbing against the soft skin and yanking her back hastily; claws scraping against the tender flesh of her leg enough to make her bleed crimson.

Breathing heavily as she lay sprawled on the dirt, the young woman weakly turned her head crookedly as to witness the full apparition of the beastly thing. Yet, her sluggish squirming only became more frantic as to what was bestowed.

A fair young lady, dressed in a satin garment and shoes that were lined with beads. Strictly five foot three she appeared with fluorescent skin and long luscious silver locks, eyes that were round and fawn like with a grayish glow. They were wide and innocent, but also dull and ugly.


The once ravenous soul that pursued her was now a mere mundane human like herself. And as she instinctively stretched her frail and shaking arms to push it away, the mirror image followed suit.

Exact precise movements that mimicked her own.

It was terrifying.

And as the muddied beauty made contact with the ghostly figure, a dense spiral of fur crisscrossed upwards, the thick hairs covering her arms and legs as her nose became a snout and wide-set eyes becoming a much more feral spark.

Letting loose one final cry, all she could hear was the phrase. The single phrase her mother had taught her over and over again. The single phrase she had thought about before she left the little town and followed the thin paths to Granny’s house. And the single phrase she had forgotten as she ran her hands along the smooth fluff of the little lamb. Because:

“A wolf in sheep’s clothing is so much more than a warning.”

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