The Cloak Stained by Crimson

    It was a task that needed to be done, a task only I could do.

    I donned the cloak you sewed for me. I packed the basket with your favorite dessert, Mom's sweet apple pie. I made sure Mom sprinkled extra cinnamon on top, just the way you liked it. I put on my boots and went out the door, and I made sure I packed everything before I went down the familiar path.

    "Over the river and through the woods..." I hummed to myself.

    I felt tempted to skip across town as the tune came into my head. However, the watching townspeople kept me from that childish habit. They all knew me and my familiar red cloak, something I never left home without. Most of the people don't know my real name, but I often respond to the call of "Little Red". They all noticed the basket I carried and knew where I was headed. They all called out to me and said, "Be sure to say hello for us, Little Red." I responded with a simple nod and waved good-bye as I reached the edge of town.

    I reached the stone bridge. I looked over it at the river and looked at my reflection. Oh, how I would always do this every time I went, ever since I went to see you with my Mom. Oh, how much I have grown since then.

    I walked up to the entrance of the woods. I could hear the birds and their familiar tones. I remembered thinking they were an orchestra just for me, a way for the birds to keep me company during the long walk.

    Soon, I came across that tree, the tree scarred with the marks of hunger. It was from that fiend that I met long ago, a beast tempted by my innocence. I swept my hand over the engraved hatred that he left behind, remembering the trials that I went through that day.

    Finally, I reached your house, that little cabin in the clearing. I walked up to you and took out the slice of apple pie Mom baked for you. I sat in front of you and placed the slice on a porcelain plate, before setting it in front of you. "Remember that day when that foolish wolf attacked us," I asked as I poured out some apple cider in a glass to drink, "I wonder if we would have been good friends if he wasn't consumed by his hunger." I turned my head to the grotesque skull next to your grave and petted it gently with my hand. Then, I raised my glass up high.

    "I will never forget the day this cloak of mine became dyed in your blood, oh foolish wolf."

True Form of Fame

Why try so hard to reach towards the stars?
Why do we humans try to reach so high into the sky while we live?
Is it because we truly are empty inside and want to fill our hearts with the stars above?
Are we not foolish for following such a dream? Or are we not lucky enough to catch a falling star?
Why delude ourselves with illusions of things that will never be in our hands without God's help?

How empty are we humans?
Clawing our way to the top, we only realize how much farther those miraculous dreams are.
Is it because we wish not to live for anything else?
Have we not found another reason to live?
Is our desire for perfection and pleasure a dream the shines brightly or a plague that consumes us?

Never forget that life still goes on wherever you are.
You will always be moving forward.
Beware for the steps to fame are treacherous.
They will take you away from everyone else who are unable to reach the stars.
Shall you live as a god among others or live as an individual within this world?

Red Moon's Melody

Rising from the distance, the red moon overlooks the field of white lilies. Its presence turns the pure white light into red. There she stands, basking in the blood-stained moonlight. Her face was facing towards the rising moon. And when the red moon reached the highest point, she turns to face me. Her eyes that were once pale jade green has turned golden yellow. Her expression and movement was as if she was controlled by strings, smooth yet unnatural. As I walked towards her, I feel pulled in by her beauty, but I was shivering fearfully with each step. And the closer I came to her, a song becomes more audible in my ears, a praise to the red moon, the forgotten guardian.

Porcelain Princess

The girl sat upon her throne high above my head. She was trapped in that glass prison. Again and again, I would save her from that place and carry her in my arms. I remembered how pale her face was, an ill shade of white mixed with a little color of life. Her eyes were deep blue, as if they were sapphires. Her cheeks had small patches of rosy red. Her lips were painted a faint pink that reflected in the light. And her chestnut brown dress was of the best silk in town and had a long skirt that barely reached above her feet. Her most beautiful feature was how her hair was like that of my mother's, golden thread.

This enchanting girl was entrusted to me when my parents had died. My mother told me to protect her as if it was her. And for many years, I had devoted myself to that duty, guarding her fragile body and donning her with fine clothes. She would often watch me from the throne in her glass room, always watching without blinking. Now, I lied in my bed unable to move anymore. All I could do was look upon her face from a distance. I remembered how often she would call me to save her from her glass prison. Unfortunately now, I could only watch her from a distance, looking upon her ageless face staring back at me until my eyes could look no more.