Little Red Riding Hood

A realistic recreation of the classic story. I created this while trying to write in a 'whiz-bang' sort of style.

Mother brought outside yet another small jar of jam and placed it into the basket. A white piece of woolen cloth was placed onto the food and mother’s delicate fingers tucked the edges into the wicker picnic basket. There. It was supposedly ready, ready to be carried off through the woods.

Mother tugged on the girl’s white cap, making sure that all her hair was neatly stowed behind the ears and under the cap, out of sight. And then she fixed her collar, pulling on her dress to even out wrinkles.

“You’re perfect, my dear,” Mother kissed her forehead. Her full red lips left no imprint on the girl’s immaculate skin. “I think you’re ready.”

“Mother?” the girl’s voice was melodically high and clear, crisply clear, as if made of diamond. The birds around their cottage fall silent to listen to her question.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Must I go?” she speaks with song in her voice, yet the girl’s question paints a slight look of surprise on Mother’s face. “Tis’ incredibly far for a walk, mother.”

“You have waited for this since you were four, remember?” Mother reasons. “You cannot wish to back away now?”

“Mother, but,” she pauses, turning to look at the woods, her petite feet encased in a comfortable yet fine red shoe shuffling towards each other. “I fear I may lose my way, Mother. What of me then?”

“You shall stay on the path, and this path will help you not lose your way,” Mother turns to stand by her child, shielding her with protective arms. “What is causing your doubt now, my child? Have you forgotten of the dream?”

“I fear the dream,”

“But you know it ends well. You know that this is our chance, our way to meet the world. People will speak of us, they already do, because of your short journey through the woods,” Mother explains.

“Mother,” the girl lifts her head to look at her Mother’s warm face. “My dream was a story. I fear living a story, for though all ends well in a story, the world is a different place.”

“My child, we have to trust the storyteller,” Mother squeezes the child’s shoulders and goes to sit on the bench where the basket lay.

“So I must go?”

“The storyteller decides, and may he decide kindly and well, what to do with my child on her journey through the woods,” the Mother offers the basket to the girl, and the girl waits for a moment before slipping out one of her gloved fingers from the shrouds of her dress to clasp the wicker handle. She then lets the hand fall and the basket to strike her foreleg as Mother goes into the house once more.

Mother came out with a red piece of cloth, thick, which turned out to be a cape of sorts, which she fit onto her girl and laced it around the collar. She then grabbed the back and pulled it over her cap, over her head. It had a hood. A gloriously rose red hood.

“Do not speak to strangers on your way,” Mother patted out wrinkles in the girl’s dress and new hood for the final time.

“I will not, Mother,” the girl voiced with mourn in the sound.

“And remember, never stray off the path and you shan't get lost,” Mother lightly pushed the red little girl along, watching from behind as she took cautious steps along the stone path leading away from the house. The basket wasn't heavy, in fact Mother had tried to make it purposefully light, yet the girl leaned slightly to her left side, which held the handle. “And most important, follow the story!” she cried from the front door.

And that was the last she heard from her Mother for a very, very long time.

…

The stone path away from the house soon ended and was replaced by a wide dirt path with two grooves to either side, marks from the occasional lumber wagons that were driven here. Her open faced red shoes, while not high heels, were tight and something that a respectable little girl would wear to a Sunday mass, or to a formal gathering, not a walk in the woods, and  soon began to make her petite feet ache in the toes. Yet she walked onward into the woods, stepping over the tree roots, ignoring beautiful clearings and passing by pebbles she was so happy to kick before, her red hood bobbing up and down as she made her steps.

The sun, so warm earlier in the day, was covered by clouds and presented only a weak gloomy light to shine through the leaf barrier to the girl. The day was clearer than water, and she could see far into the woods every time she took the short glance behind her, just to check, because she wanted to know what the storyteller has in store for her and absolutely hated surprises. Especially when she already knows what the surprise contains, and when she definitely doesn't approve.

Dreams can be so hatefully annoying, she says to herself, recalling the threads of memories from her experience at four years of age. She remembered only the walk, only walking along the dust, only the feel of the wind chilling her arms and the hood wrapping warmly around her shoulders.

And then running. She remembered running as well, the tree branches tearing at her as she ran from some hideous… thing. And there her memory stopped.

The rest her parents have told her, as she supposedly recited the dream for several hours before they could calm her down into sleep again. And Mother told her, she told her of the thing, of the whole adventure -- an adventure she called it -- at Grandma’s house, and of the huntsman who makes everything well. And the dream was obviously real, so the very day she dreamed of, the day before her thirteenth birthday when she can still be considered ‘little’, off she went to Grandma’s. And woe, did Grandma happen to be sick, but so the dream predicted.

The girl stopped, settling the basket into one of the ridges in the road and sitting on it for just a moment, to rest her feet. She picked a prime spot for a short stop: beyond the edge of the road the earth fell down sharply, forming what could be called only a cliff, with all of the rocks and jagged edges implied by the word present. The girl in question was a good girl, and her Mother had warned her about not approaching this edge too closely, and, despite all the interest a child could have in sharp things and grandiose heights, she had always obeyed her Mother’s restrictions. But she would still often sit here, looking out at the valley and the mountains on the other side, wondering if on that other mountain, so beautifully colored this fall, another girl dressed in a red hood sat.

And so she wondered now, sitting on the still warm loaves of bread, which were covered only by a thin cloth. The warmth in her rear was comforting, just as her hood protected her shoulders as the light gusts of wind blew across the -

Crack -

The girl jumped up from her perch on the basket, looking around desperately.

There! She saw it! The dark form materialized from between one of the trees, maybe a hundred feet away, trotting for a short second before disappearing behind the tree again. She saw it clear as day, except it was gone now.

Well, she sure as prince charming isn't going to go out there looking for the beast. The wolf disappeared, so it did! That’s fine. As long as it doesn't come back.

She grabbed the basket and quickly started down the pathway. Her feet still ached, but she couldn't afford to stop. No way, not for all the magic of the Narnia, not for all the gold in Camelot, not for -

It was going this way, before it disappeared.

The girl stops, staring with horror up the hill, half expecting to see it following along in the shade. It was trotting north, the same direction the path leads, it’s flashing white eyes looking upon her and he slowly walked, and then he was gone. North.

The girl turned around abruptly, quickly taking steps back, back to the cottage, back to the safety of home. She’s had much too much of this ‘adventuring’. She did not want to meet that beast of a wolf, thank you very much, but no thank you. She would lead a quiet life, without prophetic dreams or wolves or stupid sick grandmas.

But what would mother think?

She stops, again, looking around to make sure the beast left for good. Mother would scold, or worse, simply be unhappy and sit in her knitting chair all day, looking at the fire, thinking of their father. Alone.

No, she couldn't allow her Mother to be sad again, like when father died. She would simply rush through, ignore the wolf. Yes, she can do that. And then everyone will be happy and a prince would come to Mother because her little girl fulfilled a prophecy.

She looked one way, north, towards the path that led to Grandma’s house. And then back, towards home and safety. And then she decided, firmly and intelligently like a good girl should. Forward she’ll go.

Forward. For Mother.

She took one cautious step. Then another.

It is most important to keep moving, she whispered to herself. Of course, why hadn’t she thought of that sooner! As long as she was moving, the beast, wherever it was, wouldn’t be able to catch up! Her steps grew faster, the pauses fewer, and soon she broke into what looked on the outside as a confidant trot.

Her stomach felt as if it were being eaten, nibbled, or maybe corroded by some devilish acid. Her feet were made of jelly, but she put on her strong face, lifting the basket higher. She passed the place where she sat before. Her gaze wandered to the side opposite the cliff, where the wolf had appeared.

It wasn’t there now. But there were bushes, shadows from especially leafy trees, and these she eyed intently. It could be in them. It could be hidden away, waiting for her to pass by, silently following. And when the moment is right, it would close in from behind, and quickly wrap it’s jaws around her -.

She squeezed her eye shut to stop the image. Already, the jitters were starting, her free hand was developing goose bumps. Only two more miles to Grandma’s house.

Then, a shadow to her left, where the cliff was, darted stunningly close. The girl whipped around, dropping the basket.

Nothing. She backed away, slowly looking at the suspicious bushes. Her breath became heavy, spasmatic.

And then rustling behind her.

She didn’t wait to check what it was. Screaming, she fled up the hill, basket forgotten. She could hear the snapping of jaws behind her, of rustling and branches behind her. One of her shoes was loose, falling off. She kept running, pebbles digging into her foot.

And then a mass of black hair lunged in front of her, the white’s of it’s eyes flashing. It snarled, dripping foam.

The girl stopped, eyes wide. The barks from behind got closer. There were two of them!

She ran to the right, into the woods. The grass was sharp under her bare foot. The branches seemed to stretch out to grab her. They tore at her shoulders, at her hood. Something clawed across her face painfully.

And the whole time she felt a breath, a rapid breath on her legs. And spittle, whenever she slowed down.

And then she tripped.

Her hands hit a tree but they didn’t stop her momentum, and her whole face slid along the tree bark as she fell. Her cap came loose, and her hair tumbled out, messy and full of leaves.

She lay there on the ground, still, not daring to breath and not really sure she would be able to. Her round face was scratched and there was a big mark where she hit her head against the tree. Now did the realization come to her, the pain flooded her senses.

And she began to cry. Curling up into a ball, her back to the tree, she decided to cry everything out. The tears blurred the two black forms, blurring the outline of their fur as they quickly approached her from both sides. Their white eyes flashed in hateful anger, but their snarls stopped. They were just watching, laughing, laughing as she cried.

“Do you have a name?” something huffed into her ear. The girl looked up, sniffing, at the two darknesses standing in front of her. They hadn’t moved. So, it was, it had to be…

She turned her head to look to the side, and immediately saw it. Two rows of shiny white fangs dripping in saliva, bared for the girl to see. Right next to her ear. A third beast.

The monster growled, pulling back so all of him was visible. He was black, large, not unlike the other two, but his eyes were a bloodshot red, a glowing red. No, he was bigger, bigger than his pack members.

“I asked for your name,” the thing snarled in a huffish, barely intelligible sort of way. She felt the jitters start again, and she pulled her feet towards herself to calm them. The beast seemed to wince at the sound of rustling leaves. “Child, I do not intend to remind again,” the wolf trotted around the tree to her other side.

“You cannot eat me. I - I still fulfill a prophecy - I must.” her jaws stuttered and started clicking together, so she squeezed them tight. It hurt to speak, her cheek was throbbing.

“Then you must have a name,” the wolf now almost completed it’s circle, and stood directly in front of her. “For the last time, what is it?”

The girl pushed her shoulders into the tree bark, trying to get as far away from the wolf as possible. Her name? She didn’t have one. Only famous people got names. She wasn’t famous, not yet. She has been simply the little girl since she could remember. What was her name?!

“Little Red Riding Hood”, she blurted out, not exactly sure where she got that from.

The wolf’s eyes flickered, and he took a step forward, closer, until his breath gathered into a mist on the girl’s nose. Little Red closed her eyes.

“What is it?” the voice huffed.

“I - I said - It’s Little Red Riding Hood - sir,” the girl managed. Her own breaths became shorter, spasmodic. As if her lungs wanted to get every ounce of air through before she died. Before the thing’s hot breath closed around her neck, giving it a final bite, slowly wringing -

“And where were you running to so quickly?” the voice sounded happy, fulfilled.

“To Grandma - sir - another two miles - the path,” Little Red stuttered. She squeezed her eyes shut even harder, trying to numb herself.

Suddenly the hot breath was gone, and she felt the cool wind again on her nose and heard the silent rustle of leaves high in the treetops.

Little Red peeked out, just a bit. They were gone. Disappeared. All three of the black shapes, their windswept fur and horrifying beady white eyes, gone. Except for the big one, he had red eyes. He was gone too. She was alive.

The girl decided to close her eyes for a little longer in case they came back. Her cheek stung desperately in the chilly wind, her feet were cold, and her side seemed to burn. She patted down her clothing, feeling the rips and scratches in her dress that her mother would never be able to fix. She met something wet and icky coming from the gash in her face, and she immediately knew what it was. People would often come by their cottage with injuries from lumber gathering.

She met more of her blood slowly dripping out of the scratches in her side, but that was minor. Her face, it hurt just to move her mouth, as if her cheekbone was broken. Little Red finally opened her eyes, deciding it wasn’t any use pretending that everything was fine.

Her shoe was gone, and the other was clamped down and muddy. Her once beautiful dress was ripped into shreds so that most of it hung off of a strap on her right shoulder. Her hair was showing, which she knew was improper, full of leaves and mud. Her face and her side where bleeding, and the girl now had no doubt that her cheek was broken. Great.

Little Red got to her shaky feet, using the tree as support, leaning heavily on her torn palms. What would she do now? She should be on her way to Grandma’s, she should be, but the dream was still fresh in her mind. And what the wolf said,  how he said it with so much...caring! Her side hurt as she took a little step away from the tree, the bloodily streaked tree, still dripping from the place she hit it.

And just above the streak were four horizontal claw marks in the bark.

This was the first thing that really, truly terrified Little Red. Four claw marks, the first and last further apart than her fingers could probably manage, leading right down the tree bark to where her head was a second ago, to the bloody streak her cheek left on the tree.

Red took a quick step back away from the tree. The marks were painfully deep, an inch into the tree towards the bottom. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again only to see the four short trenches clawed into the bark. She walked down the path every week of her life, and always the trees were natural and markless, except for the occasional heart-shaped engraving. Until now.

Every week she would pass by the cliff spot, and remember that there is a certain tree only a little way into the wood with a very different mark. This moment would always be fresh in her mind.

She picked herself up off of the bushes again, and began making her way towards the path. She would need to get there, get to Grandma’s house, she has to finish the story. Because she decided she would. For Mother.

The trees were much kinder now, seeming to move themselves apart as she trudged by them towards the trail. She found her hood again, hanging neatly on one of the bushes, as if waiting for her. She picked it up and laced it to the remains of the collar again, just like Mother did this morning. Yes, just this morning. Little Red suddenly had an urge to drop everything and simply go back home.

Her second shoe was gone. The girl decided not to take off the remaining one, it would be easier to explain the loss of one shoe than two at home. Her feet were dirty all the same, as she must splashed through some ankle deep mud on her wild run through the woods.

The basket was lying like she left it, in the ditch on the side of the road, sideways. Some of the food spilled out, so Red leaned over, cleaned everything as best as she could, and tucked the white cloth back into the basket. She then picked it up with her left hand, she remembered carrying it with her left before, and took off at a brisk step down the road, towards Grandma’s.

The woods started to fill with shadows as she walked, the darkness from each tree stretching further and further with each step Little Red took. She glanced cautiously at the sun. It wasn't time for night, not yet. You can always tell there is a story happening by the way the day performs, the way the sun stretches or shrinks its journey across the sky. But the blueness of the dome was slowly starting to fill with hints of orange at the edges; the sun was setting whether it was scheduled to or not.

She knew what kind of stories took place at night. Romantic ones, and then the other kind. The worst kind. The kind she definitely didn't want to be part of. Her pace quickened.

She remembers what her parents told her, of how the dream ends. She would come to Grandma’s house, and there she would have to make cookies with Grandma for the wolf, as he waited outside their door. That is how her Mother told her, how everybody insisted it was supposed to be, and that is how she remembers the dream. And that it would be horribly scary, because the wolf would want to eat them. But then the huntsman would come and scare him away. So her father had told her, a few days before he died. He wouldn't ever lie to his little girl.

The sky was still light when she saw Grandma’s hut, the sun not yet beginning it’s dip below the horizon. The girl breathed with relief, happy to finally be here, happy to be able to walk in, tell her Grandma how horrible it was, take off her one shoe, make the stupid cookies, and go to sleep. Because yes, she was very tired with her walk.

She almost ran the last couple of yards, but stopped herself. She hasn't seen Grandma in months, and the lady is sick, so shouldn't she compose herself before going in? She fixed her hood, pushing her invisible strands of hair behind her shoulders, straightening what remained of the dress. It wasn't actually that bad, once you looked at it for a while. It was a little torn on the side, a little stained red maybe, and the right strap was broken.

And her face. She has not touched her face for the past two miles, and the pain has subsided enough for her to forget her wound there. But now, at the sight of a friendly house, she smiled, and the smile brought all of the smothered pain back to the surface. The little girl wiped the blood gathered on her cheek with her sleeve, gritting her teeth against the dull throb that touching the area provided. There. That would have to do until she got inside.

She looked up, grabbing the basket, eyeing the cottage in front of her, with the slowly developing sunset in the background. The house was built next to a short drop off that was part of the same valley from before, so no trees blocked her view. It looked beautiful. She would have to show Grandma tomorrow.

She walked slowly up the creaking porch, trying to not trip over her shoe. Her hand knocked automatically and, not waiting for any reply, she reached for the intricately carved wooden handle and -

The handle wasn't there.

The little girl stared at the hole, her palm stuck in the air, halfway to where the handle was supposed to be. Four vertical claw marks, lighter on the polished wood, led straight down and stopped at the handle’s hole, which was clearly ripped out.

Those claw marks. She saw them on the tree, way back where she fell. Except, she saw them before that too. The little girl squinted at the door, trying to remember. She remembered this door, she remembered slowly walking inside in, searching around in the darkness for a candle, and finding… what was it?

Her gaze slowly wandered to one of the many windows, made of clear unbroken glass. Her grandmother’s face would so often peek out from between the open panes, inviting the family inside on one of their many trips to here during the warmer months, when father was still alive.

Two bright red eyes rose up to the windowpane, peeking for just a moment before disappearing in the dark gloom of the inside.

Now she remembered. The dream suddenly flooded back to her. All of it, including the parts her parents had told her. But it was wrong all, wrong, what she remembered just didn't fit together! Her Grandma wouldn't be inside, waiting to make cookies. No, something completely different would be waiting. But how was that possible?

She decided to figure it out later. With wide eyes, she set the basket down in front of the broken door -- she noticed how it leaned crookedly on it’s hinges -- and turned around. Quietly, avoiding all of the creaking boards that she knew so well from over the years, Little Red took the steps down, down, until her bare foot finally hit the dirt of the bottom.

Two white points flashed in the bushes above the path, and she could make out the shaggy fur of an animal waiting, watching, right above where she would have to pass by to go home. Oh mother nature, why do wolves have to hunt in packs?

Little Red took another several shaky steps towards the wolf. Maybe it would go away? Maybe it would let her be, let her pass by him and go home? Maybe...

The beast emerged from it’s hiding spot, training it’s flashing white eyes directly on the little girl. It trotted down onto the path, and then started quickly walking towards her. She could see how it bared its teeth in warning, how its tail rose up to make it seem bigger, how its eyes seemed like little white flashlights that were looking directly into her, captivated.

The door behind her creaked. Little Red froze, not daring to move her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the second wolf slowly moved to cut off any escape into the woods.

The floorboards creaked.

“You cannot avoid a prophecy, Little Red Riding Hood,” she heard the voice nibbling on her ear, huffing as if it couldn't get enough air. “Come inside.”

Oh, cannot the storyteller think of something else? Cannot he give her a prince to save her, or let the huntsman come now? Cannot something else happen?!

No. She must go into the cottage, it will all be well in the end. Certainly the wolf shan't eat her, he cannot, can he? Besides, she has decided, she is a good girl and she has to do what the storyteller says to. Because Mother told her to, and Mother always knows best.

She turned around, cringing, trying to look down to not rouse the wolf into any violence. She could see its hair-filled feet, its paws, and the razor sharp pieces of bone that had torn wood into shreds. It was giant, even while looking down! A hot breath stumbled across her shoulders to her back. Its breath smelt metallic, as if it swallowed pennies just moments ago, but somehow more wet.

Something pulled back on her hair, hard, and the next thing Red knew was that she was flat on the ground, hair being ripped out. She screamed, trying to hit the thing, but it’s teeth were lodged into the hood and her dirty hair, pulling her along the ground, ripping out strand by strand, even as she tried to stand up or stop it. And then the beast was gone.

The little girl lay there on her back for a moment, coughing up and holding herself by her hair, trying not to cry. It was useless, of course, tears started slowly slipping out. It just hurt too much.

She felt the giant, razor sharp claws dig into her throat. Her eyes popped open, and she could see the rows of fangs and the bloodshot, crazy eyes behind the paw.

“Inside,” the thing huffed, splattering her face with phlegm. It growled at her, then slowly, unsurely, pressed its claw into her throat a final time before withdrawing and disappearing towards the cottage.

Red sat up. The beast slowly creaked its way up the stairs and walked through the now-open door, quickly disappearing in the darkness inside. She tried to swallow, but somehow her muscles didn't respond.

A pair of jaws snapped right next to her ear.

Red jumped backward, away from the sound, but quickly stood up again as another wolf approached her from behind. Her eyes were wide with fear.

They howled at her, and she quickly got to her feet and started towards the cottage door, closely followed by the pair of growling monsters. They led her forward, closer to that door, thrown wide open just so that she could go in and meet with that hairy, red eyed, monster and be eaten alive.

No.

Just no.

Her feet creaked on the porch steps. The wolves were right behind her. What could she do? They would bite her if she tried anything, they would try to… do something! She cannot just take off and expect to outrun them, not in this dress. But what choice did she have?

Suddenly, she darted off to the left, away from the second beast, trying to gain as much purchase on the dry ground. The wolves were surprised, looking back at the entrance as if to make sure she wasn't just standing there. She smiled.

And then slammed straight into the furry shape of a canine.

In the next moment, she was lying on top of a giant, black, fanged wolf with red eyes. It growled with threat clearly audible.

Little Red jumped off, and ran as hard as she could towards the path. Her dress flapped around her legs, and she could hear the deep barking of the beast behind her. It was giving chase.

A black shape with white, glistening eyes jumped between her and the path. She turned to the right, heading away from both wolves, alongside the edge of the wood, strait towards the drop off that the house was built on. Her panting grew more rapid, already her weak legs were burning apart with effort.

The wolf was catching up, quickly. She could already feel the hot breath on her legs. She ran harder, pushing herself to a very last effort. Jaws latched onto her dress, pulling her back, slowing her down so the rest of the pack could catch up and finish the job, digging it’s claws into the soil, fabric ripping.

And suddenly she wasn't running anymore. Her insides became weightless for just a moment, flying upward into her ribcage, the world seeming to fall and wind rushing past her ears, and then all it stopped.

Darkness.

Author's Note

If you can, try to focus less your comments less on writing mistakes and more on overall style, which is what I'm trying to focus on as well.
This should be a 'whiz-bang' style piece. I guess it's sort of the equivilant of adding 'movie special effects' into writing.

Reviews

[Archos]

Really creative interpretation of the classic tale. I like the way you create very vivid, immersive scenes. The writing's very advanced and there's enough of variety (in style and content) so you don't lose reader's attentnion. I don't know if you plan on working with the story furthermore, but I'd like to point out two things: the mention of disneyworld does not seem to fit the story at all, the wolf was just an unkown monster at the beginning and suddenly the little red began to talk of it as a wolf. That's all I can think of in terms of improvement. Overall, great job! I really enjoyed reading it.

[Meeks]

Yeah. I wrote this in several parts, and must have been thinking of Disneyland one of those times. Shall be fixed!
Thanks for the review and critique, appreciate the useful advice.

[wlkwih2]

I was a bit sceptic, but this turned out to be a great rewrite of a classic. I remember when I was a child that I was often perplexed by the situation and the ex machina solutions like the hunter. There was this Disney's book I once found, which ended the classical stories in the moment where the villain was winning. I liked it, since it seemed more realistic (although, it was a bit disturbing back then). This one remembered me of it. Loved the ending and the realism.

[Meeks]

Yeah, deux est machina is probably the worst sort of ending for any story.
I don't really like the ending though, specifically because the bad guys win. Ever since eight grade I've only read books where someone dies, and we pushed our teacher to show us a disney movie for a change, where everything ends perfectly.
Thanks fkr the review. Glad you enjoyed it.

[Rafy T.Nym]

The storyteller sent death instead of a prince for red riding hood, what an irony of fate!

I guess you tried to create special effects in your story,that's a wonderful concept.But while reading this story,your linguistic effects caught my attention most.A lot to learn from a well piece of works.

[Meeks]

Thanks for the review.
I guess I was just in a bad mood while writing the story, so no prince :)

[Tevo77777]

Why is this in MLA format?

The tab button is not something you need to press here, and your paras don't need to all be cuddling.

Just letting you know since I didn't see that in the other reviews.

[Meeks]

Thanks for the review, but could you explain what you mean by MLA format? Isn't that just for essays?
Also, I usually advise people to press tab more often, so your advice is quite new too me. I see the point about paragraph spaces though. I think para spaces are a substitution for indents, honestly...

[Tevo77777]

Well.

You did this thing
And it looks kinda weird
This is the next para, still looks weird.

The way that would look better.
Is if the lines all started at the left

And there was a space between paras.

[Meeks]

By 'thing', do you mean not indenting the first line? I think that's standard grammer practice.
read moreBy 'thing', do you mean not indenting the first line? I think that's standard grammer practice.
If not, then you lost me. Though I do admit that spaces between the laragraphs probably would look better.

[Tevo77777]

It is in papers you print out.

This is a website, so it's a little different.

The only real problem is the lines being smashed together. The eyes need a space between each paragraph.

[wordman]

well i loved the story,it will make a great book.

[Meeks]

Thanks for the review. It's not supposed to make a book though, I just wrote it as a stand-along short story.
Unless I make enough short stories to make a book out of them...

[wordman]

who knows,a book,a movie a novel

[annalysiar]

No it was amazing. I could see it. And it was so good the effects and the prophecy and the whole story in general. Amazing write...

[Meeks]

Really? I still don't like it, but then again. I hate everything I write.
Thanks for the reviews!

[annalysiar]

You're more than welcome I'm the same way

[MohamedBencharef]

very exciting , something I don't see very often

[Meeks]

THanks for reviewing

[McBear]

Well hello my friend! This was very good. I totally got the feel of it and was able to imagine it all. I am sending out 58 read requests for this c:

[Meeks]

Thanks for the review, but...
58? That sounds like a fast way to lose friends... Thanks for the gesture though.

[McBear]

Nah. I help all of them and review their stuff. They are glad to help me in return!

[MelissaAndres]

Meeks, very well done! Very descriptive! You made me visualize what was actually happening and that is always a good thing. Nice job!

[Meeks]

Thanks for the review. Appreciate it.