I own nothing but the story/poem idea. It was inspired somewhat by Tales of Tales' The Path and the character Ruby.

She licks at her lips, hands resting at the side of her hips. Medication is winding her down once again. She was warned and told and scolded mercilessly, but it's too fun - much too fun and tempting. Falling now to sleep, she closes her eyes as brunette and ebony locks scatter behind her head, falling to place on a pillow; body heavy as lead. Hands somewhat open - fluttering lashes - behind eyes a nightmare clashes...

She locks her fingers and their grip tightly, weaving them about the basket's handle. Stellar light from the sky above breaking through the treetops - this is nothing she cannot handle. Her grandmother dearest is sick and laid in bed. She'll bring her some bread and some soup and some medicine to help her rest her weary head.

"Stay on the path, my darling daughter," smiles a mother with a knowing nod and a look of one about to preach. "My heart will break, shatter - be slaughtered - if you do not return safely, my wise words with you, too truly, it's to thee I beseech."

Returning the nod and giving a small wave of a smaller hand, Little Kid Red backs out through the door. (The day is growing short and there's an entire forest yet to explore).

"Mother, I'll be safe. Mother, I am, too, wise. Mother, I know the difference between sweet smiles and deceitful lies. Mother, thou need not beseech me. I will do your will freely. I'll bring what you gave me to grandmother dearest, and I'll return myself to you ultimately."

Without further ado or shadow of self-doubt, Little Kid Red turns and skips happily from the house. Keeping the basket in hand, she's going to keep her promise. She's going to bring her basket to her grandmother's and she's not going to stray - at least not as far as to get herself completely lost for the day.

"Stick to the path!" she remembers, an echo in memory from times past - - but Mother didn't say it this one time… she didn't repeat herself, and alas, Little Kid Red is going to use, shall we call it a loophole? She's going to skip and play herself right away from the straight and narrow. Down the rabbit hole she'll go.

For several moments on end she skips and she hops. She dances and gallops and leaps beneath the shelter of treetops. She hears birds singing. She hears bugs scuttling. She hears the sounds of rabbits hopping and thumping. She knows the conies are small and so sweet, and that wolves and coyotes take them for a dinner of meat. A fear striking her then as she hears a yonder howl, Little Kid Red backs her way back to the path somehow.

Scared straight for perhaps a moment or twenty, she grows restless again as she nears destination. What a silly girl was she to be frightened by a howl. And whoever said that a mortal sin was the nature of procrastination? She'd get the basket to grandmother dear, but was there such a need to rush? She could surely go pick flowers by the way, as long as she was to keep hush. No need to draw attention from the howling creature to herself. Quietly, on tiptoe, she strayed once more from the path itself.

After several moments more, the howling seemed to draw nearer. She had just chosen an Oleander, with a stem oh-so-slender. Admiring it's shining white petals in the falling sun, Little Kid Red slowly turned to look behind herself. She found - with a gasp - that she was suddenly not the only one.

Standing betwixt the trunk of two trees, the sight of a hungry, bloodthirsty wolf brought her to her knees. She had hands clasped and was ready to plead. She was ready to cry, yet she couldn't muster a scream. Her mother had been right the thousand times beforehand and her loophole she leapt through was a horrid mistake. Now she was done for, alone and knelt there - useless - now, for the wolf, it was Little Kid Red's life to take…

Awaking with a cold sweat just breaking across her faint, gaunt forehead, Little Kid Red sits bold upright in bed. Hands clutched onto a blanket, she draws it ever more near. There's a light on in the hall - salvation is here. Swinging her legs on over the side of the bed, she rises on shaky legs and raises her heavy head. She walks to the door and places a hand on the knob, doing her best to ignore her chest as it throbs. Walking along a path of needles and pills, Little Kid Red is in a horror all too real.

Finally, at long last, she opens the door. She finds the light is not on anymore. Stepping out regardless into the black, Little Dead Riding Hood is not coming back.