The Good and The Evil (It's All the Same Story)

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Emily Lang

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Through the grim, grim woods
Two panicked children ran, tripping over thistle and weeds
They ignored the stretching branches, crooning in their ear
With sober, frightened faces they ran with frantic speed
Shivering through stained red clothes, covered with rips and tears.

One, a boy, chubby body unfit for his overalls
Two, a girl, thin, frail arms matching her thin, frail legs
Eventually exhausted and collapsed into a crawl
Crawling away from the house, the woman that wanted their flesh.

Through the grim, grim woods
A little girl scurried, with an adorable red hood on her head
"I need the huntsman!" she shouted with a trembling cry
Running for dear granny, no longer in her bed
Running from the beast, he who lurked and lied

And as if the trees could not be anymore mysterious
They muttered and gossiped amongst themselves
"Running towards two murderers, this child is oblivious
A lonely, hungry old lady, a red-cloaked girl, who else?"

As fate would have it, under the star speckled blue sky
She happened upon two children, eyes foggy with hate
What to do? "It's either you or they," the pitying trees sighed
So as the two clawed forward, the knife flew, not a second too late

A young girl stood grimly over two dead children, so young
Flying crows stared at soft pale hands, dyeing crimson, a pure to impure
"Savior! The Savior!" They danced around the bodies mockingly and sung
The red hood promised, on her way out, her people will not come in, no more.

Through the grim, grim woods
A pretty, blonde girl stumbled with Baby Bear's skin on her back
Dragging Mama Bear's fur and carrying a blade with Papa Bear's blood
Her baby blue dress caught on thorns and the woods tittered at her track
But she continued, determined steps marching through the mud

Until she heard the mocking trees shake their branches sadly
"The Red Hood strikes twice, two cherubs gone above,
Who shall take the red down? This pretty, stupid doll? No, not she"
Their poor, poor father; his children dead, now no one left to love."

And the blonde froze at their words, as the trees silenced at a sound
A murmur behind the bushes, of safety and justice and peace
A glimpse of a red hood, and more red, red, red seeping to the ground
She recoiled at the blood(lust), at a monster devouring her feast

Two empty, dark eyes stared hungrily at the blonde, and she shivered at the sight
The monster flew at her, a knife aimed at her heart but stopped by Baby Bear's skin
With instinct to guide her, Mama Bear's fur is thrown at the monster's head in fright
It is blinded, and the Papa Bear bloodied knife stabs and kills; it is her final win.

Crows fly in a circle above her, cawing their praises as branches stroke her arms
But she does not hear them, numbed by the children, the monster, her burning hands
"Burn these woods down, I will burn these woods down" she chanted like a charm
"I must protect my people, this is the monster's last breath on my land."

Through the grim, grim woods
A boy carries his axe over his shoulder with excitement and pride
His pockets jingle with gold, a golden harp, and a golden egg
He pays no heed to the clinging fog, nor the thorns poking at his side
Nor to a metallic smell, nor the sounds of dripping, dripping red

But his lips taste an eeriness, and turns around in unease
To meet the eyes of a monster, half beast and half girl
He cries out in alarm, falls back on the roots of snidely swaying trees
Frozen as it approaches, a bloodied up young bear, with golden curls

Sighing in pity, their branches nudge at his jingling bag
So he slowly reaches in, and in his hands he holds
A harp? Its head tilts, and at its gruesome sight he tries not to gag
But it does not notice, mesmerized by its reflection on the gold

At its distraction, the boy moves his axe to his hand
Black crows cheer as the blade moves to the monster's neck
The trees pat him in congratulations as a shivering arm leans on them to stand
For it was a girl's—not a monster's— head the murder came to peck

The gold was all forgotten, for he was too sick of the crimson
"I will become a hero, protect the people from the villains in these woods"
His blood streaked face trembled with trauma even as his will risen
"That's the spirit, boy," the trees said. "You shall become the Good."

Through the grim, grim woods
The trees watched with amusement at the Good and the Evil
Running through this maze with adversity and resilience
The murder of crows shake their heads, picking at dead corpses
It is a grim, grim tale, they say. It is a grim, grim tale.


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