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Little Read Writing Hood

Once upon a time a long time ago there was a girl I once knew. Probably a belly dancer and a goddess of unprecedented proportions who could wrap one in the warm blanket of her body, so securely that nothing would ever seem like danger and I could be safe there.

Her irretrievable smile was so penetrating as to soften the hardest heart, even where it lay, and her eyes would join it in their efforts.

Her fragmented thoughts followed a road she had committed to many years before because that was the only road, it always had been, and even when they threw rocks at her she never gave up that road.
Every now and then she would stop to look in her bag for some nick-nack to help her on her way, and on she would go.

Sometimes she felt like a clumsy fool and sometimes a marching body of power and strength.
Sometimes she thought she looked ugly and sometimes beautiful but, oddly enough, she actually looked just the same at both these times.

It was nearing late afternoon when a Huckle Juck crossed her path and she had to stop and think about what to do next, something she didn't really like doing especially when the path ahead seemed so clear.
Now you possibly don't know what a Huckle Juck is, and you're not alone in that because nor did she. And if I let you into a secret: nor do I.

Anyway, how did it change anything at all? Well, it politely suggested that there might be something different and interesting off the path. Not really a surprise perhaps.

Now this makes me think of another story, the story of Little Read Writing Hood.

Little Read Writing Hood, often is Miss Spelt as Little Red Riding Hood, due to a misunderstanding in modern books about the origins of the name, which actually refers to the fact that Little Read Writing Hood was a well read little girl and also enjoyed writing here and there, and ignores the fact that she did not possess a red hood and did not like horses at all, which is why she walked most of the time... Oh sorry, forgot to mention that Miss Spelt was only a pen name she used from time to time... 

Anyway, to get back to the story... Little Read Writing Hood had also been encouraged to leave the path and had done so at great cost to herself and her grandmother.

The big bad wolf had made use of  Read Writing Hood's deviation in order to execute a dastardly plan to acquire both  Read Writing Hood and her grandmother as dinner, and although the scheme failed and ended in the wolf's death,  Read Writing Hood's mother explained to her that this was the result of leaving the path; which of course it was not.

Yes, leaving the path was a contributory factor but by no means the only cause of the unfortunate events that followed. As a result of this false argument, Little  Read Writing Hood never left the path again and missed many opportunities and was subject to many unpleasantries set up by evildoers along that path specifically for those like Little Read Writing Hood.

The Huckle Juck was well aware of all this and this was the motive behind its polite suggestion.

The girl, on the other hand, had also read Little Read Writing Hood and so thought, as many do, that it isn't a good idea to leave the path, full stop. Even if there is road works ahead.

And although she was remarkably well read and occasionally she was well red also, she had not come across nor deeply considered the issues raised regarding the story of Little Read Writing Hood.

As a side note, I must highlight that she had only read the abridged 6 page-version of Little Read Writing Hood with very big writing, and not the unabridged 12 volume set which comes with a magnifying glass and which considers the deeper issues in its extensive footnotes and annotations.

Thus she was wholly unprepared for the suggestion now put in front of her.

"Ach dung Ach dung" said the Huckle Juck, who spoke a smattering of German taught to him by his late grand parents, "There is another way...", and it raised its arms in an attempt to be dramatic. Huckle Jucks are generally bad at drama and prefer other subjects, "Over there on the left is no road at all, but it leads to the land of extraordinary differentness, where red is read and wholly is holy, and the grass is always greener, except for one particular blade that is the greenest blade of all. But nobody knows which one that one is, so it doesn't really matter." It stopped and looked, expecting a reaction.

There was none from the girl for some time who stood looking indignantated and quite still. This is very different from indignated.

"You come here and stand in my path like a yellow coked mushroom, waving your arms in the air and pointing over there trying to deviate me from my only way, like a big bad wolf, and you knows what's finer for me, well I haddid enough of your tinkle, I ain't got an interest in it, and you ain't my kinda cat." She looked the Huckle Jack in the eye, like she was really meanin it. And I'll tell you, I think she was quite mean in that myself.

The Huckle Jack vanished, and the road was plain and simple ahead again.

And the girl? Well, she walked on and if she ain't finished yet she's walkin still.

But I'll tell you what, she had the same problems everybody else had on that road and the same vantages. But she missed an adventure and never saw the land of extraordinary differences or nothin like it, for it was all somewhere else for her.

And if you follow that path you might miss it too and that might be a good thing, for adventure ain't easy anyway, or it might be a bad thing.

Tell you this. I went off the path, and I's never goin back.

Night night.

(C)2010 Tom de Havas. The information under this section is my own work it may be reproduced without modification but must include this notice.